Rarity's Warming Eve

by Silver Letter

Scene 4

That night, the three of them had a late dinner. It was 8:30 and a sliver of moon cast its light over the fields around the house. The trees were silhouettes of dark blue. Inside the bright kitchen, Rarity could see nothing at all outside the window. She sat next to Sweetie Belle at the kitchen table. She hardly labored over dinner, resulting in them being served a raw salad of mushrooms that were like rubber, mushy tomatoes and very dark and wet spinach. She didn’t even care about the lack of taste. The sound of her friend yelling occupied her mind. She could still hear it; it rang in her head like an alarm. She had no idea why she even cared so badly. It wasn’t as if frustration wasn’t a part of their jobs and their lives. It explained so little though. Why are Coco’s words so liable to be sharp as of late like a knife somepony keeps in their back pocket for protection? Rarity had not known her for long but it wasn’t the pony she thought she knew back in Manehattan. Maybe that’s why she cared. It’s possible that she needs help. If only she knew how to go about talking to her without possibly embarrassing her. She would have to do it when they’re alone.

“Um, Rarity, can you hear me?” Sweetie Belle asked. An unplanned squeak broke her concentration like a snap reviving a pony from a trance. She was waving her hooves in her line of sight.

“Oh…I’m sorry Sweetie Belle” Rarity said, recovering. Her cheeks felt hot and there was a pinch of pressure against her temples. “What were you saying”? As she spoke, Coco sipped some more of her red wine. It was the same color as the furious looking notes she scribbled on the drafting paper.

“I just wanted to know if I made enough peasant costumes or should I do a few more tomorrow”?

Rarity honestly didn’t care much about peasant clothes at that moment. “Um, as long as there are enough for the number of foals, I think it would be more than sufficient”.

“She made good use of the burlap. Made patches out of cotton and sewn them on by hoof” Coco pointed out. She dipped her fork into the salad and scooped some into her mouth to eat. The sound of a fork scraping against her fine plate was the only sound she made. Rarity herself barely made a sound when she ate. Her stomach already felt full.

Sweetie soaked up the praise like most foals do. “Thanks! What about you, sis”?

“They were great….very peasant-ey”. Was that the best she could come up with? She wanted to bang her head against the table.

After Sweetie went to take a bath before bed, Rarity volunteered to wash everypony’s plate. She wanted to get her mind off the costumes and Coco, at least for fifteen minutes while she scrubbed spinach residue away. Bubbles and the smell of lavender cleaning solution could always help to fade some of her stress.

With everything cleaned up, she went upstairs and settled down for the night, smelling peaches on the vapor still present in the restroom. Rarity went in her room and put on her eye mask she always has on when she falls asleep. The curtains are already shut and she uses her magic to turn off the lights. Alone, she yawns, drawing in a deep breath. Her hooves rub all over the silk sheets. There is nothing better than beauty sleep to refresh one’s creativity.

During the night, Rarity’s eyes opened. Her body was curled up and her tail looped around her legs with the tip touching her nose. The duvet was pulled in, wrapping her close. Her nose sucked in air and it was freezing. She snorted and it made her cough then shudder. She ripped the eye mask off and lit her horn, casting a blue glow in the room. Despite the cold, her head was burning up and the light was a needle injecting pain into her head through her eyes.

She got up and made her way to the door in her sleep deprived languor. The cat, which has been awake and irritated in her freezing bed for hours, assaulted her legs with a swipe of her paws. Rarity’s head jerked in her direction and saw the two greenish mirrors staring back, accompanied by a low growl, a demand for an apology.

“I’m so sorry Opal” Rarity whispered in a panic. “I don’t know why the house is so cold tonight. I’ll check the heat stoves right away”. She left her pampered cat behind and scuttled downstairs, keeping her robe held close to her. She couldn’t bear the thought that her wood stove had somehow failed her in the course of the night. It was utterly unthinkable. But even if it did, she had no idea how it would be possible to keep to her schedule when she’s running about town for somepony to rush over and fix it in the morning. Even the descent downwards made her feel a bit nauseous. The cold was getting to her and fast.

She expected it to get even colder the closer she got to the laundry room as if she was entering a cave but there was a faint heat even as far as the parlor. She saw flickering light under the laundry room door. It couldn’t be candles causing it. She opened it and the warmth pressed against her fur. She entered and let her horn’s light die off. The wood stove on the opposite wall from the empty laundry baskets and washtub was still full of burning logs. But its iron door was open and the yellowish light glinted off the washboard. She didn’t understand what was happening and stared at it as if it was emitting bubbles instead of the occasional ember. Then she looked up where the pipe led to a vent that fed the heated air around the boutique. She noticed that the vent had been shut, sealing off the heat to this room alone.

