Generosity

by Richie Richter

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rarity
Length: 27526

Every Sunday, Rarity gives back.

Every Sunday, Rarity gives back. But how much is she willing to give to save the life of one little orphaned filly who is desperately crying out for help?

Published 2013-05-28 14:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-28 14:00:01 UTC

Chapter One

Generosity

Richie Richter

Chapter One

"I believe you look just marvelous, Mr. Rich."

Mr. Rich turned his head from side to side. He stretched his neck and adjusted the tie around his neck that was a shade of blue that matched his eyes. The tie offered some color to the otherwise monochromatic ensemble. A white collared shirt covered partially by a tweed vest was hidden beneath a black suit jacket. Gold cufflinks and buttons also added little flashes of color.

He turned to give himself a profile view. His new suit covered the upper body but left the hind legs bare. All four of his hooves were also bare because the outfit featured no footwear. It was a traditional look and it took no risks, but it was what Mr. Rich had ordered. And the customer is always right! (Even though they're not.) Still, Rarity was proud of her work. Mr. Rich did look marvelous in that suit.

"Excellent work, Rarity," he said. "The fit is wonderful. I could wear it all day! The colors are stellar as well, the black so rich and deep, along with the grey on the vest, and of course the blue tie to match my eyes. Perfect choice of color. Oh, and the material feels exquisite. You never disappoint, Miss Rarity. Again, I say, excellent work."

“Thank you, Mr. Rich. Is it safe to say that you like it?"

"It is," he said, turning to her with the smile.

"I should hope so, that's quite a few hours of work you have on Mr. Rich. But the quality is to be expected. After all, I use only the highest quality fabrics and dyes. That's Cashmere on the jacket and the vest, comfortable and soft. The shirt is linen. I used a stronger and more breathable fabric there. Oh, and the tie, of course, is silk. All of the fabrics are pure and unmitigated, imported directly from the finest Prench textile weavers I know. On the other hoof, the dye I used on the tie is-"

"I think I understand, Miss Rarity." She nodded. Mr. Rich––along with his wife––were two of her strongest local clients. One of them was always there to fill the gaps between larger orders from some of her bigger clients. She couldn't allow herself to lose this sale, and she was willing to do anything she could to butter him up.

Mr. Rich smirked and turned back to face the mirror. "And it looks rather dashing on me as well, don't you think?" Rarity nodded. "Then again, I look good in just about anything I put on." He chuckled. "But honestly, it's one of the finest suits that I have ever had the pleasure of wearing. Of course I'll take it."

Rarity breathed a sigh of relief. She was exhausted, and even though it was barely past twelve, she was ready to turn in for the day. But a weight had been taken off of her shoulders. Her eyelids drooped and she allowed herself to slink down into the floor. A broad smile spread across her lips, but her smile and odd stance hadn't gone unnoticed. She snapped herself out of it when she realized her client was staring.

"Um, yes! Excellent!" bleated Rarity. "Why don’t you go and get changed so we can finish up."

"Actually, I think I'll wear it out, if you don't mind."

Rarity paused. "Oh, I see." She bit her lip. "Do be careful though dear, cashmere stains quite easily."

Mr. Rich smiled. "Ah yes. I will be sure to be careful on my way home, Miss Rarity...so that will be how much?"

"1,400 bits."

"1,400 firm?"

"1,400 firm."

He shook his head. "With all due respect, that is an outrageous price for such a simple outfit. I cannot go any higher than 1,000."

Rarity scoffed. "I'll drop to 1,300. But don't forget who asked for 'tame and traditional'."

"Not so firm after all, huh? Well I'll tell you what," he spat, "I'll meet you in the middle at 1,100, but no higher. Even I have a budget to adhere to, Miss Rarity."

"Yes, but these are the finest materials in all of Equestria! All imported! They're not cheap, my dear. And it's made by...well, me. 1,200 bits sounds more like the middle to me. And that offer is there only because you're such a valued customer."

Rarity knew how to work her clients. She could get them to submit to just about any price she set. It was her confidence, her posture, her sugar coated words, and a voice that could make even the most difficult customers cave. It was a toss of her mane, a sparkle in the eyes, a smile. (The smile alone would sometimes have ponies emptying their pockets.) A smoldering smile, small and cute, no teeth showing, the lower lip would hang out and form a slight pout. All accentuated by a small, but intentional, tilt of the head. And strangely, these charms seemed to be most effective against stallions.

Mr. Rich was a stallion.

He stepped down from the mirrored fitting platform with a sigh. "Alright, fine. 1,200 bits it is." Rarity nodded and levitated out a ledger with which she tracked her expenses. She had to fight to hide her smile and keep away her giggles. Seeing through her glasses, she scribbled in the number 1,200 and the name Filthy Rich, along with a few other formalities. "I honestly don't understand how you can sleep at night charging prices like these," Filthy spat as he dug through his pockets, "just despicable."

"Oh I sleep just fine, thank you." Rarity hid her smirk behind the ledger. Filthy pulled out a checkbook and scribbled the amount down. As he hoofed it over to Rarity, she had to bite her lip to avoid squeaking in the girlish way that mares sometimes do that is so entirely adorable, but so entirely improper.

"I'm sure you do... Cheapskate," he muttered

Rarity Calmly let the ledger fall on the coffee table off to the side of the room. "Anything else I can do for you today, Mr. Rich?"

"No, but, as always, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Rarity." He bowed and extended a hoof. Hmm? What's this? Trying to atone for your loutish comment, I see? Don’t think I didn’t hear you mumbling. She reluctantly accepted his hoof, and after they had shook he turned to take his leave. Rarity smiled and nodded behind his back.

"Yes, and thank you again for your business, Mr. Rich. Come again soon!"

"I'll be back as soon as I think my wardrobe needs some... touching up. Until next time, Miss Rarity."

She watched him step through the doorway. "Dry clean only!" The door of her shop closed with the ring of a bell.

Rarity turned the small wooden sign on the door from open to closed and fell to their floor, exhausted and giggling. She rolled over onto her back and removed her glasses. She rubbed her sore, reddened eyes. She had been wearing those glasses since Mr. Rich had entered the shop about two hours earlier.

"Oh, what a relief!" She said to herself, "I thought for a moment we didn't have a deal!" She glanced over at the check and ledger on the table. "Perhaps my price was a bit...steep, but if you want the best, you pay for the best!"

She rolled onto her side and let her head fall to the carpeted floor of the boutique. She closed her eyes and giggled. The floor seemed like a good enough place for a nap. A nap? On the floor? How scandalous, Miss Rarity! she thought. But she didn't care. She was tired and the floor felt like a much better option than dragging herself all the way up the stairs to her bed.

Rarity pulled up a stray bolt of fabric to use as a pillow. She snuggled in and started to drift off. After only a few minutes, she was stirred by her cat, Opalescence.

"Wha?...oh, Opal. Mummy's tired right now, sweetie. I'll feed you in...in about...four or five hoursss..."

Rarity was out again, but Opal wasn't having any of it. She mewed and prodded Rarity with her nose. Rarity responded by rolling over. Opal climbed atop her sleeping owner and dug her claws lightly into her coat, it was enough to generate a response.

"Opal!" Rarity shouted. She levitated the clawed creature off of her and dropped her roughly on the floor. "You want food?" She levitated out the entire bag of cat food and flung it at Opal, covering the cat in Kibbles N' Bits. "There. FOOD!" She rolled away and, while she was at it, drew up another sheet of fabric to use as a blanket.

As much as Opal loved being buried in her food, it wasn't what she was after either. She climbed out and headed towards the kitchen, planning her next attack. She returned with a calendar in her mouth, and placed it in front of Rarity.

Sunday was circled.

Every Sunday.

Opal licked the end of Rarity's nose. "OPAL! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS Behav...oh dear...is it Sunday? Already?" Rarity glanced over at the pile of food on the floor, and then back at her cat. Rarity drew Opal up into her arms. "Oh my goodness, Opal, I'm so sorry. If it wasn't for you, I might have completely forgotten!" Opal mewed, less out of appreciation and more out of fear of being strangled.

Rarity lifted the cat onto her back and rose to her hooves. Her legs wobbled and she fell back to the floor. "Oh, why does today have to be Sunday? Oh, maybe they wouldn't mind if I missed just one week," she said, closing her eyes again. "No, Rarity, this is something you have been doing every week for over a year now. It is not the time for making excuses!" She rose again, and this time, gained her balance.

Her cat was still lounging on her back as she began to clean things up. The bag of food had broken open. She collected it in her magic and placed a standard serving into a diamond encrusted bowl labeled, Opal in ornate calligraphy. The rest, she slid back into place in a cupboard. She replaced the calendar on its hook in the kitchen and turned back to her shop. All at once, she levitated the bits and pieces back into place, leaving only the ledger and Mr. Rich’s check on a small half-circle table standing against one side of her shop.

As she was doing this, she felt her eyes begin to droop. "Ugh, I need a pick-me-up." She got a pot of coffee going in the kitchen as she continued her work. Opal hopped off her owner's back and made way for her food bowl. After everything had been slid into place, she slipped on her glasses and returned her attention to the ledger.

"Lets see what we have," she sang, "7,000 from Hoity Toity––that's the big one––A five dress trial. And if they do well on the runway? ...The sky's the limit! 1,200 from Fleur for that stunning custom nightgown, 324...276, oh and 400 from Rose for that magnificent spring dress––well done on that one, Rarity." she counted the small sales carefully. "104 for those matching hats to Berryshine...36, 24, " she began to mumble, "Oh! And 20 to Twilight for that new pair of striped purple stockings." She giggled. "And finally, 1,200 to Filthy Rich! That makes...oh my..." Rarity lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "This week has been so incredibly busy. Profitable, but...oh, Rarity, it's just the start of the spring fashion season, let's not get too giddy. Most weeks you don't even break 3000." she paused, "Now. One eighth of that leaves 1,361 bits for the...no...no wait, but, but that's impossible! Something doesn't add up!"

She double checked her math, scanning down the page a second time. 200 bits had mysteriously vanished from her records. "How? What? Who? ...Rainbow Dash! I borrowed her those bits three weeks ago. And to buy VIP Wonderbolts tickets, how ridiculous! And they still haven't been returned! The nerve of that pony. If she doesn't return those bits this instant, I'll...I'll!"

The door of Rarity's shop burst open, the bell above nearly tore from it's ribbon. Rarity sighed. Don't ponies not know what the meaning of CLOSED is? She didn't take her eyes off the ledger. "I'm sorry, but The Carousel Boutique has closed early today," she said sweetly despite her annoyance.

"Rarity, it's me." Rarity looked up from the financial record to see Rainbow Dash standing sheepishly in the middle of her shop.

"Rainbow Dash. Just the pony I wanted to see."

"Right, this is about the bits isn't it?" Rarity nodded. "Got 'em right here," she said with a smile. She unfolded a wing and dropped a sack of bits onto the table. "Sorry about being late and everything or whatever." Rainbow quickly tried to move away from the subject. "Me and Fluttershy were going to see a movie tonight, if you wanted to tag along."

"You know, it's very impolite to keep a lady waiting."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Whatever, sorry. So, you wanna come?"

"It's been three weeks, Rainbow Dash." Rarity spat. Rainbow stuttered, caught off guard by Rarity's sudden temper change. "You told me you would return these bits within a few days."

"It's just a few bits, Rarity."

"A few bits! Rainbow, this isn't just of a few bits between friends we're talking about. 200 bits is no petty little sum to be carelessly tossed about!" She paused, shuddered, and took a breath to calm herself. “Rainbow, I asked you to return those bits last Sunday, as well as the Sunday prior, and I believe I’ve given you more than enough reminders in between those dates too, hmm? Just about every time I’ve seen you? It’s not like this is a new issue, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow Dash's voice rose. "I know, but I guess it just...slipped my mind a bit, okay. Rarity. I-"

"Slipped your mind?" Rarity's tone grew harsh.

"Look, Rarity. I'm sorry. Really I-"

"Sorry isn't good enough! I loaned you those bits three weeks ago! It is completely unacceptable to treat a friend's money with such carelessness and disrespect! I often believe that the only pony you ever show any consideration for is yourself, Rainbow Dash! You self-centered, narcissistic little...ignoramus! How you ever became the element of loyalty, I have no idea. You're not even loyal enough to return somepony's-"

"Quit being such a bitch about it! God damn! I gave you your damn money, I told you I was sorry! What the hell do you want me to say? Sure I was late, but that was because...because I didn't...I just don't. You know what? Screw it. And screw you too, Rarity." She stood for a moment, giving a fierce glare before shaking her head and turning to leave with a flick of her tail. “Just forget about that movie, Rarity, you're not invited." She opened the door to leave and glanced back into the room.

"Some element of generosity you are."

The door of the shop slammed shut.

Rainbow Dash hadn't intended for Rarity to hear her last piece. She had mumbled it under her breath, but, Rarity had heard it. Loud and clear. She felt tears coming to her eyes. She blinked them away and tried to return her attention to the ledger, but Rainbow's words were crashing around in her head.

Her magic failed a few times before she was able to take up her quill in an unsteady grip. Her glasses fogged up so she threw them to the ground. Rarity took a deep breath and shivered. She scribbled one last name and number into the rows of white boxes.

200 from Rainbow Dash.

The ledger clattered onto the table, the quill floated down beside it. Rarity sniffled and blinked away some tears. She recollected her glasses from the floor, carelessly checking for damage before setting them down next to the ledger.

She felt her legs going weak, there was a sharp pain in her chest. More tears came to her eyes, but this time they couldn't be blinked away. She wiped her eyes with her hoof, dampening her coat. She couldn't think, her head was filled with Rainbow's hurtful words. The words, just a few simple words, they cut her, choked her, and knotted her up on the inside. She swallowed, and when more tears filled her eyes, she made no effort to clear them. She whimpered and slumped. She leaned against the table for some support, but knew it was no use. Soon she would be reduced to a blubbering heap, bawling there on the floor of her shop, alone.

The buzz of the coffee machine saved her.

She looked up, surprised, and quickly crossed the room to the machine. She silenced the alarm, poured herself an extra tall cup, and took a drink. The bitter brew tightened her up. She topped off the mug and took another drink, drowning the pain at the bottom of the cup. She filled her cup again, this time adding two cubes of sugar and a dash of cream.

She stood on her hind legs, leaning with her back to the countertop. She held the cup greedily in her hooves, keeping it close to her muzzle. She could think clearly now. The room had stopped spinning, the air ceased to choke her and her eyes no longer stung, but she was still in a foul mood.

"The nerve of that pony! Saying such terrible things."

You said some terrible things yourself, Rarity.

