A Streetmare Named Desire

"You cant POSSIBLY be serious, my dear." Rarity floundered, recovering from the trauma of what the school filly had just requested of her. The frazzled dressmaker had been hard at work all day with new orders from key clients, such is her job. But that doesn't detract from the fact that she was still just winding down from her long day when Scootaloo entered her workplace. She looked into the young pegasi's eyes hoping to catch the glint of a joke in them, and the hint that she wasn't serious.

"I mean it Rarity," Scootaloo said, pushing the proverbial envelope and literal blueprints to a design Scoots had planned. To her, it was the epitome of epicosity, the utmost in unreal, the zenith of....some other big word that Applebloom would know. But to the fashionista, the idea was utterly outrageous! The design was all wrong, the fabric she wanted to use was SO last season, the style and shape wouldn't be flattering, and lastly this is Scootaloo! She is a filly, why would she want a costume as garish as this to wear? And the hair, dear Celestia, the hair! Luna forbid anypony would find out she even considered doing this to a young mare's mane. "I'll even pay you double if you want, and I won't tell anypony that you made it for me. Or that you did my mane this way," she reassured, pointing at the blueprints at the outlandish mane.

Rarity breathed in heavily, considering her options while turning away from the filly. She really wants this done, but I can't, I simply mustn't! Oh, but if what if she goes to some other mane groomer or, even worse, tries to cut it herself? She wouldn't be able to live with herself. She had half-convinced herself to do it when Scootaloo devised a plan. "I guess if you don't wanna do it, I could go to that one Stallion designer across town..."

Rarity raised her head instantly, one ear twitching. She knew who Scootaloo was talking about. But still she asked, "You don't mea-"

"Yes, I heard from other fillies at school that he's just as good as you Rarity, and he's cheaper."

Rarity turned back to face her client, "Maybe MY dresses would be cheaper to if they were made of thin cotton and parchment-like cloth! I will make these....Clothes and if you'd sit down I'll get to your mane and tail as soon as I can find my clippers." The white unicorn darted off into the next room in searching. Scootaloo waited for her to disappear from view before sticking her hoof up in the air and squeeing in victory. She had to admit, she was a little hesitant about the dramatic change to her appearances, but she figured that it would all be worth it once she looked punk. She trotted over to her seat in a spiny barber chair, situated in front of a mirror. The same mirror, she supposed, that Rarity spent all her time getting all fancied up looking at.

Scootaloo looked at her sprawled wavy mane in the mirror, noticing it's softness with a hoof. This is the last time it'll look this way, Well, not the last time, but the last time in a while. She smiled and imagined her mane in the way she wanted it, her hooves grooving over the places that would be cut. She hadn't had a mane cut in 4 months, it had gotten to the point where her mane was starting to look like a lighter-hued version of Applebloom's mane. She had really not liked how girly it made her look, especially now that she was converting to punk-rock. She had read that punk hair is part of the entirety of the punk spirit. She could dress punk and act punk, but with the hair, ponies will know that she's punk.

Rarity finally returned with her clippers and cutters hovering above her head. She had Scootaloo close her eyes as she made the first snip.

After about an hour of cutting, primping, and recommending/applying products to her mane; Scootaloo had her desired mane. A spiky mess that fell into her face, shaved on the sides and spiked up in the back. She thought it looked amazing, Rarity on the other hoof wanted to vomit from what she had created. She washed her hooves and burned said clippers, saying something about 'Tools of murder in the world of Fashion...' After several minutes of Scootaloo looking at herself in the mirror and rubbing the grainy, buzzed sides of her head, she went to work with the other order of business; her punk regalia. She had to stand still for a good fifteen minutes while Rarity got every single last measurement, from hoof to head. She picked out the patterns, designs, lengths, how small the holes for the wings would be, everything she could think about.

She had loved to watch it all come together, and though she didn't usually wear clothes, she could see herself in THIS the next time to wear clothes somewhere. She had to wait for Rarity's OCD subside over every tiny little detail to be able to wear her punk dress. It was red and black in color with black shoe-laces criss-crossing down the front . The pattern was a plaid like a lumberjack pony would wear, but it blended in with the black faux-leather borders near the underbelly of the wear. There was two straps to be placed over the shoulders, to keep it up. The end of the dress was all black in a skirt type of style, with a frilly black over-lace that worked nicely with it. She slipped it on, and smoothed it out with a free hoof, and carefully slipped her wings into their respective holes.

She glowed and absorbed every feature of the dress. Every slope, every shape, every thread of the thing. She felt sudden moisture grace her eyes and overcome her as she brought her hooves to her mouth. She loved it. She was punk. This is all the filly wanted to be and her foundation on the subject was solid (as young girls are with their obsessions) . She was convinced that, staring into this long, lit-up mirror was her narcissistic zenith. She stood there for several moments, periodically squeeing and pinching herself to see if this assent a dream.

Rarity unelequently stopped the show with a cough. Scootaloo looked back with apprehension, having to tear herself away from her transformation.

"Now Scootaloo, dear. Its getting late, so I want you to go home now. And take that...Monstrosity of my design with you. Its free of charge if you don't tell anypony, and I mean ANYPONY that I made it."

Scootaloo nodded feverishly and undressed before her stylist. Rarity wrapped the dress up and presented itvto the entranced filly. Rarity booted her out of the back door of the boutique. She hurried along the path home on scooter making sure the helmet didn't damage Rarity's work on her mane. She got clack for being late to dinner and showing up with a new mane-cut but her foster mom relented after a little bouquet of apologies. She ate some cold Mac and Cheese and went to bed, eager to fall asleep to show all of her friends her new look.

She kept in mind that the look is only part of being punk, and that she'd still have to keep herself grounded. But for the moment she looked at her mane in the mirror and reveled in her looks. She saw a streetmare named Desire looking back st her...Erm I mean Scootaloo. She flopped onto her small, single bed in her room and fluttered her tiny wings in contentment. She was closing her eyes to sleep when the nasty part of her brain placed doubt inside her. What if Applebloom and Sweetie Belle didn't approve? What if they thought that she was too weird or too radical-looking to be a part of the cutie-mark crusaders? This part of her brain generated thoughts like these until the rest of her brain reassured her that they wouldn't. They're my best friends! They'll understand; buck they may even like it more than the way I was before. She drifted off into an uneasy sleep, not knowing that these assumptions and fears might come true...