Incessant Gutter

by Sunshine-Smiles

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Dark
Length: 3377

Perhaps the best she could manage was distractions, like today's visit with Fluttershy... Rarity attempts to cope with the gutter

Perhaps the best she could manage was distractions, like today's visit with Fluttershy… Rarity attempts to cope with the gutter.
"There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn."

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-12 04:33:03 UTC

We Have A Dog To Exercise

She was in the shit.

Always had been. Her entire existence spent trying to crawl out of the gutter. Useless.

Rarity didn’t even know if it ended, if there actually existed anything better. Not really.

Perhaps the best she could manage was distractions, like today’s visit with Fluttershy. The pegasus, who she’d known for a lengthy period, was coming over for tea and scones, as friends were meant to do. So Rarity had been cleaning the living room, attempting to give it the appearance of containing a little less filth.

And grime was hardly the worst of it. Obnoxious trinkets cluttered the space, the purple wallpaper pained her eyes, and lingering smells of perfume brought on an ulcer. Damn room reeked of Hell . . . she tried not to wonder what she’d do if it was anything but.

Nevertheless, the prim mare carried on in the rut of routine, getting the house near presentable as was done for guests. So having removed all the mice corpses from the floor, the effort to impede their collection typically couldn’t be justified, Rarity had just moved to lessening the count of stains on the cushions when the screech of the doorbell pierced her ears.

Hoping Fluttershy was late, she glanced at the clock. Right on awful time.

Replacing the cushions on the couch, as much as anything could belong somewhere, the unicorn went to the door, quietly peering through the peephole. She didn’t need to, of course it was Fluttershy, but sadism was still vaguely amusing.

Sternly, Rarity called, “Who is it? Announce yourself properly.”

And through the glass, she watched the timid mare predictably recoil, giving a yelp. No matter how many variations of this routine they went through, Fluttershy had an inexhaustible capacity for being shocked.

Suppressing a snicker, Rarity continued, “Wrong. Don’t back away, I won’t be able to hear.” There was some small opportunity for pleasure in life, potentially.

But then Fluttershy only shrunk in on herself. Quivering on the ground, she squeaked something unintelligible and irritating, yet nothing that could be used further against her. So incompetent, the cur wasn’t even capable of being tormented properly.

Rarity gave it another moment, but Fluttershy demonstrated no initiative from her side of the door. The unicorn huffed at that, the ephemeral pleasure leaving her. But she opened the door wearing what passed for a smile. No need to make things harder.

“Oh Fluttershy, darling,” she assuaged innocently, “Why didn’t you say it was you? Here I thought I was going to have to shoo away one of those dreadful solicitors.”

One eye peeking, Fluttershy let out a breath at the revealing of her companion. “Um, sorry,” She apologized and cautiously rose, still shaken from the brief disturbance. “I meant to . . .,” she said, mannerisms plainly contradicting.

Rarity motioned inside. “Do come in. I’m sure we have lots to discuss, and the tea should be ready any moment now.” Tea was a lesser horror. Foul and irking, it nonetheless helped her to get on faster. Scones as well. She often felt whoever had invented the stuff should be shot, but this was common to all her opinions.

Rarity leading the way, the pair entered the living room and sat across from each other on the couches. As typical, she dominated the idle conversation, though Fluttershy soon conquered her inertia. Affiliation largely nugatory, their time spent together had at least produced this.

Then the kettle whistled and interrupted their feigned bonding. Ears stinging with vitality, the fashionista wordlessly fetched the tea and scones.

Returning, she magically sat the loathsome tray on the coffee table between them and took a seat. The facile portions always passed too quickly, Rarity thought, likely out of spite. Grabbing her cup anyway, she took a sip and contemplated her next move. How to get the most out of this?

An obvious approach would be to ask the gentle pegasus about her week. But the result would undoubtedly be a lengthy and enthusiastic report about her flea-ridden animals, which Rarity had no interest in. It would defeat what little point the exercise had. Most other topics weren’t much better.

She settled for talking about herself, more bearable than living it. “Well, my past few days have been . . .” Any word that didn’t taste of shit? “Busy. Would you like to hear?”

Fluttershy didn’t make eye contact, but of course nodded. Not much else she could manage.