"Yes, but-" Rarity stopped herself to think. Really think. She tried to put herself in Rainbow’s hooves. She had returned the bits. A little late, yes, but they were returned nonetheless. Rainbow had walked right up to her, looked her in the eye, and told her that she was sorry. Really, genuinely sorry. But Rarity had ignored everything. She had insulted her and ridiculed her for something that she couldn’t control. At least not entirely. 200 bits to Rainbow dash was a lot more than 200 bits to Rarity. She thought about Rainbow’s job on the weather team. The amounts they handed out to all of their employees at the end of month wasn’t much. Nothing compared to what she could rake in in just a few days. Rarity frowned, disgusted with herself. She had done it again. She had let her selfish side come out. And now her relationship with Rainbow Dash had been damaged, and it was probably going to take a little more than a simple sorry to get back on her good side. It was difficult for Rarity; being kind and generous while also living an extravagant lifestyle, complete with fine dining, fine clothes, fine music, and fine everything else. Rarity was a lover of the lavish, the luxurious, the exquisite. But she couldn’t stand the way that many of the other well-to-do ponies treated each other. They were constantly at each other’s throats, eager to pounce on their enemies and tear them to shreds just to raise themselves up one more rung on the social ladder. But she especially hated the way these elitists would treat ponies who had done nothing to them other than not have as much money to throw around. Oh how she hated the way they would strut past the commoners––she hated that word like nothing else––without a care, like they didn’t exist. Throwing their heads back, and tilting their flawless little surgically corrected noses into the air, taking up as much space as possible in the middle of the street, and snorting at anyone who happened to wander into their path. It made Rarity so frustrated that, if given the chance, she would gladly grind these ponies into the dust on the roads that they so confidently walked. Rarity felt torn between these two worlds. Whenever she caught herself acting like one of those ponies, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. But she wasn’t about to choose between them. Her friends or her desires. She was content to constantly struggle to both have her cake and eat it too.

Rarity sighed. “For god’s sake, Rarity, never let yourself become made of plastic. Stretch this, pull that, cut this, inject that, enlarge this, shrink that. No. Never. No matter how shriveled up you get, don’t ever let yourself become like them... Fake.” She sighed again. She dreaded the conversation that she was going to have with Rainbow the next time she ran into her, but at least now that she had had some time to think, she wasn’t quite as glum. She took another sip of coffee, shrugged, and glanced over at the clock.

"Well, I guess its about time I started getting ready." She took a quick sip of her coffee before trotting upstairs to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, dabbed on a bit of makeup, and put her mane into its usual style. She returned to the main floor and moved to the table with the ledger and her checkbook. She counted off one eighth of the week's profits and scribbled the amount down onto a check. The ledger, the quill, the bits, and all the checks floated back into the safe across the room.

Rainbow’s words rung through her head.

Rarity glanced back at the safe, troubled. She stared for a moment before opening the safe and withdrawing the money again. She scratched off the old check and took another quarter of the profits. No. More. More! Its not enough, I need more. Much more. She tore apart the check and scribbled a new one, this one for a little over 6,000. Half of the week’s profit. Generosity? I'll show you generosity.

"But only just this once, Rarity, I can't afford to do this every week." She floated up a small, faux-leather shoulder bag and buckled the strap. She slid the check snug inside, and threw in a few cosmetic necessities as well just in case of an emergency. She zipped the pocket of the stylish brown tote closed and secured it around her shoulder. Opal spied on Rarity from the kitchen, one eye covered by the doorframe, the other peering out fiercely. "Mommy's going out, Opal," she said, not noticing the prowling little feline. "I'll be back later tonight. Help yourself to something if you get hungry, okay sweetie?" The door closed and was locked from the outside.

Opal shrank back into the kitchen. Finally, Rarity was gone, and she was alone. Opal paid no attention to her bowl and headed straight for the cupboard. She pulled out a bag of chips and left them on the couch in the next room. She returned to the kitchen and headed towards the fridge. After a quick struggle it was open and she began to rummage through.

She needed a drink. Unfortunately, all Rarity ever kept in the boutique was wine. An entire rack filled with bottles of the purply stuff sat on the counter. Opal wasn't after the soft stuff, an entire bottle of those fancy, fruity wines wouldn't even make her paws twitch. But Opal had a secret stash. At the back of the fridge on the lowest shelf, she found an unopened bottle of premium Apple Family cider. Only one bottle left. She needed to get her paws on some more before next Sunday. Cider, rum, whiskey, whatever, she didn't care, as long as it wasn't wine. Apple cider wasn't exactly hard liquor, but she would take it over a prissy glass of glorified grape juice any day. She moved back into the other room and hopped up onto the couch. She tore the ribbon from her hair and worked herself out of her itchy collar.

Opalescence leaned back, cracked open the bottle of cider, and switched on the TV.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rarity stretched herself out and took off through town at a brisk trot. A sullen bank of grey clouds partially obscured the sun. They didn't feel like rain clouds, they were more: make-everything-a-little-more-depressing clouds. Slowly floating in from the west, bound to eventually cover the entire town, but for now, they left the streets of Ponyville in a somber, iron-grey light.

But it was business as usual in the pastoral little town nestled into the foothills of the mountain that held the gleaming capitol of Canterlot. It was picturesque. Perfect. Like a page torn from a storybook. The inclement weather didn't seem to be dampening anypony's spirits, and the usual selection of vendors were peddling their usual goods in their usual spots. Some had begun to close their shops early, not unusual considering it was a Sunday.

Rarity was in especially good spirits, almost skipping, exchanging waves, smiles and a few quick words with some of her friends. She had shoved her conversation with Rainbow Dash to the back of her mind. Part of her couldn't wait to make things up with her, but that issue, she decided, was to be dealt with tomorrow.

The clouds continued to roll in. The density of the buildings began to ease as she ventured away from downtown and through the surrounding rows of quiet cottages. But downtown wasn't the right word to describe it. In Ponyville, there were no towering skyscrapers erected out of steel and filled in with glass. And no dark, cold, steaming alleys that would run between these monoliths. The roads were wide, bright, unpaved, cheerfully decorated, and clean. The filth that clung to the narrow streets of the larger cities was gone. In Ponyville, there were trees. Trees! In the streets! Not lined up in columns next to the street, identical, caged up and trapped by iron grates to contain them, dull green from little sunlight, and living off toxic chemicals. No, these were real trees. Beautiful, healthy trees. Wonderful trees and grasses and gardens full of sweet-smelling flowers and window boxes that flowed with daisies and daffodils and lilies and roses and everything else always bursting with color and life.

There were animals too. Birds fluttered through the the streets, making nests in the trees that filled them. Insects drank from flowers beneath the windows, occasionally landing on your nose to tease you with their colors. When you ate your lunch outside, (which you often did) the little critters would take notice, approaching you, cautiously only at first, begging you to share a piece of your food. You would share, and you would smile as they scurried away to eat. And when you turned back to your lunch, a dozen more would be there, begging.

There was rarely a sad soul in Ponyville. Ponies walked with a spring in each step and a smile on their faces. Sometimes there was a place to go and sometimes there wasn't. Sometimes, they were just walking for the sake of walking. Walking in pairs and groups, greeting other groups and pairs with waves, words, and nods. Even on the darkest of days it was a cheerful place. The village was always busy with peaceful activity. It was a tight knit group in Ponyville. Everypony knew Everypony.

There was rarely a smiling soul in the city. Ponies walked with uncertainty, shoulders sagging, eyes downcast, drooping, tracing the creeping cracks in the sidewalk. Eyes full of worry. Their hooves dragged, struggling for each centimeter. An exhausted frown always stuck to their faces. There was an indifferent blankness in their stares. There was always a place to go, ponies didn't dare leave the partial privacy and comfort of their homes for the distress of the streets without a good reason. They would walk alone, their faces always dug into phones, negotiating the next deal or negotiating the end to the next relationship. When their eyes happened to meet, ponies greeted each other with snorts, scowls, and sighs. Even on bright shining days, there was an air of melancholy that hung over the crowded streets. The city was always clamoring with frantic activity. It was a loose congregation in the city. Nopony knew anypony.

The trees, the grass, the flowers, the birds, the bugs, the animals, the sunlight, the smiles, the laughs, the joy, the life.

The concrete jungle of the modern metropolis supported no such things

Rarity climbed a hill on the outskirts and cast a glance back at her home, the hill provided an excellent vantage point. Streams of light shot through the clouds, coating the town in a shimmering, golden light. Ponyville.

Picturesque indeed.

Sure, Rarity was a bit bias, having grown up in Manehattan. It was far from the best place to raise a foal. Harsh and fast-paced, the city had its charm, all of which was alien to young Rarity. And now it was impossible for her to see in any modern city the warm, inviting hearth that Ponyville so potently offered. Her family had moved to Ponyville after the birth of her sister, and coming here was like a breath of fresh air. In a metaphorical sense, but a literal one too. She loved Ponyville. Loved everything about it. There was no doubt about that.

Rarity returned her attention to the road, she would be close now. The path became rougher, weeds and grasses had overgrown onto it, squeezing it tighter. It ebbed and flowed across the rolling hills and Rarity followed it, still keeping a brisk pace.

As Rarity climbed the next rise, the building slowly came into view, an anemic wooden structure. Simple and sorry-looking, the sides were mud brown and the shingles that covered the roof were charcoal black. Half of the shingles were missing and half of the wooden paneling had gone too. Naked replacement boards had been hastily nailed over the scars in the walls, but the missing shingles had not been replaced. The plywood structure underneath was exposed, but it was only apparent to the careful observer. The exposed wood had rotted from snow and rain, and now the decaying fibers had grown as black as the shingles themselves. The wretched problem had become the miserable solution. How apropos, thought Rarity with a cynical smile. The second story seemed to hunch over the first, like an aging stallion struggling to carry his own weight. White curtains that had turned grey were drawn across every window. Each of these windows was adorned by dark green shutters. Real, working shutters––a testament to the building's age––that were there for more than just decoration. A soft amber light shone through a few of them on the ground floor. A brick stack stood at the back of the structure, and it too was missing pieces.

Rarity traced the deteriorating path up the final hill to the building. Above the door, illuminated by an electric lantern was a metal sign. The letters were inscribed in a bracket that followed the slight curve of the doorway. The black paint had started to chip in a few areas, revealing rusted iron underneath. The sign was supported by two metal posts on either side of the doorway.

PONYVILLE ORPHANAGE

Rarity glanced down from the sign to her shoulder bag. She stared at its brown, faux leather finish, golden zipper and buckle. She recalled the price tag on the exclusive designer item. She sighed and looked to the heavy oaken door in front of her. Iron reinforcements spanned its width. She stepped through the arch that held the sign and stood for a moment, gathering herself. She raised a hoof to knock but hesitated. She brought her hoof to the knob instead and turned it.

They would be expecting her.

–––

The orphanage looked decrepit from the outside. The inside wasn't doing much better. The walls were covered with peeling wallpaper that had a floral red rose pattern against white background. It was difficult to look at, and If you stared for too long, the colors would flow and mash together into a disgusting paste of shape and color. Various landscape paintings were nailed to the walls, bravely providing some sad cheer. Rows of flickering fluorescent lights ran along the ceiling, similar to the ones you might see in the halls of a decaying apartment building. The sound they produced was incessant, like a swarm of bees buzzing overhead. The harsh light they gave off made everything in the room difficult to look at, and squinting was almost a necessity. The tile was gross. Just gross. White had turned to pale yellow, like a thick coat of plaque on a clean row of teeth. The grout was grey and full of dirt and grime, and the tiles were broken in places. Just like everything else.

The orphanage was put together like an old jigsaw puzzle. It was incomplete. Everywhere you looked there was a piece missing. A hole in the wall here, a spent fluorescent tube there, cracked paintings, cracked tile, exposed wiring, chipped furnishings, broken this, broken that, incomplete this, incomplete that. All the missing pieces made everything look unstable, even abandoned. But abandoned, the orphanage was not.

A desk sat in the corner of the room to the right. Unlike the rickety tables and chairs and benches elsewhere in the room, it was big, sturdy, and tall––the pony working behind it was hidden from view. The desk looked like it had been recycled from a bank. There was a small reception window cut into the wood, and there was even one of those swinging, half-door things like one you might expect to find outside a saloon in a dusty western outpost.

Rarity stepped into the harsh light and made her way to the counter. She propped herself up and looked through. A small pegasus mare was hunched over a tall stack of paperwork. A sleek pair of glasses hung on the end of her nose, a string of white beads hooked them around her neck. Her coat was grey, her mane was black, both fitting colors––all things considered. Her mane was held back by a clip behind her head. At the sound of Rarity's hooves on the counter, she looked up from her work and smiled when she saw Rarity's eager face. She couldn't have been more than forty five or fifty years old, but time had not been kind to her. Her face, like everything else, was cracked. Dark wrinkles covered her face, her cheeks sagged, the circles underneath her eyes were magnified by her glasses. Her coat was dull, but her sky blue eyes were bright. They had a complex depth to them. Kind and understanding, but also intelligent.

"Miss Rarity, good to see you," she said.

"And you too, Checker. How have you been?"

"Good," Checker said after a pause, "good, yes...very good." The smile ran away from her face. She was under a good deal of stress, if the mounds of paperwork were any indication. Her deep wrinkles drew Rarity's attention. A horrible thought crossed her mind. You know, Rarity, you too are under a great deal of stress these days. Always some kind of deadline bearing down on you. You certainly don't want to look like Checker in thirty years, not that she is an unattractive mare, no, no. She has great eyes, and that mane, if it wasn't tied up like that, it would be gorgeous! No, she's just a little, you know...saggy. You should do more to relieve your stress... How about...double vacation time! Yes, that sounds good. And...more trips to the spa! Yes, one with Fluttershy and one with Twilight every week. Yes, Twilight likes the occasional pampering, unlike some of your other friends. Not to judge them, of course. Twice a week should be enough. And you should get your hooves on one of those tiny little stress balls. Whenever you're feeling a bit overwhelmed you could just take it and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and SQUEEZE AND-

"Miss Rarity?" she repeated.

"Um, oh, excuse me, Checker I must have lost myself for a moment. What is it that you asked?"

"How have things been going at the boutique lately?"

"Oh just wonderful. This past week has been one of the best I've had in years!" Checker nodded, and motioned with her eyes. She shifted in her spinning office chair. There was something else she was looking for. "And of course, my weekly donation." Rarity drew out the check and slid it onto the counter. The older mare's jaw dropped. She prodded it with her hoof. Yes, it was real. She looked up at Rarity in disbelief, waiting to be told this was some kind of joke.

"Go on," Rarity said.

"Rarity, this is," she stuttered, she rubbed her eyes as if they were deceiving her, "this is...how muc-”

"6,244"

She had to pick her jaw up off the floor before she could speak. "Rarity, this is just, I can't accept this."

"Absolute nonsense!" Rarity stomped her hoof on the counter. "You need every last bit and you know it. Just look at this place. Even with my donations, it's falling into disrepair. I had a good week and there was plenty left over for the orphanage."

"But this is outrageous! How can you afford to give so much week after week? You need these bits, Rarity."

"No. I don’t, and I know who else needs them a thousand times more." Rarity grinned. Checker looked back at the check before her, still stunned. She removed her glasses, they fell to her neck supported by the string of beads. Her eyes were much less striking without the added magnification.

"I-I don't know what to say..." Checker said. Rarity leaned her head over the desk.

"Then don't say anything," Rarity whispered. Checker smiled back. Her eyes went from the check, to the forlorn state of the room, and then back to Rarity.

"Just...thank you. You have no idea how much this helps."

"It's nothing, Checker, really it isn't. I'm just happy to know that my bits are going to a good cause, and that I'm appreciated." Rarity's eyes moved to the stairwell leading up at the opposite end of the room. "Are the kids?"

"Waiting for you," checker finished. Rarity nodded and lifted her hooves from the counter before making her way over.

"Wait," Checker called to Rarity. She came trotting out from behind her desk through the saloon-style door that Rarity found to be so comically out of place. Checker came right up to Rarity and met her in front of the stairs. Checker was a small, but stout pony. About a head shorter than Rarity, she had a delicate neck and a thin barrel, but thick, powerful legs holding herself up. "Again, thank you." Her tone was very deliberate. "Thank you. We couldn't survive without your donations, Rarity. I don't want to think about what would happen if you weren't here to give your support."

