It was scarce in the museum that night. Usually, it would be filled to the doors with the regal, the posh, and the dazzling Canterlot ponies. But that night, in the familiar silver glow of Canterlot’s moon, whether it was through a mishap in scheduling or a missing bag of invites, it was scarce. Rarity, the eager to leave, the guest of honour, basked in the warmth of the ceiling lights. She knew how alone she would never feel again as long as they held her.
"I... needed that," she concluded, still reclaiming her breath from on her back.
Patchwork meanwhile was strewn out a few paces away from her, unknowing to how alone he was about to be. “Hah… I told you… the floor would be fine… Happy you came up?”
Before she could answer, they noticed themselves being watched by the security guard from the top of the stairs. The uniformed stallion broke the silence and caused Rarity to jump.
“Uh, sir? Sorry to, uh… interrupt sir, but I’m changing shifts in a few minutes. Just thought I’d let ya know.”
Patchwork sprang to his hooves and halted the record player as it threatened to continue playing. He darted his eyes between the guard and his date before clearing his throat. “Thanks, Flint. We won’t be long,” he said with a shooing wave of his hoof.
“No problem, Mr. Brand.”
“Augh!” Patch yelped as the words blindsided him onto his back.
“I mean Patch-! I-… sorry.”
The guard sealed his mouth and trotted downstairs before Patch had a chance to recover. Rarity didn't react, as she was busy scanning her dress for damage.
“It looks like your cover has… been blown, Boulevard,” she panted.
"You knew?”
“Oh, please. Your family owns this museum.” Rarity stood up and inspected a loose ribbon around her hind legs. The bottom fraction of her dress was about to come clean off without it. She grimaced at first, but with a smile she pulled the entire thing out and caught the fabric before it hit the floor. She draped it over her shoulders.
Patch gulped and eyed her tepidly from next to the record player, biting his lip.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning, hmm? Who is ‘Patchwork’?”
“Still me!” he protested, “ I'm Patchwork. I'm still the cobbler... it’s just the name the city gave me, not my parents. I was gonna tell you...”
Rarity’s expression fell into impatience. “Out with it.”
“Okay, okay,” Patch began, sitting up straight and nodding while frowning. ”I… first saw you at the Grand Galloping Gala a few years ago. It was one of the most boring nights ever... and then you and your friends showed up and… well, you turned it on its head! I was amazed! And the way you stood up to Blueblood was… I mean, I was blown away, really.
“And then, uh... A couple years later I was in Manehattan with my parents to see this pretentious fashion show. I mean-... no offense.”
Patch’s breath was beginning to outrun him again, but Rarity had caught hers, and was standing up to the sound of the creaking wood that made Patch speed up his story.
“But then you came out again! And I saw your… insane line of hotel wear, and it was… just… hilarious! I couldn't wait anymore.”
Rarity frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s been months since Manehattan,” she pointed out.
"Well yeah, I was originally just going to ask you to the bar with me... but then I spoke with one of your friends first. Princess Twilight? And I decided that you would much rather go out with…” He groaned and rolled his eyes before continuing. “…Somepony like Boulevard Brand instead of me.
"Y’see, she gave me the idea for the ball, but then she told me to be... careful. Careful about when the ball was, about when I approached you, about how I approached you, what I should be wearing... She can really talk, that one. Uhhh- anyways, she said you're always super busy and always taking on more things than you can carry, but end up carrying it all anyway. She said you might not even have the time for a night out. She was even nice enough to tell me specific times that'd be good to approach you, and they were all like... ten minute intervals."
It was Rarity’s turn to gaze solemnly at the floor. She tried to think of the busy period he spoke of, but nothing jumped out at her. She was stuck on how her friend the princess appeared to be more approachable than herself.
"So I came up with this idea. I thought maybe the only way you would spend some time with me would be if I… got rid of all the expectations of who I was. Then maybe you would be able to... let loose, I guess. So, I… stood… you up."
Rarity winced. She stood straighter and glared at Patch, pushing on the floor a few times beneath her impatiently. Patch stepped back and stuttered as she approached him with her horn flared.
“L-l-look, I know I shoulda been up front with you, but… you can’t tell me that would've worked! This is who I am! Not Boulevard Brand, not the formal, polite stallion that everypony expects from me. I’m Patchwork! I- ah!”
The collar of his jacket sprung stiff below his neck, and before he could fight it, Rarity pulled him close—anger suddenly vanishing from her face. She then placed her hoof under his chin and met his lips with hers. Patchwork forced out a smothered sound and widened his eyes, but fluttered them closed after the first few seconds in her grasp. Rarity took a moment to exhale before breaking away, leaving her hoof on his chin and grinning proudly at the fugue state she had left him in. She backed away and waited for Patchwork to come back to reality. When he opened his eyes, he chuckled and rubbed his neck.
“I didn't… have you pegged for a first-date kisser.”
“I’m not,” Rarity stated.
“Huh? But-”
“But this wasn't a date, was it Patch?”
“Wha-… why not? I thought it was.”
“But were you looking for a date? Or were you looking for a dance partner?”
The words collided with Patchwork instantly. His shoulders dropped and his chin followed, and he gave an exasperated sigh. Rarity tilted her head and watched as an injured smile stretched across his face. “I can’t have both?” he awkwardly chided.
“That depends on your priority, darling. Oh, dear me… your suit.”
Patch sprung to his hooves and scanned his clothing. The bow tie was on the floor across the room, and the shoulders of his suit had both torn and slumped down his shoulders in the excitement. “Oh, wow! That’s a new one.”
Rarity focused her concentration on the tears, drawing the slacked sleeves closer to the seam with her magic. She smirked and floated her torn ribbon towards him, separating it into twenty threads and feeding two of them through the ruptured suit. She separated the slack from the stitches and stood back to admire her work. The small red threads were now accenting both of his forelegs, giving the suit a new look altogether. Patch chuckled and gaped at his new clothes.
Suddenly, an alarm rang in Rarity’s mind. She threw a hoof to the zipper in her dress and stepped back in surprise and panic.
“Oh!”
“It’s over there,” Patch said, gesturing to the gleaming silver pocket watch on the floor next to the covered paintings.
Rarity sighed and floated it off the floor, dusting it and widening her eyes at the time. She made just one step to Patchwork so she could give him a tight hug. “I’m afraid my night is over, Patchwork,” she announced.
“Can I see you again?” he sighed as he returned the hug.
“Why, certainly!" she replied, breaking free faster than he expected. "Come by the Carousel Boutique sometime – I'm sure you know where it is – and we can discuss that partnership, hmm? I haven't given up on you yet, mister."
Patch jokingly rolled his eyes at his date as she turned and ran towards the stairs. “What happened to her?” he called out in an attempt to extend the night just a little more.
“To whom?” Rarity replied.
“Babalon.”
“Oh, she’s just a story, Patchwork. However, it does end by saying that although she was not an entirely popular member of the land… hers is the castle that remains.”
With a wink, Rarity disappeared below the floor, and silence came back to accompany the lonely, young stallion. He loudly blew air out of his pursed lips and looked up at the glaring lights solemnly. He made a tiny whisper that he had to get to work. But then a thought crossed his mind, the smile reappeared on his face, and he closed his eyes.
“One more song.”