“On Wednesday I quelled my hunger pains at a restaurant with edible food. And my order of supplies for the shop arrived. Careful of the time, I managed to take up the whole evening sorting and cataloguing them. And the next morning, because I had went about it all wrong.” She licked her chapped lips.

“Then some clients came to order dresses on Friday and I didn’t bungle that. So the illusion of progress was sustained for the rest of the week.”

Fluttershy stared at a scone. “Um, that is wonderful. Rarity.”

“Quite.” Should she kill herself, or have some more tea? Rarity took another sip. “So I heard that the circus will be coming into town. That should be delightful, will you be seeing it?”

The affectionate mare’s face brightened at that, enthusiasm sparked. “Oh my, I would never miss that! I just love the elephants, they seem so wise and intelligent like that one from the book. Animals are much smarter than ponies give them credit for. And the little sea lions are just so precious and they can do so many tricks. Such hard workers. Oh, but I hope they don't have real lions, those can be so scary . . .”

Damn. She’d forgotten it’s filled with animals. Her agony was unceasing at all junctions.

“Yes, lions certainly are frightening,” Rarity diverted, “But I am sure you would do fine, you’ve been getting braver recently.”

Fluttershy conceded. “Thank you. You are a nice pony.”

Despite their supposed bonding, they still made plays at affection.

One misery allayed, Rarity stared at the wall, pondering where to steer the conversation next. Something that avoided godawful animals. Perhaps the family portrait on the wall? She usually strove to ignore it, but it tended to make for sufficient conversation when Fluttershy was over, easier to suffer than the alternatives.

But what use if she still suffered? The unicorn shook her head, routine was killing her. The wrong way.

“Is everything alright?” Fluttershy futilely asked. Her skill at conversation was improving.

“Yes, of course. I was just wondering if you would like to talk about that clock?” She pointed relievedly to the antique clock resting on a side table. That was something they hadn’t discussed, if she trusted memory.

Fluttershy looked curiously, but soon reverted to staring at her tea. “It is a wonderful clock. What about it did you want to discuss?”

“I bought it a few years ago at a garage sale. I’d been looking for cheap clothing materials when I saw the clock. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She gave a nostalgic sigh, recalling her attempts to fend off life with fashion and luxuries. It was growing more difficult to maintain these days, interest doomed. But it was still better than counting her farts, she’d long exhausted that.

“I saw a clock just the other day,” Fluttershy contributed.

Rarity grabbed a scone and buttered it. She put it back. “Good work, darling.”

But the pegasus continued, “Actually, it was a cuckoo clock. It was just the most precious thing! Right on the hour, the wood birdy came out and sang his little song. Oh, and he was painted the most adorable shade of blue and when he flapped his little wings, I just about died from the cuteness!”

Filthy damned animals. This was going nowhere, yet everything relentlessly goes somewhere. There’s never any turning back, which is it? She only knew that soon the decision would have to be made.

“Animals,” Rarity onerously grinned. “Politics are not animals. Have you heard about the new law being passed? A pony in Manehattan choked to death on a sandwich and traumatized onlookers sued the city. The Equestrian Labour Party is moving to make choking in public illegal.”

Fluttershy frowned. “Oh my, that is awful.”

“Yes,” she giggled, comfortably revolting. It slipped away.

“I heard that Jutland Gillard apparently breached a law twenty years ago. I never knew Equestria was so corrupt.”

There’s an idea. Gossip could be sadistic.

“Riveting. So . . . I don’t suppose the others have been up to anything interesting?” Rarity leaned forward with a wry smile. “Any fascinating secrets?”

“Not really.” The pegasus gave it some thought. “Um, well, there was one thing with Rainbow Dash . . .”

Eyes lighting up, a faint flicker of hope entered Rarity’s disillusioned breast. Could it be they were actually standing at the threshold of a decent conversation? She gestured encouragingly.

“...Her turtle has been having bowel issues.”

Inescapable. Enough of getting on like this. “Fuck.”

“Rarity. Is something the matter?” Playing her part.

What had gone wrong—What hadn’t? Wasting hours away wasn’t making them go any faster. Taking a breath, she asked, “You do like me, right dear? We’re friends?” A maxim.

And Fluttershy quickly agreed, “Oh yes, of course.”

But her face told a different story. The way Fluttershy’s eyes averted as she spoke, more so than usual. A crooked smile, flashing an expression of contempt. Subtle twitch of the nose. Rarity had studied the creature’s mannerisms well during their acquaintance. The horrid mongrel was lying to her.