"Don't worry, as long as I'm around, nothing will ever happen to this orphanage. I'll be sure of it." Rarity saw a twinkle in the mare's eyes. Some of her wrinkles seemed to disappear. She stood up straighter and smiled big and wide.

"Rarity?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Um...well I-" Checker threw both of her arms around Rarity's neck and squeezed. After recovering from the surprise, Rarity returned the hug with a hoof. Checker held her in place for a moment, not wanting to let go.

"Thank you. And bless your kind heart, Rarity, really." Rarity was flushed from all the praise. "Go. They adore you more than I ever could." Checker returned to her desk with a faint bounce in her step. Rarity was beaming. She stood for a moment, sighed and made her way up the stairs.

Checker sat down at her desk and fixed her glasses back onto her nose. She stared at the check in front of her before carefully moving it aside. She clicked her pen and focused on the mounds of paperwork. It was an almost hoof tall stack of documents. She looked back at the unfinished paper before her.

"Ugh, and this isn't even my final form..."

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Quiet! Pipe Down! I hear her coming..."

"..."

"Aye, nevermind."

"You need to get your ears checked, Scribbles," said a colt with a stern voice from behind.

"Nothing be wrong with me ears mate! I cun hear them doonstairs talking from here!" His left eye twitched before he pushed his glasses into place.

"How long are we going to have to stand like this? She's been down there for like...forever," said a small purple filly.

"It certainly feels like it! So long that I bet my mane cut is goin' outta style!" Said another.

"No it's not, Ruby."

"What do you mean?"

"I think it looks nice."

"Really?"

"Actually...I think it's kind of cute, ya know, cut all short n' stuff, hanging over your nice eyes...n' stuff."

"Do you really think so?"

The colt rubbed the back of his head. "Well yea, I mean, you would look good no matter what, but-"

"Scatter that's...that's-"

"Get a room!"

"Be quiet, all of you!" said a small snow white filly at the front of the group. "We won't be able to hear anything if you keep chatting, so be quiet and listen." The group agreed with a few nods and mumbles. Scatter and Ruby Dust scooted a step closer to each other.

After a while longer––a time which seemed like forever for the foals––the soft sound of hooves drifted up from the stairway. "Here she comes!" A chorus of shushes sounded from the line, as well as a few giggles. Rarity climbed the last stair and stepped into the loft of the orphanage. The loft had been converted into the main living space for the foals. On one end was an open area with a large circular rug. A bookshelf and a few chests full of toys lined the walls around the rug. On the other end of the room, a set of sixteen identical, steel framed beds had been lined up in neat rows along either side. A brick fireplace was burning a tall stack of logs on the side with the beds.

The ceiling was high, and because there was no attic, it followed the steep pitch of the roof. The living space was much different from the reception area. It was warm and inviting, the entire room was bathed in a soft orange glow. Natural light streamed in from the windows above each bed and a few electric lights were also lit. Other than the beds, everything in the room was the same wooden color, a rich, walnut brown. The matching colors and high pitch of the roof gave the impression that the entire second floor had been cut out of a single enormous tree.

Pieces were still missing here and there, although not nearly as many. A few bed legs had been hastily welded or even duct-taped back together, and a few chips and holes could still be seen. The signs of age were still present, stains and spots on furniture, faded colors, dust. Even though it was clear the orphanage had been given a thorough scrubbing before Rarity's visit, there was still dust. Dust everywhere. Floating and swirling and sticking to everything in the room.

It was a great deal more comfortable than the rest of the Orphanage, and it provided all the comforts of home at absolutely no charge to you. You and fifteen of your closest friends. There was a shelf of decaying books to read, reread, and read again. Any toy that a foal could ask for, as long as it was a toy that a foal didn't ask for. (Or no longer cared for.) There was usually plenty of food to eat, cooked anything but fresh in the kitchen below, always tasting the same, regardless of ingredients. There was always never enough water. Always never enough soap. Always never enough firewood. Always never enough toys. Always never enough to read. Always never enough blankets. Always never enough medicine. Always never enough food. Always never enough money. Always never enough love. Always never enough of anything.

Except hope.

Always enough hope.

Rarity climbed the last stair into the loft of the orphanage. The foals of the orphanage had lined up into two rows––the taller in the back. They each held up a childishly crafted paper sign in their hooves, one symbol a sign. The sixteen orphans had lined up and spelled out THANK YOU, RARITY! There was even a foal who had been assigned to hold the comma in its correct place. They were all grinning at her, waiting for her to react, but Rarity couldn't move an inch.

"Thank you, Rarity!" They all shouted in unison.

Hope and gratitude.

Rarity quivered and choked. More tears were coming. But she was saved by the foals breaking rank, charging at her, and tackling her to the ground. They all fought for a piece of her to grab onto, shoving, elbowing, perhaps even biting. Once they had gotten a piece of her, they latched on and didn't let go. They were like a pack of ravenous little puppies, fighting over who could best smother their owner in affection.

Rarity didn't know who to greet first. She was being bombarded by questions, but still tried to answer as many as she could, even from her awkward position. After a while longer––a time which seemed like forever for Rarity––the foals relented, and allowed Rarity to regain her footing, although they still stood around her in a tight circle. Gazing up in awe. Rarity continued to answer to their eager questioning. They offered her gifts, all hoofcrafted and homemade. They praised her hairstyle, and gawked at her designer shoulder bag. Rarity bought her time, hoping the foals would eventually run out of steam. When there was a large enough gap between questions, Rarity pounced on the opportunity.

"So! What should we do with the time we have today?"

"Story!" They all said together. She smiled. It was what she had gotten used to hearing. The foals left their tight circle and gave Rarity some breathing room. They darted about to relieve some of their pent up energy before eventually settling down on the rug at the other end of the room. Rarity took a moment to gather herself before making her way over to the half-circle of children. There was a rocking chair in the center with her name on it. But before she could get far, a large, muscular hoof stopped her.

She turned to see Checker's husband towering over her. He had been standing off to the side of the foals and had gone unnoticed. He was grinning with his eyes at half mast. Rarity blushed. He had seen everything. He was a large stallion, about the same age as checkers––he looked much younger, however. An earth pony, his coat was light brown, and his mane was a few shades darker. He wore it long and flowing around his shoulders, every lock curled and looped to the end. His eyes, like his wife's, showed intelligent depth. They were pastel blue, gentle, but also clever, and even humorous. Age had been much more kind to him. He displayed only a few wrinkles, and he was still in impeccable shape. He stood straight and proud like a venerable iron statue. He was the handypony of the Orphanage, and he kept everything running as best he could with the money they had. While Checker took care of the financial and legal side of running an orphanage, He took care of everything else. Rarity had seen him doing everything from repairing to cooking to disciplining, and the foal's respect for him was obvious. He took one of Rarity's petite hooves in one of his large ones.

"Miss Rarity," he said cordially. He was also very suave.

Rarity flushed again. "Tenderhoof! Good evening. You've been well, I can imagine?" He was still smiling.

"Very well. Yes." He released his hold on her hoof. "And you?" His voice was like drowning in an ocean of butter. Whole. Fat. Butter.

"Oh, just Excellent. I had a very good week at the boutique. I made many good sales and-"

"Rarity! Stop talking to your boyfriend and read us a story!" came a voice from the crowd of impatient foals. Following the voice came a chorus of giggles. They had already waited days for her arrival, thus they were not really in a waiting mood. Rarity rolled her eyes and turned back to Tenderhoof.

"We should catch up sometime," Rarity said. "You and I...and Checker of course."

He chuckled, and the entire room seemed to shake. "We should! I feel like we've never really gotten to know each other," he said as he looked over her shoulder. "We should find some time to talk, but not now, they're starting to glare." Rarity glanced back at the scowling set of foals, and then back to Tenderhoof. She nodded to him and crossed the room. She settled down into the rocking chair, slung her purse around one of the pegs, and looked out over the orphans. Their smiles had returned.

"Let's see what we have, shall we?" Rarity looked over to the bookshelf. She saw a thick book that still had some gloss on the spine. Not recognizing it from last week's visit, she assumed it had just been bought. She levitated it out. It was an anthology of children's short stories. The thick volume contained about a hundred stories, illustrated and written with only a few lines per page. It was near impossible to flip the hefty volume around each time to show the picture, but luckily, Rarity could make use of her magic to make that task a little easier.

"This looks like a good one." She flipped through the book, looking for a story that caught her eye. She glanced up from the storybook. The foals were laying in various positions, on haunches, on bellies, on backs, and on sides. They arranged themselves in a half-circle around the chair, all smiles. She glanced over to the stairs at the far end of the room. Tenderhoof was there, reared up, leaning against the wall, hooves crossed in front of him, all smiles.

Rarity stopped flipping through the book and took a moment to stare. All of his features were defined. From his legs to his muzzle there was muscle. Natural muscle. He probably never had much time to work out, but from the looks of him, he hardly ever needed to. A few push ups and he was set for a week. His eyes were amazing. They were eyes into which you could easily become lost. The curve of his face was just right. His mane was gorgeous. His well groomed coat shone in the sunlight filtering through the windows. His pose didn't make him any less attractive. His crossed forelegs showed more rippling muscle. They were the kind of arms you wanted to be held in, and hopefully, to be carried into bed with. He looked like a cool cowpony relaxing in the shade of his barn after a hard days work, smirking, relaxed, and entirely aware of himself. His smile could slay dragons. (His muscles probably could too.) All in all, he was quite the specimen.

If only he were twenty-five years younger and single. Rarity mused. If only, if only. She nodded to him, and Tenderhoof nodded back. He made his way down the stairs, leaving her alone with the sixteen orphans.

He must have a huge co-

"Rarity? You there?" asked a colt in the center.

"Yes! Of course! Yes, yes." Rarity blushed. Thinking such things in front of foals! Rarity shook her head and returned her attention to the storybook. "This is a new book?"

"Thut's correct, Miss Raraty, frush and new just thuss week." Scribbles? Yes, the one with that adorable little Bridish accent, thought Rarity, north Bridish. Maybe even Trottish? Rarity smiled and continued to flip through. There were enough stories to last them at least a few months. The children were a little more patient now that it was only a matter of time before it was story time. She eventually came to an old classic that she recognized.

"Oh, here's a good one." She cleared her throat.

"B-but Miss Rarity?" one said. They all shared the same worried expression.

"Oh! How could I forget? Who wants to sit in Rarity's lap while she reads?" Twenty hooves shot up (a few ponies thought throwing up two hooves might improve their chances of being picked.) They stretched their hooves into the air, straining to raise them as high as possible, sometimes bracing one hoof with the other. They tried to influence her decision with smiles and bright eyes. Rarity scanned the crowd, she always tried to pick somepony who hadn't gotten a chance in a while. She saw a small snow white filly near the front of the crowd, she hadn't gotten a chance to sit in her lap yet. But she wasn't exactly new either. She had been at the orphanage for several months now. Rarity smiled at her. Silver Streak, or just 'Streaks' for short.

"How about...you!" Twenty hooves slowly fell back to the floor. Fifteen bodies slumped and groaned, one shot up and smiled. "Silver Streak, come up here sweetie." The filly walked over to her. She was probably a little younger than Sweetie Belle, and she was just a little smaller than her too. It was the first time Rarity noticed how straight her teeth were and how beautiful her purple eyes were. The color was about the same as Rarity's mane. Silver Streaks's mane was also purple, but a lighter, almost magenta color, with a few white stripes running down the middle. It was straight, but each lock of hair ended in a slight curl, neatly styled to fall around one shoulder. Her mane was parted to one side, half was tucked immediately behind her right ear, while the rest flowed across her forehead to be tucked behind the left. Her hair was styled in such a way that it occasionally let thin, violety strands of hair fall in front of one of her eyes, masking it like a gossamer curtain, where it would stay, adorably, begging to be whisked back behind that ear, until finally it was, allowing your racing heart to calm. A small white ribbon was tied in a bow through her hair, adding to the streaks theme. Her mark was a painter's canvas with a silver streak running from one corner to the opposite. She was cute, even for a filly. She crawled up into her lap and settled in.

The children shifted in excitement, on the edge of their respective pieces of carpeting. "The town mouse and the country mouse." She cleared her throat and began to read. After every line she would flip the book and show an illustration to her attentive audience.

– – –

"A town mouse once visited a relative who lived in the country. For lunch the country mouse served wheat stalks, roots, and acorns, with a dash of cold water to drink.

"The town mouse ate very sparingly, nibbling a little of this and a little of that, and by her manner making it very plain that she ate the simple food only to be polite.

"After the meal, the friends had a long talk, or rather the town mouse talked about her life in the city while the country mouse listened. They went to bed in a cozy nest in the hedgerow and slept in quiet comfort until morning.

"In her sleep the country mouse dreamed she was a town mouse with all the luxuries and delights of city life that her friend had described for her. So the next day when the town mouse asked the country mouse to go home with her to the city, she gladly said yes.

"When they reached the mansion in which the town mouse lived, they found on the table in the dining room a fine banquet. There were jellies, pastries, delicious cheese, indeed the most tempting foods that a mouse can imagine.

"But just as the country mouse was about to nibble a dainty bit of pastry, she heard a cat mew loudly and scratch at the door. In great fear the mice scurried to find a hiding place, where they lay still for a long time, hardly daring to breathe.

"When at last they ventured back to the feast, the door opened suddenly and in came the servants to clear the table, leaving not a scrap behind. The country mouse stopped in the town mouse's den only long enough to pick up her bag and umbrella.

"'You have many luxuries and dainties that I do not,' she said as she hurried away, 'but I prefer my plain food and simple life in the country with the peace and security that go with it.'"

– – –

The foals stared amongst themselves, whispering softly, unsure what to think about the story they had just been told. A tall colt in the back abruptly spoke up, stating what every foal in the room was thinking.

"That story was bad."

"And the author should feel bad."

"Yeah, that was boring," said another.

"It needs more action," said an equally unimpressed foal. Rarity chuckled at their innocence.

"It might not have been the most exciting story, and I certainly have to agree that it was a very...interesting adaptation. But stories like this are meant to teach you something. They call it a moral. A moral is something you learn from a story, or even a life experience. There's a moral to this story, can anyone tell me what it is?" The company was speechless. They looked around, hoping their friends could offer some insight. Their mouths would open but no words would come out. They would shake their heads and continue to think, they all wanted to be the first to answer and impress their guest.

"Living simple and secure is better than living lavish and dangerous?" said the filly in Rarity's arms, unsure of herself.

"Um...why yes!" Rarity was caught off guard by her abrupt answer. This was the sort of thing that normally flew right over kids' adorable little heads. "Very good, Silver Streak, very good. That's exactly right. Living a simple but secure life is better than living one in unstable luxury." The rest of the orphans agreed with nods and mumbles.

"..."

"It still wasn't a good story."

"Well, I didn't think it was that bad," said Silver Streak, "But it still wasn't good. No way. Can you read us another one...please?" Her voice was cute too.

"Absolutely! I wouldn't want to disappoint." Rarity flipped through the book again, looking for something more contemporary.

"One with more adventure."

"And danger!"

"And explosions!"

"Yeah! More explosions!"

Rarity nodded and continued her search. After a moment she found just the thing. "Okay, here's one you might like." Oh dear. "The Adventures of Shadowrend the Alicorn." My. How quaint.

"That sounds awesome!"

"Read it! Read it!" The foals were once again on the edge of their respective pieces of carpeting.

