The Remarkable Rarity

by Zelderon

Within and Without

Between West Egg and Manehattan, there is a desolate place known as the valley of ashes. Phantasmagorical trees, flowers and houses made of dust seem to grow straight from the gray ground. Most of the houses are made of scrap metal and wood, sloppily thrown together by some earth pony ingenuity that was long gone by now. A railroad cuts through, and every so often a line of steel cars comes to a stop like some mechanical creature suddenly drained of all its energy and forced to rest. Whenever this happens, earth ponies and the odd pegasus swarm out from their shacks and board the train, like black little fleas swarming a mongrel dog.

Cadance convinced me to eat lunch with her and, assuming I had nothing better planned that afternoon, bullied me into agreeing to see her stallion in the city. Before I could get a word in edgewise, I found myself being shuffled into Cadance’s newest automobile and driven recklessly into that Celestia-forsaken patch of Equestria.

I was well acquainted with all manner of dust and dirt particles on our drive over. Cadance’s monstrous car kicked up an astonishing amount of detritus into the air until it slowed down in front of one of the few businesses along the mostly empty road we had been driving down.

As I got out of the car, I turned to survey where Cadance had taken me. A massive, dilapidated billboard immediately caught my eye. Two criss-crossed yellow eyes looked down at me and advertised Dr. Derpy Hooves’s delivery business. It guaranteed on-time delivery or “Your money bac,” the plank where the “k” should’ve been had fallen down long ago. I was reminded of the old portrait of my great aunt, catching me in some act of childhood choler. Yet, these eyes didn’t have the same piercing effect. Somehow, it reminded me of the impassive gaze of my father; more parts disappointment than judgment.

Why a doctor would ever start a delivery business was beyond me. But then I guess who can ever really fortel which forking path they will take in life.

A large sign on the building read “Sweet Apple Acres: Used Cars and Repairs.” A tired-looking orange mare walked out to greet us. Maybe in some other lifetime she had strength and energy, but the pony in front of me moved with the weary steps of a mare twice her age.

“Hello, Applejack, how’s business?” Cadance smacked the mare’s shoulder in greeting and began to lead her into the garage. She didn’t bother to look back if I was following them, but I suppose there was nowhere else to go and nothing better to do.

The mare stumbled a bit and had to right herself. “I cain’t complain, I suppose,” Applejack said morosely. “Say, when are you gonna sell me that car?” she asked a glimmer of faded hope in her watery emerald eyes.

“Soon. I got a pony working on in.” Cadance replied noncommittally.

“Hmf, works kind of slow, don’t she?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Cadance’s voice was frigid and her eyes narrowed as if she were about to fight this mare. “And if that’s what you think, maybe I’ll just sell it to somepony else.”

“Err, no that’s not what I meant,” Applejack said nervously, “It’s just—”

“Cadance, is that you? Applejack, go get some refreshments for our guests,” commanded an orange stallion who was a shade yellower than Applejack. He wasn’t handsome by any respect, but he had a certain dynamic, virile energy in his gaze and movements that was as young as Applejack was old.

After Applejack meekly agreed and left the room, the stallion walked up to Cadance, who hugged him with one wing. The stallion laid a hoof over her chest as she leaned down to kiss his lips. I could hear the water running in another room.

“I want to see you, Caramel,” Cadance whispered into his ear, “Get on the next train and meet me at our usual spot.”

Cadance and I left just as Applejack walked in with a bowl of freshly washed apples. Their bright red color stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the gloomy shop.

Cadance drove the car farther down the road and parked near the train stop. While we waited for Caramel, Cadance smoked a cigarette. She glanced at Dr. Hooves and flicked the cigarette to the ground.

“Celestia, this place is depressing. It’s good that Caramel is able to get into the city every now and then. I can’t imagine how ponies can live here,” said Cadance just as we saw Caramel trot up the road, with his mane and coat freshly washed and a new tie and collar.

Caramel road in a separate train car from us for propriety’s sake. After we arrived, Caramel bought some random odds and ends in a drugstore, including the latest issue of some gossip rag. The first three taxi cabs that stopped for us didn’t seem to meet his standards. When one finally came that he approved of, he was distracted by a mare selling dogs.

“Oh, Cadance can we get one, please? They’re so adorable,” Caramel turned to the mare, “are those border collies?”

“Yes, indeed sir. Smartest dogs you’ll ever meet,” the mare pitched her wares, “Look at this one, feel how soft her coat is. I’ll give her to you for ten bits.”

I looked at the dog. Maybe at some point in the dog’s pedigree there had been a border collie involved.

“Fine here’s your money. Go buy ten more dogs with it,” Cadance threw the money at her. It ended up landing on the street as our car drove away.

The taxi stopped in front of a row of prim white apartment houses. I tried to make some excuse to leave, but Cadance insisted I see the inside of the apartment. Caramel ordered the elevator filly to fetch some milk and biscuits for the dog. He returned with a saucer and a packet full of big, tan dog treats. One of them sullenly decomposed all afternoon in the milk bowl, untouched.

Caramel immediately began inviting various guests over, while Cadance acquired a large bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. I’ll admit I don’t drink as much as most mares; I’ve only really ever been drunk a hoofful of times. I don’t completely remember when the other guests came in but suddenly they were all there, their shrieking laughter piercing in the too-small living room.

I was currently squeezed between Caramel’s flamboyant brother Braeburn and a stallion named Hoity Toity even though there was plenty of other gaudy furniture packed into the living room. Hoity Toity’s gloomy wife, Photo Finish was sitting across from us in a chair whose back had that painting of that stallion on a swing in Versailles. Some brilliant upholsterer perfectly centered the image so that the stallion’s young lover was looking up from the seat cushion.