Rarity set down her tea with shaking hooves. She’d waded the filth all wrong then, what little conception she had unfounded and habits misguided. Endlessly struggling to make sense of the world, the world endlessly refusing to be understood. It was absurd.

Comfortably revolting. She preserved it.

Her response was an understanding smile. “Darling,” she said, “This is only a formality but . . . would you mind if I killed you?”

Fluttershy spat out her tea in shock. “What?!” she squealed at the mere idea.

“It’s settled, I have no need of you,” she explained, rising from the couch. “You’re irrelevant.”

Fluttershy hastily receded, trembling with fear and life. “R-Rarity, where is this coming from?!” she cried. “You’re scaring me!”

No use trying to avoid the shit, the unicorn realized, it just didn’t help matters. Genuinely smirking, she snatched a knife off the tray and advanced. “It’s this wretched existence! Too long we’ve been stupidly covering our eyes, blindly groping and hoping it all away.”

“What are you talking about? This isn’t right!” Fluttershy leapt away. She dashed for the door, but was quickly ensnared in Rarity’s magical grip, thrust against the wall. Limbs struggling to no avail, wings useless and cunt showing, pinned like an insect.

Rarity advanced. “You’re telling me? Pah! More than anyone, I’ve wallowed in the shit without respite. But no more! No more pity, no more letting it build up around me with no escape.” Towering over Fluttershy, she raised the knife. “So forget escape, I’ll own it! Grab it by the hooves and make it mine here in the gutter!”

“Rarity, please don’t! Stop!” the captive mare pleaded.

But her cries were in vain. Intent written on her features, Rarity was through with reception and dormancy.

Minor Heaven

“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.” - Albert Camus

Rarity peeked out the window for the third time in five minutes. Cats, still. The cats were still running rampant. If anything, they were rampantly rampant, not a space free of their influence in her yard. Bile rising in her throat, her heart sank and she morosely turned away, taking a seat on the couch. She put her head in her hooves.

How was she going to deal with this? Would it ever end? Murdering Fluttershy was supposed to have changed things. She’d renounced self-pity, sworn herself to action.

And it’d worked too. Without Fluttershy and her other distractions, the past few weeks had been like none other. She’d thrived on her nausea, indulged in life without restraint. While the rest of Ponyville was out searching for the missing pegasus, she’d gone through their houses, taken anything she desired. Killed their pets, burned their pictures, it was wonderful.

But then the cats had found out.

Just a little glance at first, a few of them staring at her a bit too long. An eerie look about their eyes. And retaining her new perspective, the mare wouldn’t let it get to her. Those unpleasantries were dismissed as mere paranoia, products of an adjusting mind.

That wasn’t viable once they’d started accumulating, piling up like spiteful moths to a flame. No room for doubt then. They’d seen Fluttershy’s corpse in the Everfree Forest, somehow knew she was the murderer, wanted revenge. Too many of them working together. So her lawn lay dominated by the mongrels, and she’d been unable to leave her house for five days. Every time Rarity tried to set foot outside, they’d line up and stare, an unspoken threat, until she shut the door. She couldn’t handle it.

Yet, was it really too much for her now? What then? Find someone who could pick her world up off the ground?

The simple things. Best to return to them, they might take her mind off the ache in her belly, that throbbing blemish of betrayal. It’d almost feel better to cut the damn thing out at this point. No, she shook her head, still pretending there was an alternative to self-destruction. Trodding unsteadily, Rarity went to the bathroom.

Not to use it of course, there was nothing left in her wretched bowels to empty. Rather, Rarity sought comfort in the painting of a sailboat on that wall. It was so pure, so content. On the whole, the unicorn rejected innocence as a concept, it seemed a trifling and fruitless idea to her, but there was still something to be said for the ease of a watercolor sailboat. If sails had faces, she often imagined this one would be smiling at her and that just warmed her insides. And her thighs.

Wait . . . she looked down. That warmth spreading through her wasn’t good feelings at all, she had soiled herself. Well. Well, she was wrong about having nothing left inside, Rarity reflected, as she watched the golden stream trail down her legs. Might as well sit in it, that seemed the natural course.

Settling down, she shuddered as the puddle made uncomfortable contact with her skin, soaking her thinning fur. Cold tile caressed her cheek, marginally better. She lay there for hours, ruminating and decaying, they went hoof in hoof.