Rarity sighed, cleared her throat, and began to read.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

After a few more stories––each of which was worse than the last––the foals began to lose interest in the stories, their short attention spans becoming obvious. After one about a pegasus and a dragon they thanked Rarity and sprang up from the carpet. Rarity moved the rocking chair from one side of the room to the other, plopping it down in front of the fireplace. She watched with a placid smile as the foals went about their business. They split off into groups, a few ponies to a group, and in each group, a different activity.

There was a group sitting around on the carpet, playing with the various toys, dolls and action figures. The colts separated from the fillies, aware of their incompatible play styles. The colts seemed to have split into two teams. Their figurines were engaged in pitched battle. Violent and bloody, the colts hid from the carnage behind mighty walls of wooden blocks as they planned their next attack on the enemy fortress. Sending scores of brave knights to their doom.

The fillies had adapted a more civilized way of play. Their fortress was a mighty, but shoddy-looking dollhouse, built in typical victorian style. Painted mostly pink and white, it rose higher than the sitting fillies. They were all playing for the same team, working together for the advancement of ponykind. They talked in small, delicate voices, a unique voice to each character. Their speech akin to how a mare of high class and good morals would speak. Occasionally, a battle scarred warrior would be flung away from the chaos created by the colts into the calm of the fillies. They would welcome these beastly brutes into their home and give them food, water, and a bed to sleep in. The stallions would talk in gruff, gravelly voices. (The fillies were at their cutest when they attempted, although rather poorly, to give one of these newcomers a norse accent.) Their speech was akin to how a stallion of bad manner and good musculature would speak. Slowly they would assimilate these bloodthirsty barbarians into their more civilized lifestyle. Their voices would soften, as well as their gestures and actions. They would teach them how to act like proper ponies. Ponies with etiquette and plenty of respect for their feminine counterparts. If it was determined that one of these new members of society had shown enough chivalry towards the mares, they were given a date with a mare of their choice. If things went well, their courtship would continue. Giggling, hoof holding, kissing, fancy dinners, moonlit strolls, and beachside weddings. All in the span of one afternoon.

It was unbearably cute.

And somewhat ironic, thought Rarity.

She shifted from one cuteness to another. Three colts were seated at a table discussing and modifying the intricate contraption in front of them. Scribbles, Rivets, and Gears. Or at least that's what they liked to go by. The three were inseparable. They had held adjacent letters during their greeting, and had sat next to each other during the stories. They were self proclaimed tinkerers, always fiddling with something broken or creating something new entirely out of scraps found (or taken) from around the orphanage. They seemed to be partly responsible for the missing pieces problem. They scavenged bed posts, torn sheets, broken plates and silverware, nails, screws, and even entire wooden boards. It was probably why so many of the missing planks from the outside of the building were within hoofs reach of a foal. How they managed to remove these boards, Rarity had no idea.

Scribbles was the most imaginative of the group. A pegasus, he spoke with a fluffy, incredibly thick north Bridish accent. So thick that it sometimes became a mystery just what he was trying to say. He had a light beige coat with a fiery red mane, and Rarity could swear that she could already see traces of red fuzz growing on his chin, neck, and upper lip. Everywhere, really. His cutie mark was a yellow notepad, flipped open with a pencil hovering nearby. He was usually tasked with sketching new and interesting things to build. He had a notebook like the one on his flank, every inch filled with fantastic designs, and there always seemed to be a stubby pencil wedged behind one of his ears right above his thick, circle-framed glasses. The design the trio was working on seemed to be one of his custom creations. It looked like...well it was kind of like a...similar to a...a...honestly, Rarity had no idea what it looked like. And as for the purpose of the mechanical monstrosity? She couldn't even begin to imagine.

Next, there was Rivets. His real name was Pop Rivet, but like so many names given to foals, it was too clunky for any practical use. ('Rivets, mate, drop the pop, eh? No need fur it, yeh? Need to stay hip an cool if you wont to have even a mite chance of finding a mate! ...Mate.'––as Scribbles would often say to him.) And if Scribbles could draw it, then Rivets could build it. He was the most hooves-on pony in the group. A full-bodied earth pony, he had a matte black coat and a mane with the color and consistency of locomotive grease. His colors hid the fact that both were actually almost always covered in real grease. His mark was a crossed hammer and wrench. Most foals found it difficult to use their hooves for anything other than walking. More advanced use almost always left them at a loss, but such was not the case with Rivets. He handled his tools with the skill of an experienced craftspony. It was an impressive feat. Rarity couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Rivets drop something, yet there wasn't a day that went by where Rarity didn't let something clumsily fall from her hooves.

Last, there was Whirring Gears, but like with Rivets, he prefered Gears. If Scribbles could design it, and Rivets could build it, then Gears could make it work––get the gears turning, if you will. His coat was white, but covered in grey splotches of grease. His mane was thick, dark brown, and cut short and neat. Like with scribbles, he also wore a pair of glasses, but his were small and black, rectangular and modern. His face was sculpted and classically handsome. He looked exactly like a pony you might see in one of those Fifties propaganda movies. Where all the ponies are smiling, well fed, and good looking. Where everypony was surrounded by the newest and best in-home appliances, furniture, and technology. A place where everything was just swell. The wife would be in the kitchen, cooking––of course––while the kids fought for a spot at the front window waiting for their daddy, Gears, to come sauntering up the street, sharply dressed with a black fedora upon his head, suitcase swinging at his side. And the stallion of the house would come home from his long days work, kiss his curvaceous, apron-wearing wife and drop his brown suitcase in exchange for his two great kids, a filly and a colt––again, of course. One aspiring to become a high school football captain, and the other... Where was I again? Oh yes, Whirring Gears. His mark was two interlocked grey gears. Gears was responsible for the electrical components of each build, wiring and connecting this to that and that to this. His skill with magic was uncanny for a unicorn of his age. He must have been about as old as Sweetie Belle, yet he could manage several objects at once. His tools would hover around his head like moons to a planet. He was the most serious about his work, and he conducted it with meticulous, almost mechanical precision. He was cute to watch when he got so caught up in what he was doing. His eyes would never leave the thing in front of him, and he would stop only to wipe the sweat from his brow. But sometimes he worried Rarity, working straight through lunch and dinner, or deep into the night if one of his machines failed to start. But as soon as the job was done he would smile and bounce around like any good foal should. Rarity had never seen a foal with such tenacity.

Rarity had never seen a team with such tenacity. It wasn't all work, of course, but, more often than not, the trio would be toiling away with their newest invention. Checker told Rarity about how useful they were around the orphanage. They would fix broken lamps, mend damaged furniture, and keep all the appliances in the kitchen and laundry room running like clockwork. Free of charge! she would say, giggling. And as a result of their tinkering, they had developed skills beyond their years. Rarity was thoroughly impressed.

They would make a lovely little bunch of engineers.

Off to one side of the room a pony sitting in a crumbling director's chair was barking orders through a plastic, red-rimmed megaphone. Four ponies were on the receiving end of his rage. They were cowering behind bed sheets hung to look like stage curtains, dressed in scruffy-looking costumes assembled out of a patchwork of different materials. Sometimes, their costumes were nothing more than quilted blankets thrown around their shoulders, a far cry from the diamond studded masterpieces she had created for her school plays.

The director finally calmed down, he was even wearing a little black beanie to further his sense of absolute superiority over his lowly actors. A few ponies went back and forth on the stage, and then they began to speak. Rarity had hoped to hear their lines from her chair, but their voices were drowned out by the others in the room. She didn't need to hear them to see that the colt on the right was already struggling with his lines. His hoof was twirling in front of him. It was as if he was attempting to pull the words out of the air and into his brain. He stumbled and stuttered and turned red, Rarity could see the sweat pouring off of him. The colt bowed his head in defeat, and at that, the director had had enough. He threw his hooves in the air and hurled his megaphone at his actors. He kicked over the director's chair and smashed his hat into the ground. This time, Rarity could hear what he was saying––he was yelling loud enough for everypony in the room to hear. Rarity hadn't expected the amateur director to have such a colorful vocabulary. The entire room was silent as he stormed away down the stairs, mumbling more under his breath. After he had gone, everypony returned to their activities. The actors were abandoned on the stage, dumbfounded with mouths agape.

Rarity giggled and moved on to the next group. If she had ever ended up here––god forbid––she would probably be mingling with this set of ponies. The foals were sitting in a small half circle, drawing, painting, and coloring. Their selection of materials was pitiful. They drew with broken crayons, stubby pencils, dry markers, or heavily diluted watercolors. They used anything they could find as canvas. Even paper was a luxury at the orphanage. They filled up activity books, and then filled the margins of those same activity books. They would paint by numbers and wash off the pages to paint them again in another muddy color. They drew on scraps of notebook paper, erased and drew again. Markers were used as nail polish. They would color anything and everything, even each other. The ponies unfortunate enough to have white coats were used as fresh canvas. Everything was drawn on except anything important. They never scrawled on the walls or marked up the floors. The books were free of any wanton graffiti. No drawing was done on furniture or sheets, all the toys were kept nice and neat.

Despite their lack of proper materials, they still managed to create impressive pieces of art. No pathetic little refrigerator drawings were ever done here. The kind that are pinned by flower magnets to the fridge, stuck there by a mother desperate to feed their foal's sense of self-worth. No. These foals had talent. Whenever they finished filling a page they would always come up and present their work to Rarity, and she would always approve. And not in the way that a mother does to a daughter upon being presented with an atrocious artistic atrocity. There was no need for petty lies because their work was actually worthy of merit. She was genuinely impressed.

They were always trying to impress her, no matter what they were doing. They would always share their newest accomplishments with her and argue over her undivided attention. It was nice to know that her opinion was so valued, but sometimes it could become overwhelming. They hounded for her approval like coyotes to the kill. And she was that fresh kill. They circled her with gleaming teeth, ready to fight for every last juicy scrap of approval. Always ruthless. Always relentless in their effort. (Relentlessly adorable.) Today however, they seemed to be keeping mostly to themselves, giving Rarity some much needed time to herself.

Two foals were seated behind a bed in the corner of the room. They had turned the bed up onto its side and draped a blanket above them in an attempt to create some privacy in the single room of the orphanage. From her seat by the fire, Rarity could sneak peeks into their shelter if she strained her neck. But she chose to respect their need for privacy. Her eyes drifted to the blanket fort. (For the most part.) She pursed her lips and snuck a peek inside. Ruby Dust and Scattershot, she thought as she returned to a sitting position. Ruby Dust was a shapely unicorn filly. Strawberry Red mane and a butter-yellow coat with bright, lime green eyes. She looked an awful lot like Roseluck, Rarity noted. Roseluck was one of her favorite clients to design for. Her colors were gorgeous, and they always proved a beautiful compliment to a beautiful dress. Scattershot, on the other hoof, was a handsome young lad. A strapping and solidly built pegasus colt, his colors were a reversal of Ruby Dust's. Soft red coat and butter-yellow mane, but deep blue eyes instead of green. Excellent Royal Guard material. They were reading a book together, one of the larger and more advanced volumes to be found on the shelves of the orphanage. But they were doing much more giggling than actual reading. Nonetheless they seemed to be enjoying each other's company.

A hoofball landed in Rarity's lap, one that a few of the larger colts had been tossing around. She took it up in her magic and pushed it back their way. They thanked her and continued to play, throwing the pigskin around the room. Pigskin? What a dreadful nickname! Who came up with such a vile term? They ought to be ostracized! I mean, they make those balls from synthetic fibers, not pigskin...right? Rarity followed the ball with her eyes as it sailed back and forth around the orphanage. Then again, Applejack keeps a drove of pigs at her farm, and for what reason? Not milk, or fur, or even for post cessational hides like they do with some of their bovines. And definitely not for meat! Heavens no! But then why keep pigs if they serve no purpose? Perhaps...no no no no no no no Rarity don't be ridiculous! That would be revolting! I don't feel it's right to use any animal product, no matter how it’s taken. I don't care if the animal died of 'natural causes', it just doesn't feel right. And there's just no way that they would be throwing around...no, just no.

Rarity never had much interest in professional sports, especially the dirty, high-contact ones. They were much too rough and messy for her tastes. However, she did enjoy a good, honest game of tennis or golf from time to time. Especially golf, mostly because it gave her a chance to dress in trendy, tight-fitting sportswear. The kind that all the tour professionals would wear. She was quite good, at least for a casual player. She treated each shot like she did one of her finely crafted and unique suits or dresses. One of a kind and shaped to perfection. But even she enjoyed a good display of boorish masculinity from time to time; however, she didn't need to watch professional athletes to get her fix. She had an ace in the hole, the town's big, red, local farmpony. The sexual imbalance in Ponyville was astounding, almost two mares to every stallion, and sometimes the mares would get a little needy, especially in the spring and summer months. When things started to heat up. Rarity giggled at the thought. They would spy on him, shamefully hiding in the bushes in the hills overlooking the farm, or if you were lucky enough to be a pegasus, you could drift along on a cloud which would provide an even more complete view. And more privacy too. The best time to spy was during the early spring months. There was plowing to be done and the soil was still partially frozen––it would take more effort to till the fields. 'It's been a cold spring so far', the mares would joke, 'bring your popcorn and refreshments! Dig out your lawn chairs, we're up for a good show!' Rarity shook her head in disgust. And some of them would actually bring these items. With so many mares coming at once, there was no doubt that he had caught on to them.

Then why doesn't he confront any of us? thought Rarity, Oh! But maybe he likes to be watched? That stud. Mmm. Maybe he likes being watched when he's breaking through a fresh row in the field, making it look so easy even though it's so damn hard, struggling against his harness, hooves digging into the earth slowly advancing him across the field, plow tearing through the ground close behind, eyes intense and focused, undeterred by strain and fatigue, muscles bulging like armored plates, body smeared with dirt and glistening with the sweat of impossible exertion, taking short and ragged breaths, legs thrusting, grunting and groaning and moaning and-

Rarity kicked herself. Her cheeks were rosy red and she felt hot. She fanned herself desperately. It felt like somepony had turned off the A.C. (That would have been a convenient excuse, except that the orphanage had no air conditioning.) She scooted her chair away from the fire while she continued to fan herself. She tried to return her attention to the colts, but visions of red kept filling her mind.

A few colts were throwing a hoofball around the room, the ones who were naturally gifted with athleticism and good hoof-eye coordination. Again, Rarity was impressed by the foals. The ease in which the colts would handle the ball was incredible. Using magic or flight in professional sports wasn’t allowed. Athletes needed to get by using nothing but their hooves to catch, throw, run, skate, swing, etc. But she could barely hold a cup of coffee in her hooves without dropping it––scores of cups and plates had met their doom in her kitchen, dashed upon the cruel squares of sparkling linoleum––and yet these colts could handle the ball with such ease! They almost never dropped a pass or overthrew a teammate, but when they did, it almost always caused chaos. The ball, when dropped, would obliterate an enemy fortress, ruin an otherwise perfect date, nearly destroy a carefully crafted contraption, cause an actor to botch his or her lines, smudge a masterpiece in the making, or interrupt a joke being told to a friend.

The colts would offer hasty, red-faced apologies before continuing their play. It was the nature of their game, and the space they were given to play. During the day, they were allowed to go outside to play, but only when either Checker or Tenderhoof was able to watch them––wouldn't want one of the more adventurous foals wandering off. (Or running away.) Thus they were forced to play indoors. In and amongst the other groups of fillies and colts.

