That's All She Wrote: Vision Background Material · 8:50pm Feb 13th, 2016
Yes, Twilight. I'm sad too.
That's it, ladies and gents! With the release of The End, the Vision series is officially over. For the last few months, I've been holding a candle that I might be able to finish Daring Do properly, or at least write Swiftwing Has a Nice Day. But, depression has really been kicking my ass lately, and so it's time to admit that's probably not going to happen. HOWEVER, there is plenty of background material I still have lying around, so at least you won't go home empty handed.
Or, wait. Should that be empty hooved? Whatever. The editors will fix it.
First up, I have the original outline for Siren Song, from waaaay back at the start of Book 1. Holy horseapples, a lot of stuff changed over the course of getting this thing written. The link has the full-text if you feel like wading through it, but let me pull out a few gems for you here:
The significant Splicer characters in the story who form the core of the party. Though it is never made explicit in the story, each of them represents one of the seven deadly sins, as part of the overall theme of escaping from the damned city.
Lust: Solaris
Sloth: Berry Punch
Envy: Green
Gluttony: Mirror Match
Wrath: Big Mac
Greed: Shamrock
Pride: Trixie
Holy cut characters, batman! Half these ponies didn't even appear in the story. But they still had a huge influence on it. Solaris was going to be a drinking, womanizing, self-styled "Prince" running a rebel cell as his own cult of personality, while Mirror Match was going to be a cruel, haughty security officer whose special talent was mimicking the special talents of other ponies standing near him. Eventually, both characters were merged into Echo in order to save space. Briefly, Echo's special talent was intended to be magically mimicking the abilities of any-pony standing near him (hence the name), but that later got changed to making him a general jack-of-all-trades.
Big Daddy’s are replaced by Big Mac’s, named after the first one to make the shift. Big Mac himself is dead, but all the LIttle Sisters (particularly sweetie belle), see all of them as him.
Cut this as a distraction, but still love the idea.
Scootaloo was one of the first cases of a potion user going insane, after a radical attempt to give function to her useless wings. She’s not violent, but keeps forgetting where she is, or insisting that she can’t fly despite the fact that her wings are now fully functional. She stays in Appleblooms lab, guarding the door.
Mostly, I looked at this and went, "Yeah, that's good. But is there a way we could make it even sadder? Let's make the audience cry so much they'll be in danger of dehydration."
Civic monument with Elements. “Harmony not in one pony or group of ponies, but all ponies.”
Living with it is redemption.
Yeah, I'm a sucker for The Great Dictator. You should be too. Charlie Chaplain was a god-damn genius.
What else do we have here... oh! A ton of cut Rarity content!
Vision!Rarity is pretty much canon.
See, way back when, there was an entire arc for Rarity and Green that got cut. In it, all of Rarity's first creations -- the ponies she made with Mantles -- turned out to be murderers, driven mad by dark alchemy. Rarity, consumed by guilt and anger and unable to scrub the stain away, decides that her only recourse is to take responsibility for her actions. Specifically, by hunting down all her models and killing them one by one. In this version of the story, that was why Green was so afraid of Rarity. Green was the last, the only remaining blot on Rarity's perfect record, waiting to be burned away.
I cut it because I liked the Rarity we got a lot better, but damn it had some good potential.
Eventually, over ten freaking revisions, this turned into the muffin scene. You can see the evolution below. It's long though, so I'm going to put it at the end of the blog post for those who care to see. Thanks for reading, anypony! I've got a lot more old Vision material kicking around, so if there's anything you have questions about or want to see, let me know. I'm happy to give a sneak peek.
Original:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”
“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. She seems to pause then, to soften, pulling away and looking at me and thinking.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m sorry, dear. That was... that was beneath me,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush her mane away from her eyes. “These events have been trying for all of us, but that’s not your fault. You’re just young and frightened, and want the life you had before you were pulled into our cruel game.”
There doesn't seem to be anything to say to that. What can I say to that? What happened to me isn’t her fault, but I can’t tell her the truth—I’m not ready for that. So all I do is stare at her, wide eyed, shaking.
Then, she gives me a hug, her forelegs wrapping around me, and then I’m hugging her back, burying my head into her shoulder. “Shh,” she coos, “Don’t you worry about a thing, poor dear. You’re safe now.”
“It’ll all be fine.”