She heard something move behind her. She turned and saw a figure stir in a shadowed corner of the room. It made her want to jump out of her skin but her hooves were cemented to the floor even as the pony approached. In the light, she saw Coco’s distinct cyan hair sans her flower brooch.

Rarity sighed in relief. “Oh, Coco. It was just you”. She honestly didn’t know what it could have been. She has heard of burglars before but only from reading Manehattan or Canterlot newspapers; never in her hometown where ponies had houses with thatched roofs made of straw and walked on streets lit by fireflies. Regardless, her heart took a moment to stop pounding as Coco approached. She was carrying a flat tray in her front right hoof.

“Well, who else would it be”? She walked closer. “It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it”? On the tray were two teacups and a small teapot on a platter. “Would you like a drink now that you’re up”?

Rarity hesitated to pour herself a cup. “Um, sure. But what is it”?

Coco seemed amused. “It’s just some black tea. I brought it from Manehattan. It’s kind of an inside joke with us city ponies because it reminds us of the oily waters from our industry”.

“Thanks”. Rarity poured herself a cup, careful not to spill. It was as black as ink and it swished around as she put her lips to it. She was worried that it would stain her fur if a drop escaped her mouth and slid down her muzzle. She forced herself to swallow it. Only its heat kept the liquid in. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be pleasant if the ponies that drank it compared it to something that mars the world like oil does. She despised that connotation and she wondered what they were thinking. She remembered riding out on the sea and the light breaking over waves the color of sapphires. But maybe that’s how first impressions always work. She didn’t get to see the oil splashed against the rocks. When she returned home, it was with souvenirs, not bad memories.

“What are you even doing down here?” Rarity inquired. She put the cup down, hoping never to have to taste that tea again.

“I was awake as I always am at this hour. But I got thirsty. I thought something that reminded me of home would do”. She took a sip and closed her eyes. Rarity heard something tinkle and when she lowered the cup, she saw that it had ice floating at the top, a yellow flame on top of oil.

“Coco, I came to check on the stove. I guess the vent somehow closed. Anyway, how can you stand the cold”?

Coco put the tray on the countertop. “Being surrounded by frigid things gives us extra thick skin or so I’m told. I’ve gotten used to it. One has to eventually”.

“I don’t believe that. I choose to have heat in my house”. She used her magic to undo the seal on the vent.
“Look, Coco. I don’t want you to mess with the stove anymore. You’re welcome to walk outside if you feel my house is too warm”. Rarity faced her, her confidence high.

Rarity didn’t see any flash of offense in Coco’s face. In fact it didn’t seem to faze her at all. Rarity really hoped that she could have gotten a hint of what her friend was feeling, maybe a peek into what was troubling her. So far, nothing has presented itself. Nothing but a shallow nod anyway.

“I definitely understand” she said. Her eyes were unusually narrow considering the low light in the room. “I see that you can’t really live without heat. I feel for you and can’t possibly blame you. So it might be prudent enough that…maybe as long as my designs are uninhibited then I’ll be too focused to care about your heat”. She poured another cup of icy tea. “Would you like another”? She gestured to the teapot. Rarity’s hooves shook. There was no way she could.

“Um, no thanks Coco”. Rarity said goodnight, breaking eye contact as she withdrew and hurried back upstairs. She was too cold and her breath puffed out white against the light. She wanted to cry but her heart was battling the cold. And Coco? She probably wasn’t about to cry either. Maybe she never did in her freezing corner, drinking iced tea and demanding that things be done her way. Was the pony she met just some kind of fantasy of a tourist that didn’t know better? The first impression of a mare subdued by her boss with a heart of ice? Does Manehattan do that to ponies? Freeze their emotions until nothing is left but raw ambition? All this was confusing her. She needed to look at something real.

In her room, the heated air returned through the floor vent. She turned on the light. The designs were still draped over the suit of armor, her work marked in red. She went to her closet and opened it. There was so much stuff she didn’t need in there: bags of scrap she put aside and forgot about, a dozen bottles of glue that were supposedly unique, and something in the very back. She had meant to put it in a glass box to set it out on her desk. But it slipped her mind. It was a gold colored trophy she won in Manehattan. She brushed off a layer of dust. It was Coco that gave it to her, back when she learned about generosity. She wanted to see that same smile again. If she could, it would mean the world to her.