Breaking Point
Sweat worked its way down Rarity’s face as she looked at her newest fashion design. It was awful, and she knew it more than anypony. The walls were covered the hundreds of designs of similar distaste, and to Rarity, this was the end of all she knew.
For the last week, she had been constantly trying to come up with an idea for anything. ANYTHING. She spent sleepless nights, trying to find something that could look good on someone, but all of her efforts were met with failure. All of her friends begged her to calm down, wincing as they looked at her sketches.
They all knew, but did not say, that all of Rarity’s ideas were just as bad as she made them out to be, which is a very difficult task for mere pencil and paper to create.
After exhausting much of her energy in self pity, she began to calm down to fatigue. After a long sleep, for the first time in a while, she began to think clearheadedly. She looked back at her cutie-mark. Those gemstones meant so much to her, they were unique among anyone in Equestria. They were now meaningless.
Rarity then realized that she had no other talents besides gem collecting and fashion. One of the things that she did not want to do was be a full time gem collector. She was okay with small trips every now and then to get some for a dress, but spending days in the dirt, only to give them away was simply a nightmare to her.
From that point, Rarity went into full over dramatization mode, and she knew that she would need to leave in the night, while none of her friends were there to see her run like a coward. At this point, she was even beginning to form an inner monologue that went something like this;
“With my life in shambles, and my dreams ruined, what am I! I…I must become… A HOBO! YES! Forced to do hard, toiling manual labor for petty change! Forced to BEG for mere food to sustain my worthless being! This, of course is the fate of one without worth… worth taken by the accursed powers that be! And-”
Rarity stopped herself before she became too Shakespearian. This was her fate, and she knew it. She slowly began to prepare.
In the sprawling city of Fillydelphia, Gold Trader was in trouble. Gold, or as most people called him; "Goldy", was one of the most massive stallions that you'd ever meet. He was taller than most, and had a combination of fat and muscle on his frame that gave him that perfect "big brute" look. Currently, he was being dragged by two equally large stallions with big scary weapons.
"Come on!", Goldy shouted, " I'm not this... this "Gold" guy that you're looking for, that's not me!" The two stallions could immediately pick up on this lie, and ushered him even faster to a dull, imposing building. He was taken to a dark office, where a small figure was watching him from a fancy chair across the room. Oh no, he thought, it's her.
"Sit down" said a calm voice. Goldy ran to the chair like an antelope running from a lion.
"Mr. Trader, why do you think you are here?"
"Mumblemumblemumble"
"WHAT was that! I don't think the bomb under your chair could hear you!" said Miss Carol, holding up an ignition key. Goldy slowly looked over the side of the chair to see, and right under his seat was enough black powder to blow up his corner of the office. Miss Carol was predictable like this.
"I don't make any money ma'am" Goldy said, emotionlessly.
"And why don't you make any money?"
"Because I'm a horrible con-man."
"NO!", exploded Miss Carol, "NOT because you are a horrible con-man! The difference between you and a horrible con-man is the same difference between a rock and a prodigy!"
"Sorry" Goldy squeaked on impulse, but realized too lat that this was a very bad move. In that calm, level voice, Miss Carol said-
"You know how much I hate the word 'sorry' right?"
"Yes"
"You also are aware of how easily I could kill you, I mean, look around for a second! How many weapons do you think I have pointed at you right now?" Goldy thought for a moment, trying to think of a number that wouldn't offend her for being too small.
"At least fourteen" he piped up. With a smug look on her face, Miss Carol changed the subject.
"Then why would you use that word we spoke of earlier?" she snarled, giving him a stare that said Truth or death, your choice.
"I-"
"NEVER MIND! I have already come up with a suitable punishment for you!" With this, Goldy tensed up, almost to tears. He knew what happened when someone was punished. Miss Carol continued, "You are allowed to go free, but in an undisclosed amount of time, I will kill you. Run away now."
Goldy did not hesitate. He ran to the already open door into the blinding light and RAN. When he was out of breath and his hooves ached, he made sure to run even faster. He found an alleyway to catch his breath in and thought about what had just happened. He organized his thoughts priority-wise. First of all, he was going to die. This was inevitable, because someone with a death warrant signed by Miss Carol NEVER went home feeling unsatisfied. Second of all, to conserve time, he was not going to con anyone. Sadly, conning people out of their money came to Goldy like beaching comes to a whale; he always was on the losing end.
Looking back at his cutie-mark, he pondered its existence. It was a small copper coin of little value. It first appeared back when he was a boy, after a nap in a nice, cardboard box. He didn't know what it meant or what talent it gave him, but conning came to him naturally, almost as well as getting caught in the act of swindling someone. Goldy laid his head back and cursed under his breath until sleep overtook him.