//------------------------------// // Scene 1 // Story: Rarity's Warming Eve // by Silver Letter //------------------------------// Dear Coco Pommel, Has it been so long already? I guess it is true that autumn is already coming to a silent close, eclipsed by the white of the coming snow. It only reminds me that so much time has passed since the time we met in Manehattan. I wonder if you heard about one of my best friends getting a luxurious new home. To speak lightly of it anyway….but I can’t help but feel a bit…jealous of…even though it’s been something I’ve been struggling to keep contained. So with all that going on, I haven’t had the time to contact you. What became of your work with the theatre? I ask because I have yet another grand opportunity for a young designer such as yourself if you’re willing to travel far to see me. You were the first pony that came to mind in fact. Contact me posthaste at this address. It’s my home/boutique in Ponyville. Well, bye for now. Cordially, Rarity P.S, I apologize for the short letter. I have to get to work right away. I know you understand. Her letter was tucked into the envelope like a newborn foal into a blanket. Rarity’s custom stationary had not bent or folded even one millimeter out of place as she pressed her hoof down. The tool she used was the size of the rook piece from her mother’s old chess set. The wax that flowed up the edges of it now began to harden. After she had set the thing aside, Rarity looked at the letter as a sheath of light blue shimmered about it like it was at the bottom of a pool. The seal, the letter “R” in a circle of deep red. There is nothing that can’t be bettered with a little comfort. She let the letter hang in the air as her hooves clipped against the floor on the way to the front door. She normally detested trotting in the boutique but she ignored the striking sounds like tap dancing that echoed off both mirrors and ceiling. It made her want to buff the floor so her image reflects off the white as though on the surface of a pond obscured by drifting mud and algae. It wasn’t exactly cleaning day so she ignored that thought and hurried out…before she changed her mind. Her magic simultaneously swung the door on its brass hinges while it carried the letter. On her doorstep, her eyes squirmed in her eyelids – they are not to be touched as they are indeed too glorious to be ruined- as the real light of the sun, though filtered by a cloud cover mimicking the texture of soaked cotton, blasted into them. For a moment, she let her train of thought dissolve as she gazed over the close countryside on the edge of town. After all that her friends had done to ward off the encroaching arrival of autumn’s yearly shedding, the battle to save her lawn has been in vain. Leaves are like old crumbling garbage to her and after a rain, merely seeing them can turn her stomach almost as badly as when hair clogs one of her sinks. She turned around and hoped to see the mail carrier zip down the road to her house. There was no sight of him and she couldn’t even catch his distinct scent. The stench of bog from the north, of rich earth and a swirl of decay, was all around her. The smell and the chill against her tongue and in her throat was not just a promise but a threat of the first snow. She couldn’t wait a second longer and made sure the letter was securely fastened. Her hoof slipped twice but finished it then she bolted back inside. She made a sort of whimper that passed through clenched teeth before her voice settled into a sigh as soon as she closed the door. Her eyes readjusted to the light of lanterns and her pulse slowed with the knowledge that all the natural world was well behind her door, far enough away to ignore in safety. She was secure in her cloister and within it, her mind began to pace itself like a hamster in a wheel; she had been in a delicate planning stage for more than two weeks and as usual she left nearly nothing to chance. She knew that every last second will have to be put to use if she was going to have everything in a state of perfection next week. She couldn't be certain who would be there, judging her craft. Maybe nopony special but she can hardly take the risk. She could just imagine some celebrity designer coming unexpectedly, hidden away in the crowd, catching her off guard. Definitely not completely out of the question. It would be far more damaging to work half-heartedly and be written off than to try her best and not get noticed. Perfection is a must anyway, so deeply engrained like a code of conduct, something personal that must be upheld no matter the cost. She walked to the far side of the room. Next to her own dressing room and along the wall that loops around to the staircase, several plastic barrels that were taller than a foal were stacked in a row alongside mega rolls of fabrics and a pyramid of jars. Rarity might have said before that all that would be too much to handle but this was different, and such a project would need more than its fair share of materials. It was a dream of hers to have so much and to delve into it all ever since she first started designing clothes. She still managed to overpower the urge for two whole days and barely thought of touching it. Last night, her tail merely grazed it and her heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing what was inside. Her plans were written, rechecked