Revision 1:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. She seems to pause then, to soften, pulling away and looking at me and thinking.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m sorry, Siren. That was... that was beneath me,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush her mane away from her eyes. “These events have been trying for all of us, but that’s not your fault. You’re just young and frightened, and want the life you had before you were pulled into our cruel game.”
There doesn't seem to be anything to say to that. What can I say to that? What happened to me isn’t her fault, but I can’t tell her the truth—I’m not ready for that. So all I do is stare at her, wide eyed, shaking.
Then, she gives me a hug, her forelegs wrapping around me, and then I’m hugging her back, burying my head into her shoulder. “Shh,” she coos, “Don’t you worry about a thing, poor dear. You’re safe now.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that. I mean, I try, but... the words won’t come. I can’t think. I need to hold her; she responds well to that. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. She wants me to say something!
“Why the outfit?” I ask. Isn’t that bizarre? It’s such a non-sequitur. But she understands me, she does. She must. That ensemble was created in the knowledge of what it was, willfully brought into being. “Ponies see it. Even if they don’t understand. Why?”
She pauses at that, leaning back to look at me more closely. “That’s a rather curious question, under the circumstances.”
“My life is in your hooves. I think it’s an important question,” I insist, even if my voice is trembling. “Why do you want ponies to fear you?”
She leans a bit further away at that, letting go of me and giving some distance between us. I don’t think I offended her, I don’t see anything like that in her eyes. She’s curious now though, sharply curious, precise and exacting. “That’s reading an awful lot into a few bolts of white fabric and some silver caps, isn’t it?”
“It’s not fabric, it’s power,” I say. She’ll just run me in circles otherwise. I can’t blame her though. I doubt there’s a dozen ponies in the whole city who understand why that outfit makes them tense up the way it does. “It’s anesthetizing gas and restraints and surgical lamps and not knowing if you’re going to live or die.” My voice is trembling when I speak, and she tilts her head at me.
“You admired it, earlier,” she says, though her tone isn’t accusative or questioning. She’s just making a statement, seeing how I respond.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, with a shrug.
“None of the things you described are beautiful. What makes the dress different?” she asks, her tone cutting, demanding the truth from me, her eyes focused in on mine.
“I... I don’t know. It just—”
“You’re an artist! If you can’t express the inexpressible, than what good are you?” she demands, quick, focused, commanding.
“I-it—” my eyes travel over the fabric around her, the simple silver caps on her hooves. There’s something there, there is! I just don’t have the words. “It’s special because... I...”
“Answer the question!”
“Gavest thou feathers to the birds which walk upon the earth and warm their eggs in the dust!” I shout, flinching away from her, “and forget that the foot may crush them or wild beast may break them. She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not hers, for she hath been derived of her wisdom, and neither hath imparted to her understanding!”
“Hmph,” Rarity pulls her head back. Was that right? I think that was right.
Revision 2:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. She seems to pause then, to soften, pulling away and looking at me and thinking.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m sorry, Siren. That was... that was beneath me,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush her mane away from her eyes. “These events have been trying for all of us, but that’s not your fault. You’re just young and frightened, and want the life you had before you were pulled into our cruel game.”
There doesn't seem to be anything to say to that. What can I say to that? What happened to me isn’t her fault, but I can’t tell her the truth—I’m not ready for that. So all I do is stare at her, wide eyed, shaking.
Then, she gives me a hug, her forelegs wrapping around me, and then I’m hugging her back, burying my head into her shoulder. “Shh,” she coos, “Don’t you worry about a thing, poor dear. You’re safe now.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that. I mean, I try, but... the words won’t come. I can’t think. I need to hold her; she responds well to that. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. She wants me to say something!
“Why the outfit?” I ask. Isn’t that bizarre? It’s such a non-sequitur. But she understands me, she does. She must. That ensemble was created in the knowledge of what it was, willfully brought into being. “Ponies see it. Even if they don’t understand. Why?”
She pauses at that, leaning back to look at me more closely. “That’s a rather curious question, under the circumstances.”
“My life is in your hooves. I think it’s an important question,” I insist, even if my voice is trembling. “Why do you want ponies to fear you?”
She leans a bit further away at that, letting go of me and giving some distance between us. I don’t think I offended her, I don’t see anything like that in her eyes. She’s curious now though, sharply curious, precise and exacting. “That’s reading an awful lot into a few bolts of white fabric and some silver caps, isn’t it?”