The fillies and the colts. The foals. Her smile fell and she went weak. A darkness began to creep deep down inside. She looked around at the children in the room, each one outstanding in their field. She saw in them, the future, the best that the world had to offer. Each with hopes and dreams, aspirations and life that they hoped to live. She saw those who wanted to create, those who wanted to perform, those who wanted to play, those who wanted to make the world a better place, those who wanted to dream, and those who simply wanted to live happily ever after. And none of it mattered.

Victims of fate, their dreams were struck down before they even had a chance to see the world for what it could be. They knew only its cruelty and unfairness. Their precious innocence, lost too soon after it had been granted. They were still children. They still behaved like children. They smiled and skipped and laughed and joked like all children do, but that was only when there was something to distract them from inconvenient truth. They lived in an orphanage and they were the orphans.

What happened when the day was done and everything had gone quiet? When they were lying in bed. What was it they thought about as they lay there, unable to find sleep? While the wind buffets the orphanage. While the last embers of the fire die out, leaving them to shiver underneath mounds of tattered blankets. While tears collect at the corners of their eyes. Laying there, shivering, in the starless dark of night. Such impossible questions for a foal to answer, yet they found a way, an impossible way. Somehow, they managed to understand it.

There was never enough of anything because the big ponies up at Canterlot only gave so much money to orphanages every month. The money they gave out was never enough. They were forced to live in poverty while other ponies were free to squander away their wealth without a second thought. They survived off of donations from generous ponies and charities. They understood why they were here and who they were. They were orphans, they lived in an orphanage. They were here because their parents either died or abandoned or abused them. And because there was no one left who could care for them––no one left who could love them––they were placed in an orphanage. They were to wait at the orphanage until somepony came to adopt them, or until they got transfered to a foster family, or until you turned eighteen. In which case you were released. But you could always run away if you couldn't bear to wait that long. They were orphans, they lived in an orphanage.

They were victims of fate, and they accepted it. And as soon as they accepted it they would roll over in their beds and stop shivering. The tears would dry from their eyes and they would sleep.

And despite all this, Rarity knew no finer group of foals. Their lack of privilege had made them strong and mature and tough and smart. It was their terrible situation that allowed them to do such impressive things. They were tortured by their understanding of the world. All of them were intelligent, talented, and persistent, but they were also confused, cynical, sometimes dismal, and even scared. Rarity would see it in their eyes. See it when they abruptly stopped playing, suddenly aware of themselves, remembering why they were here and who they were. They would stare into space, blank expressions with cold, worried eyes. Rarity would see it, and her heart would break every time. They would be brought back by one of their friends and continue to play, like nothing happened. Shoving any and all upsetting thoughts to the back of their minds to be thought about later when they were lying in bed, shivering under mounds of tattered blankets. Their greatest burden had become their greatest blessing. It was The. Worst. Possible. Thing. And Rarity meant it with every bit of seriousness in the world.

More tears, Rarity thought. They were beginning to well in her eyes, making her vision blurry.The foals were oblivious to her emotions as they continued to play. She sniffled and wiped away a few stray drops, but she knew she wouldn't be able to stop the sobbing that was on it's way.

"Dinner's ready!"

Tenderhoof was calling from the stairs, his deep voice shaking the entire building. The foals cheered, before hopping up and rushing down the stairs, filing in behind Tenderhoof as he led his troops to the dining room. She smiled as they hurried away. Her eyes began to droop as she remembered how tired she was. She had never gotten a chance for that nap that she so much desired. Now seemed like the perfect time to have it, now that everything was quiet. She closed her eyes and settled into the rocking chair, getting herself as comfortable as possible. She sighed and drifted off into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

It was a dreamless sleep. The kind where you fall one minute and rise the next as if no time passed at all. She awoke to the sound of foals playing and opened her eyes. Everything was as it should, except that she was seeing it from a different angle. She blinked her eyes and sat up. She was on a bed, warm and snug under the covers. It was the one closest to the fireplace in the corner of the orphanage. She turned her head, the chair was still there from when she had fallen asleep. How much time had passed? How had she gotten into this bed?

There was only one pony that could have possibly carried her. She swooned, imagining being taken up in his big hooves, gently deposited on the bed, and then tucked in under the covers. Perhaps leaving a kiss on her cheek. Whispering professions of love into her ear. She brought a hoof to her face as it grew hot. It probably didn't happen like that, but Rarity could dream, right? She kicked her hooves out from under the blankets and rose from the stiff mattress. She stretched herself out and shook off her drowsiness. She smacked her jaw a few times. A few, very unladylike times, and frowned.

She shook her head and looked over to the fireplace, there, on the mantle, was a bowl of still steaming stew and a white mug of coffee. Left there just for her. Just as she had remembered how tired she was, she also remembered how hungry she was, she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Her stomach growled. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and levitated the bowl towards her. She ate quickly and without pause, devouring every last veggie and slurping every last drop of broth. She had to admit, it didn't taste good, but she couldn't complain. It was probably packed with enough protein to keep her going all night. The coffee was next, but this time she showed restraint. It took her two minutes to down the cup, as opposed to one minute for the soup. It was strong coffee, incredibly strong coffee. Blacker than a black bear in a cave at night in the vacuum of space, but again, she couldn't complain. It would be enough to keep her going all evening long.

She daintily dabbed at her mouth with a napkin as if suddenly aware of how improperly she had just eaten. She placed her dishes back on the mantle and excused herself to the bathroom. Most of what she had drank that day was coffee, and she needed to go. (Caffeine tends to do that to you.) She used the dingy, streak filled mirror to straighten her mane out. It had been mussed during her power nap. She fled from the truly terrifying bathroom the minute she was finished. The bathroom was like one she had seen in countless horror movies. With rust and lime caking every inch. Grease worked deep into each crack. Water oozing through leaks in the pipes and onto the floor where it gathered into slick pools of septic filth. And while she was washing her hooves, Rarity had the feeling she was going to look up into the cracked, streak-filled mirror to see the pale faced ghost of an orphan just standing there, watching her with hollow eyes from behind her long, black mane. She eagerly reclaimed her seat in the rocker in front of the fire. Her purse was still hanging around the one peg. She looked out over the foals for only a moment before she got up again and walked over to the group of drawing fillies sprawled out on the ground. As she approached them, they looked up from their work and smiled at her, she smiled back.

"Did you have a nice nap? Miss Rarity," said one smug little filly. The rest of the group burst into giggles and chuckles. Rarity rolled her eyes.

"Yes, actually, it was actually quite pleasant thank you," Rarity said. She hesitated for a moment, the fillies split their circle down the middle and made space for her, inviting her in. She laid herself down and looked around at the smiling, staring group of fillies. She motioned for them to continue. They nodded and returned to their work, tossing occasional giddy glances toward her.

Rarity looked around at what they were drawing, painting, or sketching. There was a mix of interests in the group. One was painting a forested landscape complete with a pristine lake and a sandy beach. Another was drawing a picture of Cloudsdale, a few members of the Wonderbolt squad stood in the foreground. The pictures at the opposite end of the circle were upside-down so she couldn't make out what they were. One to her right was drawing a picture of Rarity and herself. They were both wearing dresses––cute! This pony had been shooting the most glances toward Rarity, and as soon as the filly noticed her work had been seen, she grinned, tipping her drawing up to give Rarity a better look before setting it back down and continuing to draw, giggling––cute! The smallest pony in the group––seated two to her right––obviously had the least experience. She couldn't have been more than two or three, not old enough to have a cutie mark. She was new at the orphanage. Rarity struggled to remember her name, and after awhile, she just gave up. She was drawing a crude sketch of three ponies with abnormally long legs, huge eyes and ears on small heads and hair made from spiraling circles that looked like toupees that had somehow gone terribly wrong. This one looked a little more like a refrigerator drawing. Rarity squinted at the picture. There was something familiar about it. Something about the long legs on the first two, and the short, stubby legs on the third. Please no. But Rarity already knew what was coming next. The letters M-O-M and D-A-D were scrawled over the tall two, M-E over the short one. She frowned, the dark thoughts clouded her brain again, the pit began to grow in her stomach. She shook her head and scattered her thoughts before they could overcome her.

She took the most interest in the drawing of the filly next to her. She looked up to put a face to the drawing. It was Silver Streak, the same pony that had sat in her lap for the stories. It was well drawn on a clean, white piece of paper––there must have been some leftovers from the paper greeting signs they had made earlier. It was of a dress. A magnificent dress. Sleek and modern, it was structurally intriguing, exotic, and fierce, and yet it still managed to maintain an element of elegance in its design. Like in the long, flowing curves around the shoulders, and the lovely little footwear. Pink high heels and laced stockings on the hind legs, but the front legs were left bare to make dancing with a partner more practical. A bold gold ribbon and large earrings fit perfectly with the cascading hairstyle of the model that she had also drawn. The dress ran high over the flank, but ended abruptly without a train, leaving the entire dress off of the ground. It was practical, trendy, and meant for the nighttime girl living a nighttime life. The majority of the dress was deep purple, but- "hey!"

The filly covered up her drawing as soon as she noticed that Rarity was staring at it. "I was looking at that, Streaks, it was very good! Now move your hooves, Honey." Rarity ordered while prodding at the filly's hooves.

"No," the filly said curtly, her lower lip pouting. Rarity tweaked an eyebrow.

"Wha? Why?"

"Because." Silver Streak grinned. "Then you would be able to steal my ideas." Her grin widened.

Who is this filly? Cute, talented, and sharp as a dragon's tooth! Rarity chuckled back at her. "Steal your ideas?" Rarity asked.

"Well, yeah, I want to be a world famous designer and seamstress just like you someday, Rarity."

Rarity could have died right then and there from all the feelings washing over her like a great tidal wave. "That's...that, that's so sweet of you to say, Streaks," Rarity managed to choke out. She put an arm around the filly and drew her in. "And I'm sure that you will one day."

You're lying through your teeth, Rarity.

"Remember, you can do anything you set your mind to," Rarity said as she let go of Silver Streak.

Lying to them will only make things worse. You know very well where these ponies will end up.

"Yes, whatever your dreams are, you can go out and make them a reality."

They'll probably end up doing some dirty, dead-end job. Living off Minimum wage for the rest of their lives, doing something they hate.

"I'm honored that your dream is to be just like me, and in due time, there's no telling what you'll be able to do."

Yeah, like ditch digging, or motel housekeeping, or dishwashing, or fast food-

"And that goes for all of you!"

Or, what the hell, why not all of them? At the same time! You can't live off one minimum wage job, but you can live off two or three!

"Whatever it is that's printed on your flank, you can go out and succeed by doing that."

If there's a shit stained sewage pipe on their flank, then perhaps.

"You can do anything you want as long as you're willing to work your hardest at it."

One of the greatest fallacies of our time.

"Just know that I believe in every last one of you."

But do you really, Rarity? Or are you just lying to them.

The foals in the circle were all beaming, they had stopped drawing to listen to her. She finished with a nod and they all went back to their work. Streaks had removed her hooves from the sketch of her dress and was continuing to work on it, letting Rarity analyze it some more. "It's beautiful, Silver Streak, it really is. I love it!"

"Thank you, Rarity, I've been working really hard, so I must be in good shape." She winked. Rarity choked and put on a smile. She looked around the circle again, tracking their progress. After a while, she rose to her hooves.

"I'm going to say hello to some of the other foals now, but remember what I said." The foals shouted their goodbyes––various sentiments that all ended with Miss Rarity. She smiled at them and moved around to every other group in the room. She watched them go about their business, gave her approval where it was needed, and even joined in if she could. (She was especially eager to join the fillies playing with the dolls in the victorian dollhouse.) Like with the drawing group, she offered them similar encouragement, and after every foal had been greeted, she settled back into the rocking chair. Normally, she would have left the orphanage hours ago and returned home, but something was keeping her there.

The engineer's machine suddenly sparked to life. It sputtered and rattled before settling into the steady hum of an idling steam engine, filling the room with sound. They threw their hooves into the air, laughing and grinning. They exchanged a few hoof bumps, and then turned off the machine, going off and hiding the thing somewhere, stowing all their tools someplace similar. Deciding to take a brain break, they took a puzzle off the shelf and laid all the pieces out on their table. A filly from the drawing group and another from the doll group both hopped up with smiles and joined them.

Although the foals in the orphanage split themselves up by their interests, the groups were constantly mingling with each other. It was much different from the harshly isolated cliques found in most high schools. Cliques where any cross contamination was swiftly dealt with. The fillies huddled around the doll house often joined in with the theatre group when they needed somepony to fill a small part or be a narrator. (All of their practice from giving their dolls voices paid off in this respect.) The colts playing hoofball would switch places with the ones behind the block forts; eager to bash a few action figure heads together while making explosion sounds and tossing the figures through the air in slow motion. All done up and exaggerated with silly sound effects and childish narration. Every time a figure hit the ground there would be a great CRUNCH as all of that figure's bones were ground into dust. And every time a figure landed a huge punch across another's jaw, there would be a loud BOOM as the unfortunate figure was launched across the room, clattering to the floor a distance away. And the colts who were normally doing the bashing would switch with the ones who were normally doing the hoofballing. The artists would pull a book from the shelf––everypony in the orphanage would occasionally pull an old book from the shelf––and read it. Rarity didn't understand how, but every one of them knew how to read. Maybe Tenderhoof had taught them, or maybe they had all taught themselves. Whatever the case, she again found herself thoroughly impressed. The two in the corner would emerge from their fort and join in with the rest of the fillies. (After they felt that they had shared enough kisses on the cheek.)

Everypony had their hooves in lots of things, not just the one thing that interested them the most. If a foal had an interest in astrophysics, it was difficult to build on that interest in the orphanage. So the ones with the more abstract talents resigned themselves to enjoying anything else that they loved to do. But they would keep their eyes on the stars, buying their time until they were free, and only then could they pursue what was on their flank.

The director was smiling and nodding slowly. His actors had finally managed to get their lines and they were breezing through the rest of the scene. When the curtains were drawn he generously clapped his approval. (Rarity could have sworn she saw a tear in the corner of his eye.) He hopped off of his chair to offer them some advice. His actors were smiling too as they were showered with praise. The director clasped his neat little hooves together and returned to his chair. He shouted, Action! The curtains opened and the actors replayed the scene.

As Rarity watched, she began to fall away from the world. She lost herself in her thoughts, happier thoughts. She stared through the opposite wall of the orphanage wearing a slight smile. She relaxed into the chair warmed by the fire at her back. A few hours passed like a few minutes, and before she knew it, the sun was beginning to set, and the foals were all yawning and drifting towards their beds. Some were already in, reading or fiddling with a few figurines that they had brought with them to bed. Rarity clutched at her head as she came out of the trance. "Um...what are you? Bed? Is...oh? Indeed, bed." She looked out one of the windows. The curtains were being drawn, the large floodlights lining the ceiling replaced the natural light with artificial. "Why, the sun hasn't even gone down yet. Isn't it a bit early to be going to bed my dears?"

A pink filly yawned and said, "No, we're tired already." The rest of the foals nodded along with her.

"Well, ok then. Goodnight." She added all the logs left on the stack to the fire, and moved across the room, holding the chair in her magic grip. The foals seemed to rotate beds every day, because every time she came they would climb into a different bed than last time. She suspected they rotated like this so that one lucky foal didn't always get to sleep near the fire. Instead, they would switch every night and share the warmth. The world could learn something from these foals. They were putting away the last of their toys, taking down the curtains on the makeshift stage, filing away books, and stowing art supplies. only board games and puzzles still in progress were allowed to stay out. Rarity placed the chair in the middle of the rug and made sure to grab her purse before leaving. She moved to the light switch next to the stairs.