and finalized; she was ready to check out what treasures of fashion awaited her. She giggled to herself as a hoof twisted off the top of one of the large barrels. It fell and spun on the floor. Inside, a bunch of plastic wraps that looked like pillows were stuffed on top of each other. She could barely see the dark blue flakes inside so she used a pair of scissors to cut a line, creating a fair opening. Once she revealed the contents to the light, she gasped and flashed her stainless teeth. Her hoof went in like a farmer inspecting grains of wheat and scooped some of the sequins, and felt their weight. She then let them slip from her grasp and back into the bag with the others. She had torn into several of the bags before hearing a familiar clop coming from upstairs. Having paid no attention to it until the sound was in her midst, she turned her head to see her familiar guest. As she approached, it was so easy to notice that she greets the morning with a little less hostility than she used to; maybe even a smile like she was doing that moment. Sure, every filly needs her rest but when it’s time to ruffle the duvet early then it was becoming more likely that Sweetie Belle could be trusted to rise and wake even as early as Rarity herself. Sweetie Belle stopped and picked up a jar, turning it in her hooves. She stared at it like it could contain something a foal would like, something that Rarity felt somewhat estranged from. Sweetie’s curls bounced as she peered closer. She then backed away as her interest faded. That’s her sister; she must have been up for an hour to get them just right. Rarity caught a scent of lavender; when did she start wearing it? Sweetie always liked the fruity scents like cherry, peach or even strawberry that made her smell like a fruit salad, the sort of smell that even ants could be distracted by during a summer picnic. She put the jar down. The glass settled with a clack against the metal lid of another. “That’s a lot of stuff, Rarity” Sweetie said, eyeing the cloth rolls up and down, guessing their weight. “And I’m going to need every last bit of it” Rarity replied. She used her magic to float the jar upward and twisted the lid off. Inside, a mass of silver glitter shifted inside like a sand dune struck by the wind. The choice of glitter was the right fit for one of the costumes thought of in her head. Nothing she ordered: the silks, furs, jewels, metals or accessories strayed far from classical artist’s interpretation of the Hearth’s Warming Eve pageantry; the same art has influenced it for many years and Rarity believed that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery. “Are you sure? There are only going to be a few ponies there” Sweetie Belle surmised. She looked back and met Rarity’s wide-eyed gaze. “On the contrary, there will be more than you think” Rarity said, putting the jar back down. She stepped back to her table and scooped up her calligraphy things to return upstairs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”. Sweetie Belle followed her as she turned around for her room. She wanted to return those things to the closet so she can begin the actual costume designing that night. But as they headed up the stairs, it was obvious to her that something was a little off. Rarity has always had an eye out for her sister, always looking out for how she’s doing whenever her voice could be heard. Her mother always said that the sudden bursts of squeaking that accentuated her voice was just her being overloaded with sweetness. Now, Rarity could only hear the hoof steps she only hoped wasn’t laden with depression. This unknown side of her sister bothered Rarity. It didn’t seem normal for the foal not to be racing to cheer her up. Rather, she seemed to lag in spirit and her head was a lead balloon. She couldn’t help but think why she has to face all this now, on the week before Equestria’s greatest holiday. But Rarity has never turned her sister away before and she wasn’t going to start now. In her room, the brush and stationary were returned back to her tool closet. The work room was a mess by most standards but still looked far too organized for her tastes. It already felt like it’s going to be an all-nighter even in the late afternoon sun. She went and sat on a red pillow while Sweetie kept standing. These were two sisters, just sharing a few words in the fading sunlight. “Sweetie, do you miss your friends?” she asked. The filly rubbed the back of her neck, a sort of thing Rarity found to be less than lady-like. “Well, I do miss them but I don’t feel bad about it or anything”. Rarity lightly chewed on her lower lip but only for a split second. She wished she had at least a cup of tea to occupy her mouth in between her chances to speak. “It just seems like you are feeling…under the weather” she said. Rarity had to focus on her sister’s feelings, anything to prevent the talk from drifting towards work and success of all things. If only to prevent herself from changing the subject. “It’s nothing like that” Sweetie Belle insisted. “I understand that we stayed at home for a pretty good reason. All our friends are gone but I don’t feel bad for them because they’re going to see a great show next week and maybe they might even see the castle”. The mental thought of her five friends enjoying the sights of their fair capital, her home away from home, made her smile. “With us