“It’s not fabric, it’s power,” I say. She’ll just run me in circles otherwise. I can’t blame her though. I doubt there’s a dozen ponies in the whole city who understand why that outfit makes them tense up the way it does. “It’s anesthetizing gas and restraints and surgical lamps and not knowing if you’re going to live or die.” My voice is trembling when I speak, and she tilts her head at me.
“You admired it, earlier,” she says, though her tone isn’t accusative or questioning. She’s just making a statement, seeing how I respond.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, with a shrug.
“Why?” Rarity asks, tilting her head to the side. narrowing her eyes at me faintly.
“I don’t know,” I say, almost whispering the words. “It just...” My gaze goes to the floor. I don’t know where I was going with this. I don’t know what I was thinking. “It just is.”
“It’s alright, dear,” she murmurs, with a little shake of her head. “The reason it frightens you is because it reminds you that there is truly nothing you can keep from me. If the mood struck me, I could have you killed. I could bring you back to life as who or whatever I wish. I could turn you into a bore, a genius, a stallion, or one of the sad wretches that lurk under the city. All that you are or shall ever be is mine, and it is only my generosity that spares you from that.” She says it softly, taking no joy in it. She’s almost apologetic. “I can give you anything you want, Siren, but I refuse to give you a comforting lie.”
Revision 3:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. “No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...” I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.
She pauses. Her expression softens, and she pulls away.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m tired of ponies being afraid of me, Siren,” she says, shaking her head and stepping away from me, moving to inspect the mirrors the hang and float around us. She watches them for a long quiet moment before she continues, “I made dresses you know—beautiful, beautiful dresses. My designs were worn by the finest nobility of Canterlot, even Celestia herself. Then I made buildings, and spells, and... and ponies. I made the most dazzling, wonderful ponies. Brilliant and fabulous and pure and strong. You just felt swept up being in the same room as them, and they loved me.” Her voice slowly dropped, until I could barely hear her. “But then, well... as you said, it all went wrong. We learned what our potions did too late, and the time came that I had to destroy what I created.”
She falls silent, but it’s never truly silent in Vision. I can still hear the lights. Always the lights, pulse and dim, humm and buzz. My breath. My beating heart in my ears.
“They were monsters, in the end. Most of them went quickly, but some retained enough of who they were to hide, to pretend to be normal ponies. As mantles became more widespread and withdrawal more common, tracking them all down became a lower priority.” She glances to the side, catching my eye. “Green was the first. And now she is the last. Do you understand why she fears me now?”
All I need to do is nod, and she’ll send me back to my room. There’s more here though, more that she wants to tell. She didn’t need to say all of that. She didn’t need to say any of that. But she wanted to. She wants to tell this to somepony. “You’re a marker. Won’t it all go wrong for you too?”
“The blood of my own children is on my hooves, Siren. How can it go more wrong than it already has?” she asks, with a humorless laugh. “But... well. I still have things to do before my time comes. You met Epiphany. Sweet thing. I’ve learned from my mistakes. She won’t go bad like the others. She’ll be pure, and kind and truly beautiful forever. That’s my legacy.”
Revision 4:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. “No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...” I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.
She pauses. Her expression softens, and she pulls away.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m tired of ponies being afraid of me, Siren,” she says, shaking her head and stepping away from me, moving to inspect the mirrors the hang and float around us. “I do apologize for that outburst. Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the night. We can talk more tomorrow.”
All I need to do is nod, and walk out. I’m so rattled I almost do, but, no! No. I... I can read her better than that. I can still play this right. There’s more here, more that she wants to tell. I’ll never get her more open than this, and so I step up to her, until our reflections are side by side in the glass. I say nothing, just being next to her, the scarred, battered, damaged pony next to that sterile elegance. How frail I look in comparison.
“I made dresses you know—beautiful, beautiful dresses. My designs were worn by the finest nobility of Canterlot, even Celestia herself. Then I made buildings, and spells, and... and ponies. I made the most dazzling, wonderful ponies. Brilliant and fabulous and pure and strong. You just felt swept up being in the same room as them, and they loved me.” Her voice slowly drops, until I can barely hear her. “You should have seen them. Green was the ugly one.” Rarity’s gaze is distant, no longer looking at our reflections. She keeps rubbing her hooves against the sleeves of her outfit, an odd nervous gesture. “One of them looked a bit like you, actually. You have a good figure.”