Where to go from here? Could she go from here?

Perhaps not. Perhaps she’d finally run out, exhausted all her momentum. The last of the wick burned out, nothing left but to await oblivion. She’d lie there then, motionless and pristine like an oblivious stone. More a pebble really in the grand scheme, always something bigger. Bigger but not more significant, and if there was something that finally trumped all the rest of creation and by doing so, proved its mettle and gained importance, well then, she’d yet to learn of it. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be understood by a mundane pony anyway. In which case, what did it matter if she stopped? If she did just release her hold on will, let it all slip away, what difference would it make for one no different than a worm?

That brought the ghost of a smile to her lips, and Rarity rolled over, allowing her other side a good soak. Perhaps then, the cats were not such a troubling ordeal either, if they had the time of their existence to trifle with a worm. They’d breached the standard of the gods, if there existed any, the hallmark of true divinity. By the very act of acknowledging her, the cats had lowered themselves to her status, revealed they had nothing greater to occupy themselves than her.

But then, what did this matter to her? She’d already resigned herself. The sky could fall and she wouldn’t care. The mare sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Removing activity was a good start, now if only she could abolish loathsome thought as well. Then she’d have accomplished the dream, finally rid of the the filth, and not a concern to be heard of.

But damn it, she was still doing it. Still thinking of the cats.

Here she was relaxing in her piss, and still the unicorn couldn’t help but dwell on the cats. At ease in the grime, pristine fur stained a delightful yellow, yet her mind insisted on treachery. And she couldn’t stop it, only able to clean up after the deed had been done. Her thoughts weren’t hers then, but she was merely the overseer, watching as it toiled and doing her best to steer production. Then, what was the source, the generator of logos? Was it the cats?

No, she scowled. The cats were nothing but a burden, more than others, and she wasn’t going to attribute anything good to them, regardless of the facts. Damn, cats. No more awful cats. They could have their slice of hell for all she cared.

Something else. The sailboat again? Yes, that was why she’d first come here. There it rested on the wall. It was a nice boat, a comforting soft yellow hull with a red stripe down the side. Pleasantly simple. The sort one might find at the dentist’s office, intended to ease nerves. A commendable endeavor. Come to think, an unfortunate accident, that was how she’d gotten the idea to obtain one herself. She’d seen a quite similar painting in the waiting room of her dentist and she’d thought at the time, Hmm yes, that might be the sort of thing I’d want in the bathroom to ease the strain on my bowels. And it’d done its job well, well enough, at least until the—

Fucking cats. Rarity rolled over again, huffing in agitation. She’d had a nice little mental streak going too, before it’d inevitably returned to the filthy beasts.

But was it inevitable, did she believe in that? No, she wouldn’t go that far. She’d already discounted divinity, especially theirs. She prefered an empty solitude of secularity anyway, to the alcoholic buzz of piety. That was why she’d chosen the floor, Rarity reminded herself. The piss was still warm.

Yet, thought refused to cease. Even with nothing else to impinge her, the world wouldn’t leave her. It had infiltrated her psyche, pervaded her to the core. A damned daughter of gaia. Then she really was the worm, mind no sacred temple, but rather defined by its condition. Worm before individual, circumstance preceding cognition. Doomed even before the cats.

And there she went again! And now she was laying on her foreleg wrong and she had to fix it. Consuming her mind! Where was the escape from this agony? Was there any on the other side? Who could say, communication wasn’t worth it. Likely not, that was the trademark of the game. In which case, what did it matter if she wasn’t dead yet? Didn’t know if the cats would follow.

No, think of something else! The uncomfortable floor, the glare of the light, sounds of silence, her least hated book, the nature of a glass house, even bring out the childhood, anything but the—

Cats. “Cats, cats, cats!” she roared, stomping. Vile bastards, even the outside wasn’t enough, they were dominating her head! Was nothing sacred? No. Regardless, regodless.

No more of it! Wretched cats had to go—if she can’t get away, she’ll do away! Make use of her current condition then, the unicorn decided and rose, grunting in satisfaction. Embrace life now, and when death came, she’d embrace that too! She could handle it. Rarity tore open the door, vigor in her veins.

No time for cleaning herself or considering aches, she stormed out of the house.

She was going to conquer every damned cat that came her way.