"Rarity?" She turned to face the colt that had spoken. He was sitting up in his bed across the room. "I mean...because you're still here... Can you read us a bedtime story?" The foals perked up at his suggestion. They all quickly agreed that it was a great idea.

"Well...I suppose I have nothing better to do this evening. I don't see why not." Rarity pulled over a large, cast iron floor lamp. It's finish was chipping away, revealing the rusty metal underneath. It's shade was full of holes. She turned on the lamp and turned off the ceiling lights, leaving the entire room in darkness except for the area around Rarity. She slung her purse around one of the pegs on the chair. She eyed the glossy book on the shelf, but thought twice, instead taking a worn book that she knew was also full of short stories. It's cover was faded, some of the pages were torn or stained, the pictures were drawn in a classic style. Much better. She quickly found a good one and settled in to read.

"Once upon a time..."

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

"And they all lived happily ever after," Rarity whispered. She perked her ears and listened for any foals that might still be awake. Any sharp intakes of breath or turning underneath the covers. Any creaking bed frames or murmuring between them. But she didn't hear anything other than their gentle breathing, the occasional snore, and the wind cracking against the walls of the orphanage. She nodded to herself and flicked off the light and quietly set the lamp back down against the wall. She took a moment for herself in the darkness. The softest glow of orange light was filtering through western curtains, painting everything dull bronze. She sighed and rose from her chair, tip-toeing across the wooden floor to the stairway.

"Rarity?" said a small voice from behind. "Are you leaving?" Rarity turned to it. There was Silver Streak, standing on three legs in the darkness rubbing her eyes. A small stuffed bear was nestled beneath one of them. And here I was thinking you couldn't get any cuter. The light coming up from the stairway radiated a halo around Rarity and silhouetted her form. She took a few steps toward Silver Streak and stood over the filly with worry all over her face.

"What are you still doing up Streaks?" Rarity asked.

Silver Streak hid her face from Rarity. "I just...I, I wanted to say goodbye. And thanks...again." The filly shivered. Rarity tweaked her head. "It's nothing. It just...gets a little cold sometimes." Rarity looked up from the filly. Her bed was the farthest away from the fire. Rarity suddenly felt cold. Lying in bed, shivering under mounds of tattered blankets. Rarity looked down at her again.

"Come here, you." She scooped her up and walked over to the chair balancing on her hind legs. She sat down and let the filly nestle into her chest. It all felt very natural to Rarity for some reason, the filly clinging to her, snuggled up with that stuffed bear. "Now tell me," she said softly as to not wake the others in the darkness of the room. "Why are you still up. Aren't you tired?"

"I am tired. Very tired. Very very tired." The filly met Rarity's eyes. "So tired but I can't sleep." She paused to think. "It's like, I'm tired, but there's something else too. Something that I don't know, don't understand, Rarity. I'm just tired...of everything, you know. Just...tired. So tired." Rarity pulled the filly in tighter, trying to squeeze out all of her tiredness.

"It's okay Streaks." Rarity started to run a hoof through the filly's mane. It was soft and silky, and smelled just a little bit fruity. She felt Streaks's heart slow as she brought the filly in a little closer. Streaks nuzzled into her coat, and Rarity sat like this for awhile, with a hoof combing over the filly's mane. In the dark, her eyes caught the spiraling white ribbon in her hair. It was tied in a little bow at the back of her head. "I like your ribbon, Streaks, it's nice."

Streaks's head popped up out of the crook of Rarity's arm. "You think so?" Rarity cringed and ducked her head.

"Shh, a little softer, dear, the others are asleep."

"Oh, right...you think so?" she whispered.

"I do. I think it looks lovely. It brings out that white streak in your mane and compliments the rest of your colors. Where did you get it?"

"It was my mom's. She used to wear it around everywhere she went. She gave it to me right before she died."

"Oh, I see." Rarity tried to change the subject, but Streaks persisted.

"It was cancer... Got them both. Got my daddy first, got my mommy a few years later." The little unicorn was looking up at Rarity. She said these things without emotion, like she had done it all a hundred times and was just going through the motions one more tired time. Rarity didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. "Said if I kept this ribbon close to me, that she would always be there if I needed her." She paused. "When she was in the hospital, she also bought me this bear from the shop there." She held the animal up in front of Rarity so that she could see.

"It's cute. What's its name?" Rarity asked.

"His name is Teddy."

"That's a strange name. Don't you think?"

"No, I don't think he has a strange name," she said defensively. She took the bear back under her arm and nosed back into Rarity's coat, but then she came out again, smiling. "I have a picture of them, do you want to see?"

"No, I'm-" The filly had already hopped out of her lap and was sneaking across the floor to her bed. Rarity frowned as she reached her bed. The filly removed a small photo frame from underneath her pillowcase and then slithered back across the floor to Rarity.

"The one on the left is my dad, mom is on the right, I'm in the middle." She pointed out the obvious with her hoof. Rarity held the photo up to her face. She squinted in the dark to see it and glowed her horn just a little to help her. It was a picture of the family. They must have been at some sort of carnival or amusement park. Silver Streak's mom looked exactly like her. Same colors, figure, eyes, ears, nose, everything. They shared the same hairstyle, and the same ribbon that now ran through Silver Streak's hair. One of her hooves was wrapped around her daughter. Her mother was like Silver Streak plus twenty or so years. In the picture she was still very young. She looks an awful lot like...like me. Rarity pushed those thoughts away and moved her eyes onto the stallion in the picture. His coat was steel grey with an icy mane, kind, relaxed eyes. His shoulders were relaxed too, and his head was slightly tilted. One of his hooves was wrapped around his wife, and he looked as gentle as could be. Silver Streak was below them, hooves full of various treats, prizes, and trinkets. She was smiling. The whole family was smiling. Rarity was smiling.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Streaks." The filly nodded and took the picture back from Rarity. She slid it under the pillow and moved back over to Rarity. Silver Streak hoisted herself back into the elder's lap. Rarity wrapped her up again and they sat like that for a while with Rarity rocking the chair gently back and forth, listening to the wind against the orphanage.

"But the cancer got them. They're gone now," the filly mumbled. Rarity nuzzled the filly's little head back into her arm.

"I'm sorry." She looked for something to say. Something better. But nothing came to her. What could she possibly say? "I'm so sorry," she repeated. They sat in silence again for awhile before the filly's head came up out of her arm again.

"I never really knew daddy. I was too young. But my mom would always talk about how great he was, and how nice and kind he was, and how hard he worked, and how he had been everything a mare could ask for." She paused. "And how unfair it was, and how unfair everything was, and how there was never enough money anymore, and how everything was breaking and falling apart, and how expensive these damn hospital bills were, and how much she missed him, and how much she wanted him back, and how she couldn't live without him, and how sad she was, and how much she loved me, and how she was going to get better, and how in just a few more weeks––just you wait––everything was going to be alright." There was silence again.

"I would hear her crying at night," she continued, "when we were still at home and she thought I couldn't hear. And after she got moved into the hospital when she thought the nurses had taken me away. She cried and cried. She cried almost every night and when I finally asked her why she was crying, she said she hadn't been. And her eyes were still all red and puffy like she had been crying, but she acted like I wouldn't notice. She wouldn't tell me why she was crying. She would only say, 'just you wait, Silver, in a few more weeks I'll be better and we can go home.' She was connected to so many wires. Wires to her arms and legs and all over. So many wires that she would get tangled up in all of them. There were machines around her too. The wires connected to the machines. All of them beeping and whining and buzzing. The doctors would shoo me out when all those machines started to beep too much. I didn't know why, I would say goodbye to her but she wouldn't say anything back like she couldn't hear me. But on the days she was feeling better, I would climb up onto her bed, and she would hold me with those weak little arms and whisper in my ear with her weak little voice how everything was going to be all right. And then she would cry." There was more silence before she went on.

"But mommy was lying. She had been crying. Everything wasn't all right, and she didn't get better. She only got worse. And worse and worse until finally I came in one day and her bed was empty. So I asked the nurse out in the hall where they moved her to––they had moved her bed before so it was nothing I wasn't used to––so she checks her little clipboard, and then she looks back at me with a funny look on her face, and she starts crying. So another nurse walks up to me with a ribbon in her hooves––mommy's ribbon––gives it to me, and then she starts crying. And then a few other nurses and doctors around me start crying. So everypony around me is crying but me, and I don't know why everypony is crying, cause nopony told me why I should be crying. But another pony walks up to me, one who isn't crying but they've got that sad look in their eyes like they're about to cry, and they tell me to follow them so I do, and they hold my hoof and lead me here and tell me to wait, and that somepony''ll be by soon to pick me up and bring me home. And then they start crying too. And they just turn their back and walk out and leave me.

"They were lying too," she went on, "Nopony ever came to pick me up and I never got to go back home. I've been here ever since with Checker and Tenderhoof. They're nice and loving and all that, but they're nothing like mom and dad." She paused. "Sometimes I wish I was a pegasus. Then I could fly away from here and never come back. Find someplace better to live. I wish I could go to sleep and wake up somewhere else. I wish...I wish I could see them again. Mom and dad. I wish I could see them just one more time. I would give anything for that." The filly paused for a long time before continuing.

"I guess there's some kinda money waiting for me when I'm eighteen, but I don't believe them. I don't trust them. Adults. Besides Checker and Tenderhoof, they don’t lie very much, Just a little. And the ponies who always cry. Them too. It was Ponies like them who told me there was money waiting for me. They were the ones who kept lying to me. Who keep lying to me. I don't believe them. They never tell me the whole truth, always half-truths. They always lie... It's strange, Rarity, the ones who cry the most around me are always the ones who lie the most. I can tell when they're lying. They always cry. Sometimes I wish they would stop lying and just say what’s true. They’re trying to protect me, I know, but they just end up hurting me more and more and more until I feel like I could just...”

Rarity squeezed the tiny unicorn as hard as she could. She raised her up and showered her with kisses in her mane and all over her face. She squeezed her some more and rocked her back and fourth in her arms. "I'm sorry." She wanted to cry, but she couldn't, not in front of SIlver Streak. She wanted to remove all the sadness from the little filly, but it was something that she couldn't do. No matter what, the pain would still be there. "Oh, Silver, I'm sorry. So so so sorry." It was all she could say, but it wasn't enough.

"It's okay, Rarity." The filly wrapped her little hooves around Rarity's torso. They couldn't reach all the way around. "Please don't cry. Too many ponies do that around me. I don't want you to too." Rarity released her grip, and so did the filly.

"Ok, sweetie, I promise." Rarity took a deep breath and tried to relax. Silver Streak burrowed back into her coat, and there was more silence. Just the wind and the creak of the rocking chair. She popped out and broke the silence again. She spoke slowly.

"Were you lying to me, Rarity?" Rarity tweaked an eyebrow.

"Hmm?"

"You know, all those things you said earlier when we were drawing. Those things about our dreams and goals and achievement... Do you really believe all of that?"

Rarity, caught off guard, stumbled for her words. "I...I don't know, Streaks." She hung her head and closed her eyes and spoke again slowly. "I...don't know." The filly nodded and laid her head back down against Rarity, wedging the little bear underneath her arm.

She yawned and said, "I'm tired. And not just...weak tired. Sleepy tired too." Rarity looked down at her for a long time. She was so precious. No. It wasn't fair. Not at all.

Rarity pulled her in closer to herself. She rubbed the little one's back "It's okay, sweetie. It's going to be okay. Just fine. There there. Everything is going to be alright." The filly froze in her arms. It was like a switch had suddenly been thrown. Her head started rising out of Rarity's arm. Slowly, so slowly. Agonizingly slow. Her head was shaking, almost vibrating, jittering back and fourth as it was forced into place like a rusty mechanism in need of grease. Her eyes locked onto Rarity. It was the most intense expression Rarity had ever seen on a foal. Her eyes were squinting under pointed eyebrows. Her mouth hung open slightly. Rarity was startled by the boiling hatred in those eyes. The filly looked down upon Rarity and pushed their faces closer together. She was shivering and writhing under the awful stare. Silver Streak opened her mouth to speak her final piece. Her voice never rose above a strained whisper, but it carried with it the power of a pony shouting as their very loudest. The filly spoke slowly, drawing out each word in a cold, grave voice.

"Are you lying? Hmm? Like everypony else? Are you?" Rarity stuttered and shrunk under her eyes. "Everypony I've ever known has lied to me and then cried to me and then ran away from me like they were afraid to be around me. Like I had some sort of disease that they would catch if they stuck around too long. Like I wasn't even there. Just another bump in the road that could be rolled over and forgotten about. Pushed so far back into those dense minds of theirs that I become just a fleeting little memory. I always was, no––I still am!––Somepony that is ignored. Ignored by the ones who go home and curl up in pathetic little shivering balls on the floor and have themselves a little cry while they try to tell themselves over and over how good of a pony they are just to stay sane.Soothing themselves until they fall asleep in hopes of waking up forgetting. The ones who constantly have to remind themselves how charitable and pure and nice and good and how fabulous of a pony they are. Even though they lie and cry and forget and move on like they never knew I was alive. Avoiding me because they don't want to feel my pain. They don't know my pain! No. They don't want to know my pain! They're cowards, that's what they are. All of them. All the criers and liars. They can't bear to feel my pain even for one second. The quicker I can be shoved aside the quicker they can continue to live. So they wipe away their tears and try to forget." A sinister grin curled onto her face. "They try to forget––oh how they try!––try so hard! They try and try, but they never really forget. They can't. No, I'm always there, haunting them, at the back of their heads. I'm there. It doesn't matter how far back they push me, I'm still there. I'm always there and I always will be. And they know I'm there. I don't know how they sleep at night. I don't know how they ever sleep when they know I'm here, poor and parentless, sharing meals and toys and books and beds and blankets and love with fifteen of my closest friends." Her grin faded. "I don't know how they sleep when half the time I can't even sleep it's so cold. These walls aren't insulated and there's no air conditioning. Sometimes one of the others is coughing so loud because they're sick and there's no money for cough medicine. Or maybe its the sound of the pipes leaking. Or the fire going out in the middle of the night. Or when one of the weak little new ones starts whimpering and crying out for their mommy to pick them up and hold them. Or how the bedframes creak every time you move even an inch. On those nights when nopony can sleep, it gets so loud that it drives you crazy. Its silent most of the time, sure, but then there's a noise in the silence, and you hear it, and then there's another sound. So just when you think you're about to drift off, you're brought back by that little noise. It's a deafening silence. You cover your ears, but that doesn't do any good. It doesn't block out the sound and it makes your bed creak anyway so there's no point. So you sit there and endure it. You don't sleep. You don't sleep for the entire night. It doesn't matter how tired you are. Ten hours in your bed while the noises echo around you. Ten hours to think and that's when you figure things out. That's when you figure everything out. You got ten hours, what else are you going to do? What would you think about if you had to lie in bed for an entire night with a lump in your throat, hungry, miserable, shivering uncontrollably, with bloodshot eyes and a bed that squeaks to remind you that you're shivering, while the poor, pathetic little colt next to you won't stop whimpering mom, dad, mom, dad, mom, dad, mom, dad, and mom, and dad, and mom! And dad! And mommy! And daddy! And mommy! And daddy! And mommy! And daddy! And mommy and daddy why did you leave!? Why did you have to die!? Why did you have to go and die and leave me here all alone!? WHY!? Why!? Why? Why? ...why? ...Until finally...he just gives up and starts crying...