“They were models. You must have pictures,” I say. Perhaps getting her to reminisce a bit will help me understand her more. Build up that bond between us.
“I had all their pictures and likenesses incinerated. Spoiled little monsters,” she says, a hard, angry edge seeping into her tone. “I gave them everything and how did they repay me? With jealousy, and pettiness, and cruelty. It wasn’t enough for me to make them perfect, no. They had to lord their superiority over normal ponies, leave a trail of shattered lives and broken hearts in their wake. And then I realized that they never loved me at all. Their lies and fawning were just the prices they paid for the mantles that made them what they were. And then what choice did I have!?” she demands. “What sort of mare would I be if I let my creations run amuck and destroy innocent lives? There are so many ponies in this city who hide behind that shield, ‘I just brew the potions. It’s not my fault.’ But not me. I take responsibility for my creations!”
Slowly, she draws a breath, letting it out. “Now Green is the last of them.”
The implications of everything she’s just said hit me all at once, and I’m staggered. It all falls into place at once, she and Green and what Berry said and what happened outside. I-I need to say something. “Green has been kind to me. She doesn't deserve that.”
“Green would slit your throat for the right number of bits. She’s kind because it flatters her ego to imagine she’s kind,” Rarity says, curt, and angry. I nod.
“Yeah. I know,” I say. And I do know. She said as much, didn’t she? “I understand that she was about to shove me off the lift to save herself, when you showed up. I understood it when I stepped between you and her.” That gets Rarity’s attention alright, and she turns to look straight at me. “I don’t like seeing ponies afraid.”
She just looks at me, not shocked but, at a loss for words. It wasn’t intentional, but score one for the goody-fourshoes act. The follow up though, that’s more calculated. I look at the floor a bit, putting on a proper timid glance. “And I don’t think you do either. You create, you don’t destroy. More than that, you can’t resist the urge to create.” I look up, fixing her with a glance just for a second, a look of the eyes that says I know, and then it’s back to the floor before she has time to read more than that.
“If you mean Epiphany, I—”
“I meant your assistant,” I say, taking a chance in cutting her off. “Ponies think he’s eye candy, don’t they? But you didn’t check him out once in the entire trip.” A pause for effect. “I suppose that would be a little incestous.”
Revision 5:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. “No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...” I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.
She pauses. Her expression softens, and she pulls away.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m tired of ponies being afraid of me, Siren,” she says, shaking her head and stepping away from me, moving to inspect the mirrors the hang and float around us. “I do apologize for that outburst. Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the night. We can talk more tomorrow.”
All I need to do is nod, and walk out. I’m so rattled I almost do, but, no! No. I... I can read her better than that. I can still play this right. There’s more here, more that she wants to tell. I’ll never get her more open than this, and so I step up to her, until our reflections are side by side in the glass. I say nothing, just being next to her, the scarred, battered, damaged pony next to that sterile elegance. How frail I look in comparison.
“I made dresses you know—beautiful, beautiful dresses. My designs were worn by the finest nobility of Canterlot, even Celestia herself. Then I made buildings, and spells, and... and ponies. I made the most dazzling, wonderful ponies. Brilliant and fabulous and pure and strong. You just felt swept up being in the same room as them, and they loved me.” Her voice slowly drops, until I can barely hear her. “You should have seen them. Green was the ugly one.” Rarity’s gaze is distant, no longer looking at our reflections. She keeps rubbing her hooves against the sleeves of her outfit, an odd nervous gesture. “One of them looked a bit like you, actually. You have a good figure.”
“They were models. You must have pictures,” I say. Perhaps getting her to reminisce a bit will help me understand her more. Build up that bond between us.
“I had all their pictures and likenesses incinerated. Spoiled little monsters,” she says, a hard, angry edge seeping into her tone. “I gave them everything and how did they repay me? With jealousy, and pettiness, and cruelty. It wasn’t enough for me to make them perfect, no. They had to lord their superiority over normal ponies, leave a trail of shattered lives and broken hearts in their wake. And then I realized that they never loved me at all. Their lies and fawning were just the prices they paid for the mantles that made them what they were. And then what choice did I have!?” she demands. “What sort of mare would I be if I let my creations run amuck and destroy innocent lives? There are so many ponies in this city who hide behind that shield, ‘I just brew the potions. It’s not my fault.’ But not me. I take responsibility for my creations!”