“So, do you live here Braeburn?” I asked, seeing Braeburn eye the room and its furniture enviously. I probably normally would have been more polite, but the effect of alcohol and being dragged into unwanted social gatherings had me more than a little frustrated.

“Do I live here?” Braeburn said a tad louder than would normally be socially acceptable, “No, I live with a coltfriend in a hotel several blocks from here.”

I wonder how his roommate could stand Braeburn’s stench. It was a combination of too much cologne, mane gel and whatever god awful soap he used. It was obvious he went to a stylist often to tame and fashion his mane, eyebrows and hooves but from where I was sitting it was obvious that nature was winning.

Caramel walked in, having just changed into a sharp cream colored suit. As time went on he seemed to be possessed by more and more vitality. His cheeks colored and his eyes flushed with vibrant vivacity. What once may have been construed as the energy of a spirited vigor now took on the air of haughty disdain.

“Oh you look marvelous in that suit,” praised Hoity Toity in a voice that grated on me, “Photo Finish you ought to take a picture.”

“What, this old thing? Tell you what I’ll give it to you when I’m done with it. I only ever really wear it when I don’t care how I look,” he said with an artificial, crystalline laugh.

I looked over at Photo Finish. She had a glob of some creamy white gel stuck in her hair that would bother me for the entire night. All in all, she was much more placid than her husband.

“Where’s the ice, Caramel? You’re being a terrible host for our guests,” Cadance gestured at us violently, causing some whiskey to spill from the glass held in her magic.

“I told that filly ages ago to fetch some for us,” Caramel sighed in frustration at the lower classes, “It’s so hard to find good help these days. Honestly, you have to always keep on them or they’ll just laze about.”

He waltzed into the small kitchen off to the side with her nose held in the air as if he was prepared to issue orders to a team of private cooks and waiters. When he came back, he had a bucket of ice and another bottle of whiskey.

“So where do you live Twilight?” Braeburn asked, sidling up to me a bit too close for comfort.

“West Egg.”

“Oh, I’ve been to a party there once. You know Rarity, right?”

“Yes she’s my neighbor,” I replied, intrigued by this mention of my mysterious neighbor who I had not even met. It seemed like everypony in Manehattan knew her but me.

“Well, I heard she’s distantly related to Princess Luna herself. That’s where all her money comes from.”

Before I could inquire further, Cadance made some rude joke at Applejack’s expense. I don’t remember what it was but it made everyone burst into laughter, genuine and ersatz. Caramel seemed to laugh the hardest. He had a high, biting laugh that I suppose may been intended to be attractive, but instead reminded me of a braying mule.

“You know both of them hate the ponies they’re married to,” Braeburn whispered into my ear with hot, alcoholic breathe.

“Really?” I responded, equal parts sarcasm and disbelief. At the time, I was not sure which one to pick.

“Oh yes, I heard that Cadance would divorce Blueblood in a heartbeat if it weren’t for Blueblood being a member of the Church. He’s not allowed to divorce you see.”

I raised an eyebrow at this lie. Caramel overheard our conversation and made some obscene comment regarding Applejack.

“Celestia, I was cheated into this marriage. I had no idea how low-born Applejack is until after I married her. Did you know she had to borrow the dress she wore to our wedding. How scandalous is it to not be able to afford a dress for your own wedding. She’s not even fit to pick up after Winona,” Caramel continued his rant, giving his new dog a nuzzle. Winona looked like she would rather be anywhere else than in that crowded smoky room full of loud ponies.

The time on my watch seemed to skip ahead faster than reality. I looked it at nine and then suddenly it was ten. Photo Finish was sleeping in her chair and I used this as an opportunity to wipe off the pearly gel that had been bothering me all afternoon and evening.

“Do you want to hear how Cadance and I met,” Caramel said, turning to me.

Before I even responded he began.

“We were sitting across from each other on the train. She was so beautiful, I could hardly keep my eyes off her, but everytime she looked at me I had to pretend I was looking out the window behind her. When she got off the train, I followed her and completely forgot where I had been going originally. There was a crowd of ponies exiting the station so she ended up pressing her chest against me. I thought, what have I got to lose? I’m not getting any younger. We ended up getting in the same cab once we left. It was so romantic.”

When it was truly late, Caramel and Cadance got into an altercation.

“Don’t you dare say his name,” growled an angry, drunk Cadance.

“I’ll say it as much as I damn want to! Blueblood, Blueblood, Blueblood!” shouted an infuriated Caramel until Cadance lashed out and broke his muzzle.

The there was a confusion of ponies trying to find towels to stem the bleeding. A wailing stallion. Red staining the carpet and furniture, including the scenes of extravagant, ignorant Prench nobles. Cadance sulked in a stormy corner. Hoity Toity and Braeburn fussing and chastising.

Photo Finish and I chose to escape the apartment. On my way out, I picked up my hat from the chandelier and waved goodbye to that poor dog that looked for all the world like it would like nothing better than to follow us out.

We groaned down the elevator. Photo Finish suggested we meet up for lunch some time. I enthusiastically agreed.

“Don’t mess with the slot,” yelled the elevator filly to Photo Finish.

“Excuse me I didn’t know I was touching it,” slurred Photo Finish.

Then I was standing next to her bed, looking out the window. She was sitting there with the sheet draped across her almost naked body. A glistening sheen of sweat matted her mane and her cheeks had an athletic, ruddy glow.

I fell asleep at the station, waiting for the four o’clock train.