"What would you think about? You got ten hours to kill and there's nothing to do but think and slowly lose your mind. Me? I think about a lot of things. I'll let you use your imagination. But I'll tell you what I don't think about. How tomorrow is going to be a great day. How the world is just marvelous. How everything is just sunshine and rainbows. How lovely this rose colored glass is that I see the world through. And how the sun'll come out tomorrow––bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow!––There'll be sun! Lil' Orphan Annie... Too bad it doesn't work like that. What a wonderful world." Suddenly, the sinister grin was back. "'And I think to myself. What a wonderful world.'" She chuckled. "No. C'mon! World's a mess. Just sit and think about it for a moment, about just how screwed up everything is, and it’ll all be clear. Whoever was naive enough to write that. I don't even...no, wait... I do know. He must be one of them. One of the liars and the criers and the forgetters. One of the ignorers. They just don't care. You got ten hours to think. And take it from me, I've had plenty of time to think. I got it all figured out. Eventually the new ones figure it out too. All those crying colts and fillies eventually run out of tears. They dry up. Like a cracked desert. No water, no life, just a hard, dry wasteland like me. Like everypony else. Hard and cruel. Just a hollowed out shell of what they used to be. That's what we all are. We try to hide our pain from each other, from you, and I don't think we do a very good job. Everypony else here. They know my pain, they share my pain. And even if their parents didn't die, it's something just as bad. Like...like their mom was such a stumbling drunk that she could never walk in a straight line. And their dad would drink too. They would both drink. All day and all night. Their house would be decorated with all the empty bottles and cans. Carpet and furniture permanently stained from the spillage. And everything would always––always!––smell like alcohol. Even they themselves would smell like alcohol. They would go to school smelling like alcohol. Go to sleep smelling like alcohol. Play with their friends smelling like alcohol. And all those friends would go home and ask their parents why Little Sunshine always smelled funny. And those parents would just shake their heads and tell them that they shouldn't play with little sunshine no more. So now Little Sunshine's got no more friends and they get picked on at school because they don't have any friends and they are the one who always smells funny. So all they got left are their parents. Too poor to support a child because they spend their entire welfare check on something to drink. The father would drink and then, in his drunken rage, beat his little innocent child. Beat them until their head was cloudy and they couldn't walk in a straight line either. Until their face won't stop twitching in that funny little spot underneath the left eye. You know Scribbles? That little twitch he's got under his left eye? Guess how he got it... And their face would get all bruised up from the beatings so they would cry because of all the pain, and then they would get beaten some more because they were crying, and then the scrawny little mother will try and stop it, and then she'll get hit and he'll start beating her instead. And all that little innocent foal can do is watch. And as they're watching, they stop crying...

"Do you know the sound a foal makes when its beaten? Didn’t think so. Imagine...imagine air being let out of a balloon little by little. Like when you fall and the wind gets knocked out of you. A tiny squeak forced out with each punch. Crying the whole while. I’ve heard the others try to describe it to me. They say...” Just for a moment her eyes became blank and emotionless. “T-they say its like the sound a teensy little mouse makes when you squash it under your hoof...” She frowned and shook her head. “But anyway, eventually somepony else finds out, they call the police, and the foal gets taken away and sent here. They're almost worse off than me. They've never been loved. At least I know what it feels like to be loved. They have nothing. So it's the ignorers. The ones who don't care. The ones who choose not to care. They just lie and cry and forget. Forget that I even exist and try to move on with their worthless lives. Move on, cause everything is going to be alright. 'Everything is going to be alright.' Yeah. That's what she used to say...and she was lying. Lied every day. Right through her teeth and she thought I didn't know. She kept up that lie all the way until she died... So Rarity? Is there any hope? For us? For anypony? Is there any hope at all? Just tell me. Just this once. Are you lying to me?" Her voice was grim, but as the filly said this, her hard face softened back to its normal tired indifference. It had been like somepony else had possessed her and made her say those things, and now that spirit had left her. She collapsed back into Rarity's lap like a rock. Down. Like a dropped hunk of metal on sand. Thump. The switch that had been thrown earlier had been flipped again, letting all of the current rush out of her. It was a little shake, like she was still trying to hold herself up, and then she fell. Down. Just like that. Dead. The fire that had been stirred inside her was out. And down her cheek dripped a single, sad tear.

What words were there? What could she say? She was a filly who knew too much. Too clever for her own good. No matter what she said, it wouldn't be right. She couldn't bear to lie, but she couldn't bear to tell the truth. Either set of words would break her heart. Break both their hearts. Yes or no. What words were there? There were none. So she didn't say anything. She just gently pushed the filly's head back into her arm and cuddled the filly into her lap, stroking her.

Silver Streak spoke again, into the crook of Rarity's arm. "It's okay, Rarity. I understand. I forgive you. I'm sorry. I lie and cry and I try to forget about myself too. You're not like everypony else though, Rarity. You don't forget. You come back every week and see us. Every week. You're the reason any of us even get out of bed in the morning. You're the reason we keep on going. Just knowing who's going to be there to see us every Sunday. Just knowing that there's someone out there who cares. Someone who really, really cares. You make it all worthwhile. You give us hope, Rarity. Even if there isn't any..." The filly took a deep breath and relaxed further into Rarity's chest. "But I'm tired now. Very tired. Just...tired." The last word squeaked out of her like an animal giving its last breath. The filly rubbed her head into Rarity's arm and just sat there for a while, not moving.

"I'm tired too." Rarity whispered. She leaned back in the chair and started to rock back and forth. She found herself humming a wordless tune to her. One she made up as she went along. The song was slow and somber. She felt her chest rumble against the tiny body. It was a strange feeling. Singing to this orphan which she had only briefly spoken to a few times. But it felt right. Strangely right. There were warm tears on her face. Their saltiness carried with them the bitter taste of her mascara. Her face looked like the side of a zebra, stained alternating stripes of black and white. She sang to her until she couldn't think of anything new to sing, finally finishing on a rumbling low note that carried on until she was out of breath. The filly's breathing had steadied and she was asleep. Rarity took a moment to clear away all of her silently shed tears. Her hoof came away smeared black with makeup.

She rose as gently as she could and crossed the room to her bed. Every foal in the room was still sleeping, despite how loud Silver Streak had spoken a few times. Or maybe they were just faking it. Maybe they had heard everything. Rarity didn't want to know. She pulled back the covers and tucked her in. She left her bear on top of her hooves, and as soon as she did so, the sleeping filly reached out and pulled it into her. She nodded her head a few times and snuggled into her pillow, making little nickering sounds. Rarity felt her head moving toward the filly. She wasn't in control. She left a kiss on the unicorn's cheek. "Goodnight," Rarity whispered. She held onto her tears. As soon as she got home and was safely in bed, she could cry. Cry and cry and cry until she finally found sleep. She walked to the stairs, but just as she was plodding down the first step, she remembered her purse on the chair. She stared at it, almost glaring. She thought about leaving it behind, but she shook her head and took it up in her magical grip, securing it around her shoulder. She stole one last tired glance at the orphans and clacked down the rest of the stairs. "I won't forget. I promise."

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Tenderhoof yawned and looked from the doorway over at the desk in the corner. The soft scritching of a pen on paper reached his ears. He smirked and started creeping across the floor, making his large self as small as possible. Once he reached the desk, he hesitated for a moment and then jumped and shouted at the pony inside. Checker startled, her glasses shot off onto the floor, and she somehow managed to swallow the pen she was writing with. She instinctively clutched at her throat and started trying to hack it up.

"Oh shit!" He rushed around the desk through the little door and yanked her out of the spinning office chair. He set her back down in the middle of the room and pulled the smaller body up to his chest. He wrapped his forelegs around her belly. Checker let go of her throat and braced herself against the floor with her legs. He leaned over her and and began to pump with his forelegs. She choked and sputtered some more as Tenderhoof grunted with each pump of his hooves as he continued to work on her. At this point, they were both making a lot of noise and were covered in sweat.

Rarity was tramping down the stairs. She was in a sour mood, and was really not ready to see two forty somethings getting busy in the middle of the room. With one look at the couple, she was bright red. Rarity shook her head and flew back up the stairs. It was quite the change of emotion from what she had just been feeling. She sat on the top step, the couple out of sight but not out of mind, breathing heavily.

With a few more pulls, the pen shot out onto the floor. Both collapsed to the ground, and Tenderhoof rolled over, bringing Checker with him onto his chest. Checker was covering her mouth, coughing. "Are you alright?"

"Yea, I'm fine." She wiped her mouth, still breathing hard.

"Do I need to give you mouth to mouth too?"

"Shut up. Don't think you can wheedle your way out of this one."

"I think I can manage." He grinned and looked up behind him. He eyed the pen across the room before drawing his eyes back to Checker. "C'mon, you're fine." He wrapped his hooves around her back and started rubbing her wings before moving in for a kiss. She pushed off before he could plant it. "Hey! C'mon, I'm sorry, okay. Gimmie a kiss." He chased after her as she tried to return to her desk. "Checker, I'm sorry if I gave you a scare alright. I am." Checker stopped and turned in place.

"I forgive you. But don’t do that again. Especially when I'm writing."

"Ok, I promise... Maybe," he whispered. She glared back.

"Just not when I'm writing then, ok? I don't want to go choking on- aghh!" Checker wailed and fell to the floor.

"Checks!" He came to her side. "Are you alright?"

"What do you think!" She took in a sharp breath through her teeth. "My back! It's my back!"

"Is it? Ok, I know what to do." He took her by the hoof and rose her to a standing position while she cried out in agony. "You remember how to tango right? It's been awhile." He grinned.

"Tango? What the f-" He reared her back onto her hind legs. They leaned against each other to keep standing.

"Okayyyy, and one and two and one and..." she continued to scream in pain as Tenderhoof dragged her through all the steps. "And...spin!" He held one hoof in the air so that she could twirl in place under it. She continued to yell, and she would have grabbed at her back but her hooves were being held in place by his. They did a few more steps and then, "Here comes the dip! You ready? No? Are you sure? Yes? Too late! Aaaand Dip!" He held out one of his legs and draped Checker across it. There was a snap. A loud snap. Her initial screams slowly dropped into deep moans of relief as she melted across his hoof like plastic in a mold. She flung her head back and let her hooves fall around her. Her wings unfurled to their full length. She hung around his hoof for a few seconds, moaning. The clip in her hair had fallen out. He swung her back up to his face, their noses touched. She was grinning. "Better?" She nodded once. "Better!"

He let her back down to all fours. She quickly recollected the clip and bunched her hair back up. She twisted her torso a few times. "Yeahhh, that's better." The smile ran away from her face and was replaced with a scowl. "You could be a little more gentle next time, when your giving the heimlich. And for that matter when you're trying to fix my back. A massage would have worked just as well and it wouldn't have been so painful. Ow."

"It wouldn't have been as quick either." He grinned. "Or as fun."

"You know I'm not as limber as I used to be, Tender."

"I disagree! You're plenty flexible to still be able to dance like that." She blushed.

"Just try and be a little more gentle with me next time." He started snickering, but stopped when he saw the sad look in her eyes. "I'm." She stopped and sighed. "I'm getting old, Tender... I am old."

"Don't you dare say that!" He rushed up to her. "You're not old! You're just...aging."

"Yeah, and not very gracefully." He cupped one of her cheeks.

"Those ponies in the retirement home? They're old. You? You're not old. Old ponies can't dance like that. In my eyes you're still the same pony I met all those years ago. And that's all that matters."

"But, my face! Wrinkles everywhere! And my coat is dull and I think I'm starting to lose some of my hair and whatever hair isn't falling out is starting to turn grey at the roots, and...well, when I look at a mare like Rarity, who's so young and beautiful, with a perfect coat and mane and skin that doesn't bunch up around the eyes, I just...it's-" Tenderhoof pulled her into a hug.

"And none of that matters, Checks, because to me, you're still beautiful. You always will be." He raised his head off of her shoulder and pressed his muzzle to hers. He pulled away and nosed a tear from her eye. "And that's the truth." She gave him a quick peck before she let go. She smiled, straightened herself out, and turned to retreat behind her desk. Tenderhoof followed her in. "You're still not done with your work?"

"It's been a busy day, yes," Checker said. She slung her glasses back around her neck and put them over her eyes. She sat down in her office chair and spun around to her papers. Tenderhoof hugged her from behind and rested his head on her shoulder.

"How much more do you have to do?"

"Not much, I'm almost done."

He took the clip out of her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. "Such beautiful hair doesn't deserve to be pent up like that all the time." He tossed it a little, wrapped a bit around his hoof and tugged at it. He ran his hooves through it and flipped it over her ears and around and across her shoulders. He hugged her again, this time leaving his head on top of hers. He left a few kisses in her mane. "Can't you do any of this tomorrow?"

"No, Tender, I need to finish at least this much today. I promise I won't have nearly this much to do tomorrow." He raised his head and started to spin her chair in circles. She looked oddly cute in the massive chair. Like a filly that had wandered into her daddy’s office chair. He kept it spinning. "Stop that." He spun it a little faster. "Stop that, Tender, I need to work," she said, almost laughing. "Stop!" he gave her one last spin, and then backed away. She slowed to a stop, and through some coincidence, the chair came to a stop facing him.

"You can't take even a little break?"

"I’m sorry, but no.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well then why did you marry me?”

“I-I don’t know...” He clutched his head. His face grew worried as well as his tone. “I-is this not working out, Check?" He fell to his haunches. "Oh god, It’s not is it? All these years...for nothing.” They met eyes and both cracked a smile.

“Tease,” she whispered.

“Tease,” he muttered back before leaning in for a peck. Their ears perked and they turned their heads just in time to see Rarity stumbling down the stairs. “Rarity? Everything alright?”

“Oh! Yes, yes.” She shook her head and blinked a few times. She looked across the room to see Checker and Tenderhoof both perched up on the desk with their forehooves hanging over. “Just a little dizzy.”

“Can I get you some water?” asked Checker.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Checker came out through the door and went away down the hall, returning a few seconds later with a glass. Rarity took it in her magic and choked the liquid down. When was the last time I drank tap water? There really is nothing like an icy glass of Perrier. Perrier with a lemon wedge... Even if it is two dollars a bottle. She sighed and shook off the rest of her daze. “Thank you. That’s much better.” Checker nodded and took the glass back down the hall. Rarity turned back towards the desk and Tenderhoof was already standing in front of her. They both smiled and started pawing at the tile floor. After a moment more of awkward silence, Checker returned.

“Tenderhoof told me that you would like to meet for dinner sometime?”

“Oh, yes! We spoke earlier, and I was just thinking that we have never really gotten to know each other, and because I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, I thought we could sit down someplace nice and just...talk, I suppose.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” said Checker, “do you have a place in mind?”

“Well...well I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“How about we go to that new place down on Mane Street,” Tenderhoof said. Checker twitched at the mention of the restaurant. He glanced over to see his wife's expression. “A bit spendy, yes, but I’ve heard it’s worth it. Great food. Great service. Excellent atmosphere. Well, at least that’s what the reviewers are saying. And live music too!”

“Oh, that would be splendid! I’ve wanted to have dinner there for quite some time now.”

“Then it’s a date. Does next Friday work for you? We can get someone else to watch the orphanage that night. Easy.”

“I’m sure that will work. My schedule is flexible.”