Slowly, she draws a breath, letting it out. “Now Green is the last of them.”
The implications of everything she’s just said hit me all at once, and I’m staggered. It all falls into place at once, she and Green and what Berry said and what happened outside. I-I need to say something. “What about Epiphany?”
“She’s just art,” Rarity says, shaking her head.
“She is not just art. She’s a masterpiece,” I say, and then I decide to take a gamble. “Are you so cynical you can turn out that sort of work without caring about it at all?”
“She has a good heart. She won’t go bad like the others,” Rarity says, and the gamble pays off and she looks away from me, unable to quite meet my eyes. “They had to have it all. Epiphany is beautiful just for being what she is, and I can make her stay that way forever.” After a moment, she adds, “Besides, she’s not really family. We don’t know each other that well.”
Revision 6:
“She should be terrified!” Rarity snaps, fixing me with a glare of her own, her words coming fast and hot. “You may not know what she’s done, Siren, but she does, and I do. There is blood on her hooves and she’s trailing it though my house! Making me responsible for what she is! But no, because she ruffled your mane and took care of you, you want to believe she’s a good pony at heart. So, will yelling at me and making me the villain in your little story make you feel better, Siren? Will making them all my fault put your world in order? Will it make all the pieces of your charming narrative fit together?”“I—” I scramble for words, stammering noiselessly. “I don’t—”
“Will it!?” she snarls, screaming the words across the tiny space between us.
“No!” I shout back, and I realize I’m shaking, reflexively backing away from Rarity as I tremble under that gaze. “No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...” I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.
She pauses. Her expression softens, and she pulls away.
Then, she sighs.
“I’m... sorry,” she says, shaking her head and stepping away from me, moving to inspect the mirrors the hang and float around us. “Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the night. We can talk more tomorrow.”
All I need to do is nod, and walk out. I’m so rattled I almost do, but, no! No. I... I can read her better than that. I can still play this right! There’s more here, more that she wants to tell. I’ll never get her more open than this, and so I step up to her, until our reflections are side by side in the glass. I manage to keep myself from shaking too much, and I say nothing. I just be next to her, the scarred, battered, damaged pony aside that sterile elegance. How frail I look in comparison.
“Siren, I do appreciate what you’re trying to do, but really—”
I have a way with ponies. My eyes meets hers in the mirror, and I silence her with a glance. There’s a lot of weight behind those eyes. Loads of which she wishes to be unburdened. I put my hoof overtop hers, and wait.
“I made dresses you know—beautiful, beautiful dresses,” she says, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her. “My designs were worn by the finest nobility of Canterlot, even Celestia herself. Then I made buildings, and spells, and... and ponies. I made the most dazzling, wonderful ponies. Brilliant and fabulous and pure and strong. You just felt swept up being in the same room as them. You should have seen them.” Her breath comes out in a stiff sigh, and she keeps rubbing her free hoof against the sleeves of her outfit, an odd nervous gesture. “One of them looked a bit like you, actually. You have a good figure.”
“They were models. You must have pictures,” I say. Perhaps getting her to reminisce a bit will help me understand her more. Build up that bond between us.
“I had all their pictures and likenesses incinerated,” she says, a hard, angry edge seeping into her tone. “I gave them everything and how did they repay me? With jealousy, and pettiness, and cruelty. It wasn’t enough for me to make them great, no. They had to lord their superiority over normal ponies, leave a trail of shattered lives and broken hearts in their wake! Everypony could see it. Everypony could see what ugly creatures they were inside. But what could I do? I was just the doctor.” She delivers the words with sharp finality, and when she continues, her tone is slower, quieter. “It was one morning, I was out on Pavilion business, dealing with a fly-by-night selling cheap mantles that were killing ponies. And I heard one of the assistants there plead that it wasn’t his fault. He just did his job. And I realized that I wasn’t so different from him.”
“That’s not the same thing, Rarity,” I say, gentle and reassuring. “You didn’t make Green and the others do anything.”
“Didn’t I?” she asks, shaking her head. “I’m not some petty equestrian surgeon, plinking away with a scalpel at moles and scars. Soul and flesh turn to clay in my hooves! What excuse do I have not to work and work until the job is done? What right do I have to subject my patients to the ugliness in this city, simply because I didn’t feel like pressing onwards? No, I’ve... I’ve taken responsibility now.”
