Gone in 1800 Seconds

by True Blue Spark

#298. Birthday Tradition

The Prompt: Sometimes, duty calls, even on your birthday.

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Every year, Rarity begins her birthday the same way. It’s a tradition of sorts, a play put on for herself and her loved ones—though it began life as a genuine expression of insecurity. And it goes like this.

When she wakes up, she steps out of her luxurious bed and walks over to her vanity. She picks up the schedule of due dates that she knows by heart and pretends to read it. And she says aloud, “My goodness, I have so much to do today! There must be no interruptions.”

Still in bed, her husband rolls over and grins at her, leaning his head on one claw. The first year (though he was not yet her husband then), he’d been silenced by confusion, well aware of the significance of the date. She had taken advantage of it, sweeping out of the bedroom before he could form words. Now, she saunters out of the bedroom dramatically, tossing him a showy wink and a flick of her tail before she shuts the door.

She takes the stairs down to her work room, brushing her mane on the way without the aid of a mirror. She whisks fabric and thread and tools up in her magic, carries them to the table, and begins her work. Snip by snip, piece by piece, she immerses herself in the dresses and costumes that need to be completed. The first year (though her beloved boutique was much smaller then), she had done it to keep her mind off the date, to keep from thinking of the various doubts and fears that plagued her. Now, she does it to pass the time before the next act. The cruel voices that once spoke in her mind are now silent.

Her husband steps in an hour later and attempts to engage her in conversation, but she brushes off each play for her attention with a curt sentence and a shake of her head. The first year (though his words had been as heartfelt as they were clumsy then), she had quickly grown frustrated with his attempts to distract her from her distraction, to make her think about the one thing she least wished to acknowledge. Now, she struggles to hide the smile on her lips as she speaks cold words, and she does not wholly succeed. Eventually, he kisses her cheek and steps out, leaving her to her work.

The boutique is silent but for the swish of fabric and the click of scissors. She works, and the hours roll away, as they always do. The first year (though there had not been as much work then), she had found it harder and harder to suppress the regret and the pain with every passing moment in solitude. Now, she is filled with anticipation instead, for she knows that at any moment she will turn to look for a blueprint, or a certain needle, or a pincushion—

And suddenly—just as suddenly as it happened that first year—she is no longer alone.

A purple-coated alicorn has slipped into the boutique. Silently, the princess of magic holds out the pincushion Rarity had sought, smiling softly. As Rarity takes it, she turns to a nearby mannequin and starts sewing together a seam, assisting without words.

A few minutes later, an earth pony in an aged hat is bringing in a roll of fabric from the back, followed by a pink-maned pegasus carrying a bag full of thread spools.

A perky pink pony arrives with cupcakes in hoof, abnormally sedate but smiling warmly. Even the rainbow-maned tomboy who has long despised high fashion is assisting without a single scoff.

And last, but most certainly not least, her husband returns from his self-appointed task: gathering up her closest friends to support her as they always do.

Together, the seven lifelong friends make short work of Rarity’s backlog, and before the sun has even begun to approach the horizon, they are done. The first year (though she had barely been able to see and hear them through her sobbing then), they had all taken turns to reassure her and comfort her, reminding her that she was more than her age, that growing old would never leave her any less beautiful or any less loved. Now, they don’t have to say a word. She has left those doubts and fears behind her.

And now, her party-loving friend finally allows her enthusiasm to burst free, and her new and improved party cannon explodes, showering the whole boutique in confetti and decorations. Now, just as in the first year, and the second, and all those since, and all those yet to come... Rarity smiles and declares her birthday party begun, reveling in the love of her dearest friends, and in her love for them.

Author's Note:

This was a simple one, and I liked the structure I managed to give it, with the repeated phrases across multiple paragraphs. I’m not sure how well I managed to get across the main thrust of the piece, so I’ll just say this: None of those dresses Rarity was working on were actually due on her birthday.

Comments

[Bookling_Tarsi]

reading this felt nice.....and i cant explain why.

[Fury of the Tempest]

Headcannon accepted.