together, it’s almost like this is going to be our play…here in this town of ours” Rarity said. Sweetie’s back arched with her front hooves digging into the carpet, holding herself steady. “You don’t have to say that. The mayor didn’t commission all that stuff you got downstairs for us”. Rarity hasn’t seen that face in years. It was her own when she used to stare in mirrors for sometimes hours at a time when she designed for school plays. It was like her trials were being passed down: her will to overcome the looming fear of rejection, the haunting quest for purpose, the horrendous itch to rise over mediocrity. Even her reassuring hoof on the filly’s shoulder was the same her teacher gave her all those years ago. Rarity couldn’t deny that the view was so different on the other side. “Sweetie, just because you’re not playing the lead, it doesn’t mean you aren’t part of a great ensemble. My costumes are nothing more than your accessories”. Her sister stared at the ground. Her eyes looked empty and shallow. “But that’s all they ever notice. Hearth’s Warming Eve will be no different”. “I promise that won’t be the case” Rarity said, sighing. “Aren’t you in a singing role this year? It’s about time somepony starts to recognize your natural talent”. Sweetie groaned. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be Filly Unicorn #3. Good for me”. Rarity almost felt infected by her negative thoughts. No matter how much time passed, the rift of jealousy that hung over the two sisters, threatening to pull them apart, never relented. It’s always been about not enough time, not enough patience, not enough love. Their relationship has always been a system of lacking. Even though she could no more stand against their history than face down hurricane winds, Rarity still had one option left. And as much as Sweetie wanted to whine, she would find it impossible soon enough. A sister always has something special saved for occasions such as this, when they have to pull together no matter what. Rarity sauntered towards her work table, where she set her chipped red glasses upon the top of her nose, and tipped the end of it to make it straight. “Sweetie Belle, could you perhaps be a dear and retrieve the rest of the materials from downstairs?” she asked. She had even dipped her muzzle downward which Sweetie didn’t notice. “Absolutely” she grumbled. In a flash, she was already down the stairs, and her hooves slammed on every step and rattled the pictures on the wall. She soon returned, with a barrel that could fit her entire body trailing behind. She came and set it down near the wall. “Thank you very much” Rarity said. Without lifting a hoof, she withdrew all her equipment and had her sewing machine prepped. By the time Sweetie brought the last jar, her belly sagged and her breaths were drawn out wheezes. Even her smooth mane now had strands flung every which way. Sweetie looked in a mirror and bounced one of her curls with the end of her hoof. “I got everything up here” she declared. Sweetie didn’t know it but her older sister’s plans were finally taking shape. Rarity had not only accounted for but planned for Sweetie’s arrival and now she knew the time had come. Rarity cleared her throat. “Sweetie Belle, you’ve really done so much to help me since you came. I know you’re supposed to be training your voice but I know you can do more than that. What would you say to working alongside me”? The filly’s energy came back and she rose to all four of her hooves. “Really as in actually helping my older sis”? She spun around a couple times but stopped as if a thought had interrupted her celebrating, made her anticipate some sort of catch to be sprung on her. “By ‘working’, do you mean go to the town store and get you more material”? “I have more than enough” Rarity said. She showed Sweetie Belle one of her designs for the play, a foal’s costume, an old fashioned design fit for the unicorns of old. “I thought it would…mean more for you to wear something you made yourself. I designed it, yes…but it still has to be put together”. As the words soaked in, forcing their way through her sister’s head, the formerly wound muscles near her spine and neck loosened like Rarity’s own after a trip to the spa. It was more than she had hoped for and what she got was a spark of creativity and if it was anything like her own, it would be a hotbed of desire. She could only wonder why she had not seen it until now. “I can’t wait” Sweetie squealed. “When do we start”? Rarity sweeps an errant hair from her muzzle. “We actually don’t have a moment to lose. We will begin now and will not likely stop till long after the moon has aged”. “Are you sure you can do all this by yourself”? Rarity chuckled. “I’m sure I can but not in a week. I’m going to ask my friend from Manehattan to come. The two of us should have the costumes handled with time to spare”. Of course, what Rarity left out was that she was more than just counting on Coco Pommel to show up. Literally everything hung in the balance. And if she didn’t, then it might not matter if there were no celebrities to trash the play. The ponies that were there would make sure that all of Equestria would know about it before long. But she didn’t do anything but smile because at least her sister was there and she shouldn’t think about anything except being in that room and listening to the sound of stitching all night.