“Great! And we’ll see if we can get our daughter to come down too. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

“Did you say daughter? See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Almost a year we’ve know each other now, and I had absolutely no idea!”

“Oh yes! Just one, though,” said Checker. “She’s studying up at the University of Canterlot. Material Science.”

“Really? That school isn’t easy to get into. Your daughter must be very bright... I studied there too, you know. School of fashion design. Top of my class.” Rarity smiled and swelled up with pride before exchanging the look for a devious smirk. “Ohhh I can remember this one time I...oh dear, the time. I apologize, but I really must get going if I want to beat this storm. But I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk this coming Friday!”

“I’m sure we will,” Checker said with a smile. “Thank you again for your weekly contributions Rarity. You have no idea.”

“Of course... And I want to thank you two. The things you manage to do for these children despite all that’s stacked against you. It's amazing.” Rarity gave a slight bow before turning and opening the door. She poked her head outside and glanced around at the darkening sky. She hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. “Just one more thing. Please...please just keep an extra close eye on Silver Streak for me, would you? She was acting a bit...strange today.”

“Really? Umm, okay,” stuttered Checker, “thank you for telling us that Rarity, we’ll look for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a nice evening!” Tenderhoof said.

“So long.” Rarity turned her head and made her way out, closing the door behind her. Tenderhoof pulled his wife into a half hug. He kissed the top of her head as they both stared off into space.

“Rarity. Rarity. Rarity. Some element of generosity you are.”

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The door of the orphanage clicked closed behind the exhausted, white mare. The clouds had continued to roll in and now the sky was almost completely blanketed with dull grey, growing duller in the fading light. The sun was setting behind the Canterlot Mountain, a great red sphere being pierced by the black peak of the mountain. There was a cut in the clouds that had yet to be sewn up for the night's rainstorm. The weather team had decided to hold off on the rain until nightfall and Rarity knew it. The sun coming through the cut left Canterlot in silhouette, everything from spiraling towers to the cascading waterfalls was dark. A long V-shaped shadow spread out over the entire valley.

It was strange, how the shadow looked from the hill. It was slowly creeping up on Ponyville, like a spectral arrow about to pierce right through all the trees and cottages and ponies hurrying about here and there finishing errands and hastily wrapping up conversations. The town itself was still in the sunlight. That arrow had yet to pierce it, but everything below it was in the shadows. The light filtered down through the clouds in great etherial shafts, like light running through a stained glass window, constantly shifting around as if it was alive, when really it's just the dust floating through the air. The light twinkled, ebbed, and flowed down onto the picturesque little town torn from a storybook.

Rarity shifted in place, took a deep breath, and took off at a brisk pace toward home, casting occasional glances towards the clouds. She kept her mind occupied as she walked, thinking about anything but the orphanage. Her thoughts moved from the angelic view to what she was going to do when she got home. The wind had picked up and the temperature had risen, signaling the incoming storm. The clouds were turning a bit green while the air grew hot and thick. Maybe this storm was going to be bigger than she first thought. Rarity looked around at the clouds and picked up her pace. The burning red sphere was further impaling itself onto the peak. The bleeding wound in the sky was slowly being sutured shut.

Rarity couldn't wait to get home. She was tired. She had been tired since noon and was only still standing because of all the coffee she had drank, and now, after everything, she was even more tired. She just wanted to get home and relax, and she had things all planned out. First, she would throw on a pair of long silken stockings. Striped to match her colors. Then she would slide into her little pink slippers and wrap herself in her favorite bathrobe. She would brew up a few cups of tea and unwind on her couch in front of a roaring fire. She would let her mane fall wherever it wanted and perhaps pull out a thick flannel blanket to help ward away the wind and rain. Maybe make a little progress on her latest romance novel. And Opalescence would come and curl up next to her on the couch, sharing in the warmth. And after the entire pot of tea had been finished, and she was nice and warm and full and happy, she would close her eyes and snuggle deeper into the covers ready to sleep all night and well into the morning straight through breakfast. And while the rain pecked at the roof and the wind groaned against the walls, she would throw a hoof around Silver Streak and pull her as close as she possibly could.

No

Rarity shook her head. She trudged on as the warm wind whistled through her ears and whipped at her coat and mane. The air was oppressive. The sun slipped further onto the rocky blade as the shadowy arrow creeped ever closer. The red rift in the sky was shrinking, and the Light continued to bleed down onto the little town of Ponyville.

She swallowed hard as her head fell to the ground beneath her. Her hooves clicked softly on the packed dirt of the path. After a while, she just tried to focus on putting one hoof in front of the other. It was becoming harder to do so, like her hooves were made of iron and the orphanage was some kind of magnet. Every step farther away she took, the harder it was to take the next. Her pace was slowing and she was breathing hard through the air. She just wanted to go home, but she was being drawn back to the crumbling building. No matter how hard she tried, the thoughts were starting to seep in. She ignored them, but they continued to fester at the back of her mind, growing large and bulbous like a cancerous tumor. She told herself to be rational. She told herself to think twice. She told herself to sleep on it, but how could she get any sleep when there was a tortured little soul out there crying out for help. She told herself how she had just met this filly. She told herself that she wouldn't be any good at it. She told herself she wasn't ready. She told herself that she was too young. She asked herself what her friends would think, what strangers would think, seeing someone so young with a child of her age. She asked herself what they would think of her. She told herself about how this would affect her career. She told herself that she had nothing to prove. They were all excuses. Good excuses. So many good excuses. She didn't notice that she had stopped walking. She was on the last hill outside Ponyville, below her was the village, still sparking in the last few beams of sunlight. Behind her was the orphanage, dark and clothed in shadow. When Rarity looked back towards Ponyville, the arrow had pierced it. It was working its way through the deserted streets, and it was shrouding all of the well lit little cottages that lined them. The sun was completely split now, sliced in half by the sinister spike. The bloody gash in the clouds was shrinking smaller, smaller, smaller, until it was finally sewn up nice and neat, and everything––even Ponyville––was stuck in the shadows of the rumbling green clouds. The first few drops of rain pattered against her coat. She looked up into the rain and her eyes wrenched shut.

She also told herself that she would never forget.

Her legs gave out and she crumbled to the ground. That day, every time tears had threatened to pour out, something had saved her. After Rainbow Dash had spoken her harsh words, it had been the coffee machine that stopped them. When she came into the orphanage to find the foals lined up with their signs, it had been those same foals charging at her that had stopped her tears. When she had thought about the foals while sitting in that chair in front of the fire, she had been saved by Tenderhoof calling out that dinner was ready. And when she had held Silver Streak in her arms, it had been the filly pleading with her not to cry. And when the filly had gone to sleep she held back the sobs in exchange for less fulfilling silent tears. And after she had kissed the filly good night, she promised herself not to cry, even silently, until she was in the safety of her bed. But now, there was nothing to save her. She was on a hill outside Ponyville, all alone as the clouds were closed up and the rain came pouring down.

So she wept. She broke down and cried. There was no one around to hear, but no one around to comfort as she sobbed. She turned over on the pathway that was turning from dirt to mud in the rain. Her hair clung to her body in wet clumps and her coat was brown and clotted with mud. Her face was black and white again, alternating stripes from the rain and the tears. So many tears that a milky black puddle was forming around her head. The designer hoofbag was soaked, but she didn't care. She cried heavy tears with the heavy rain. Cries that ran out into the storm, but were snuffed out by the storm. They were tears that couldn't be wiped away because a thousand more would soon replace them. She rose back to her hooves, still crying. Now that she had started, like a dam that had burst, there was no stopping the flow. The rain pummeled her like a volley of gunfire. She turned back to the dark form of the orphanage and stared up the path through bleary, tear clouded eyes. She took a step, tripped, and fell into the mud. She got up again, her coat heavy from the filth and the rain. And took another step, only to fall again into the slop of the path. The mud was deep. Walking was like wading through a swamp. She grit her teeth and rose again. She cried out in the grey of the rainstorm and took off down the path in the direction of the orphanage.

She would not forget.

She was running now, running as fast as her hooves could carry her through the knee-high mud. Her hoofsteps flung slop from the path into her still crying face, but she wiped it away and pressed on. The handbag was choking her, it being so drenched with water and muck. Without breaking her eyes from the orphanage, she yanked at it with her magic and the buckle snapped from the purse with a glorious ping. The golden buckle flipped off and away into the mud, the sound ringing and spinning with it all the way. She held the bag in front of her and tore it and all of its unnecessary expense into a pile of faux-leather scraps. She tossed them into the air and let them flutter down around her as she pressed on faster through the slough.

She was coming to get her. She was coming to take her home to that home that she had been promised those many months ago by somepony who would lie and then cry and then forget. She might have lied, and she might have cried, but she would not forget. She was going to make up for all the times she had hurt her. She was close now, close to holding her in her arms, close to kissing her mane, close to rocking her to sleep at night, and close to watching her smile. Really smile. Close to taking her away from this place, close to feeding her something that didn't always taste the same, close to letting her live someplace that wasn't tearing itself apart at the seams, close to giving her somewhere warm to sleep and watching her leap down the stairs in the morning excited to be alive, and close to watching her be happy. Really be happy. Close to watching her grow up, close to watching her become just like herself, close to standing up and applauding her, close to always being there for her, close to watching the stars with her, close to watching saturday morning cartoons with her, close to playing dress up with her, and close to going on a thousand-and-one adventures with her. Both big and small. Close to watching over her when she was sick, close to cheering her up when she was down, close to getting her ready for school every morning, close to reading her a story every night before she slept, close to letting her cuddle up with her in bed when she woken up by a thunderstorm, and close to loving her with every last inch of her generous heart. Close to being her mother. So close. Rarity smiled through her tears as she approached the door of the orphanage.

She was going to tell her why everything was going to be alright.

No.

She was going to show her why everything was going to be alright.

Checker was there, standing in the middle of the room with the orphanage keys in her mouth ready to lock up for the night when Rarity burst through the door. She jumped back a step and dropped the keys from her mouth. A mud and rain slathered Rarity came slithering up to Checkers hooves, sobbing but smiling, looking up at the elder through the wet mess of her mane. "Rarity?" Checker said, bending down to her. Rarity threw her messy hooves around her neck. "Rarity, what happened, are you alright?"

"Checker!" she shouted for the whole orphanage to hear, "I want to adopt! Please!"

"Rarity, slow down," she soothed, "what are you saying?" Checker said. Tenderhoof came flying around the corner. His eyes bulged and he took off back down the hall, returning a few moments later with a stack bath towels. He ran to Rarity and knelt down next to her, throwing the first around her torso, he swept her mane back with the next. The door was hanging wide open, a warm wind was blowing through. Tenderhoof stood up and swung the door shut. A puddle of water had followed Rarity in, and it was now pooling around her drenched, shivering form. She took her other hoof, and wrapped it around Tenderhoof as he knelt back down beside her. She was smiling now, big and wide with a black, dirty face full of tears. Tenderhoof used his last towel to gently clean her face of the mascara, mud, and tears.

“Oh, Checker! Tenderhoof! You both. You have to understand. I... I want to adopt!”

“We understand, Rarity,” Tenderhoof said, “just calm down for us, okay?” With concern in his eyes he looked down upon the shivering white unicorn. “Are you going to be alright? Want me to fetch more towels? A blanket? Some tea, coff-”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just want to...to make sure she’s alright.”

“She?” Checker said. Rarity nodded in response. “Tenderhoof, honey? L-let’s do this right now, okay? Um, I’ll get the papers.” standing up and shuffling around to her desk. She returned with a short stack and a pen. “It’s a pretty huge responsibility, Rarity. Are you sure you understand what you’re about to do?”

“Of course I do!”

Tenderhoof hugged Rarity a little tighter, drawing her eyes back to him. “It’s very noble, Rarity. I always had a hunch that you might eventually choose to adopt. Ever since that first Sunday you walked in. Something in your eyes. Though I have to say, I never thought it would go like this.” A clattering from upstairs drew their attention. “Wonder what-”

“For god's sake! Just tell me she’s alright!”

“Who, Rarity? Who is she?” As Checker said this, the small white form of a foal appeared at the top of the stairs, a little brown bear tucked underneath her leg, eyes straining against the light.

“Silver!” A few other foals joined Silver Streak on the stairs, peering through the wooden supports of the handrail, gripping them like the steel bars on a prison door.

“Rarity?” the foal said in a tired voice “What are you-” At that point Silver Streak must have seen the seen the papers in Checker’s hooves, because her eyes went wide and she took off down the stairs. Rarity shoved Tenderhoof and Checker aside, and rushed to meet Silver. They met at the bottom of the stairs, and the foal leapt into Rarity’s arms. They embraced, twirling at the foot of the stairs. Neither cared that Rarity was still dripping with water and smeared with dirt. Tears came to both their eyes, but only a few. Even though these were of joy, too many had already been shed that day. A few tears ran down the cheeks of Checker and Tenderhoof as they watched. When Rarity could no longer stand, she sat, still hugging, kissing, and nuzzling, with the filly doing the same back to her. With her muzzle pressed hard against Rarity’s shoulder, she spoke. “Rarity? Are you actually?”

“Yes, Silver. I am... I am. I am. I am.”

“But...before today, all you knew about me was my name. Even now, we know so little about each other. And now this? So suddenly? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Rarity combed through the filly’s hair. “I don't need to know you to know how much pain you have to live with every day of your life. It’s unfair. I-I was burning and twisting up on the inside after you told me all those awful things. I felt sick. Sick and angry and confused and hurt. Just like you. And I may never know what it feels like to be so alone. To feel so utterly abandoned by the world. I may never know, but all I want to do is make sure you never ever ever have to feel like that ever again, okay? Okay sweetie? Oh, Silver! It would have been a crime for me not to do this.” They pulled away and gazed into each other’s eyes. Both bleary, tired, but so completely filled with love.

“Thank you. I think...I think it’s going to be alright.” Silver nodded and smiled. A huge, honest, happy smile. Grinning from ear to ear. She giggled through the last of her tears and latched back onto Rarity’s warm chest, burrowing deep into her coat.

The weight that had been pulling at her for so long had been lifted. Ever since she had first started coming to the orphanage the weight had been there, growing larger and heavier as time dragged on. And now the black pit deep within her stomach––within her soul––was gone. She breathed deep. She was free, and so was Silver Streak. She wiped away the last of her tears, and then the last tears of the filly. Here she was. Her foal. Her beautiful, beautiful foal. Rarity smiled, cradling her, rocking gently back and forth on the floor. “There, there, darling. No more tears. No more Pain. No more Sadness or sleepless nights. No more lies. No more guilt. No more forgetting. No more. No more... Everything is going to be alright, sweetie. I’m absolutely sure of it.” And this time, she wasn't lying, wasn't crying, and she definitely wasn't forgetting.

Author's Note

A few notes.

First, I would like to give a quick thanks to my editor in chief, Joe Hassler.
You're a bro, Joe. Couldn't a done it without you.

Well, there it is. The fruit of my labour. All wrapped up with a sweet and fuzzy ending. I hope you liked it, and thanks so much for reading!

If you didn't realize it along the way, this fic was inspired by this wonderful comic: Element of Generosity

Also, yes, I know footballs are made from leather, not pigskin, but it was a joke, see? A joke!

And thanks again to all of my brave readers. You especially guy with hat and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You stay classy.

Sequel? Maybe. I don't know. I have some ideas (of course) but what I don't have is time. And with all the other things that I really want to write, I'll just have to see how this one does.