“It’s different though,” I say, gentle and quiet. It’s a bit of a shot in the dark, but I’ve got a good feeling about it. Call it a calculated risk. “One who has loved and been betrayed never loves the same way again.”
Rarity laughs at that. A sad sound, but with some humor in it. “You’re a bit young to be talking about that sort of thing.”
Revision 7:
“Oh, well, Siren is new here—but I’d like to think I make friends quickly,” Rarity replies, upbeat. “Could you give us the room for a bit, Epiphany? Siren and I have some private matters to discuss before you and I finish up for the evening. We won’t be long.”“Oh, of course. It was um... nice to meet you,” she says, giving me a little wave before she trots out. Rarity waits a moment, letting the door shut behind Epiphany and giving her time to move away and down the hall.
Then she sighs, and smiles. “Isn’t she just dazzling?”
“Epiphany?” I ask, briefly glancing at the door. I could say something flattering, but, she’s heard that from a million ponies before. Better to play the odds a bit, see if I can get her to reveal something. I shrug. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Rarity asks, turning to look at me with a curious, narrow expression.
“Well, I mean, of course she looks good,” I reassure her, with a dismissive little wave of my hoof. “But the symbolism, the brown and the silver and the cutie marks... they work but I’m not struck by them. They aren’t her.” She doesn't look offended. Thoughtful. Think fast. “They’re mature colors, particularly the brown, and she’s young and nervous. I almost feel like I’m looking at a first draft. The wine is good but you need to age it more.”
“You do have a good eye,” Rarity says, and I can hear the surprise in her voice.
Revision 8:
“Oh, well, Siren is new here—but I’d like to think I make friends quickly,” Rarity replies, upbeat. “Could you give us the room for a bit, Epiphany? Siren and I have some private matters to discuss before you and I finish up for the evening. We won’t be long.”“Oh, of course. It was um... nice to meet you,” she says, giving me a little wave before she trots out. Rarity waits a moment, letting the door shut behind Epiphany and giving her time to move away and down the hall.
Then she sighs, and smiles. “She’ll be so beautiful when she’s done.”
“Done?” I ask, glancing at the door. “She’s not finished with her surgery? She seemed to think she was.”
“Oh, no,” Rarity says, shaking her head. “Physically, she’s finished, but her spirit needs time to grow into what she has become. She’s strong now, brilliant and pure. Soon she’ll realize that there is nothing common ponies can keep from her. She’ll realize that can make them rise when she calls them, make them love her, die for her, bask in her presence. And having come to this understanding, will discover that it’s not enough—that no amount of glory or power for herself will wash away the suffering of others. The compassion that drew her here will compel her to use that power, to right the wrongs she sees all around her. And then, she’ll be done. Beautiful inside and out.”
“She’ll be a hero?” I ask, looking up at Rarity, not sure what to think.
“She’ll be a masterpiece,” Rarity answers, with a wistful little sigh. “Flesh and spirit turn to clay in my hooves—what excuse do I have not to work and work until the job is done? This city may have gone wrong but... her, and the others. They won’t ever fade the way it has. They’ll be my legacy.” She seems to snap out of whatever thoughts have occupied her, shaking her head and looking back to me with clearer eyes. “And here I am getting all sappy. How are you feeling, Siren?”
“Fine. Or... well, not really, but better,” I say, giving a grateful little nod. “Thank you for letting me sleep in.”
“Well, after all you’ve been through, I think a little bedrest is the least of what you need,” she says, with a wave of her hoof. “I’ve scheduled you for a physical tomorrow morning, by the way. Just to make sure you don’t have any lurking injuries.”
“I suppose that’s a good idea,” I say, trying not to think too much about the possibility. What was it that Green said about permanent damage? Just stuff about not exerting myself, right? She didn’t say anything about there already being internal damage. “I saw Green on my way here.”
“How nice of you to check up on her,” Rarity says, her words polite and upbeat. “I am sorry for her accommodations, but, you do understand why they’re necessary?”
“She’s trussed up like a mental patient,” I observe, careful to keep too much accusation from flowing into my tone. There’s enough of it in the words as they are, no need to push my luck.
“Well, she injured several orderlies, didn’t she? The attending physician had concerns,” Rarity answers, her tone light, dismissive of the entire matter. “She’s a very dangerous pony and obviously irrational. It seemed for the best.”
“I understand that you were just trying to make sure she couldn't get out, but she’s blind and helpless, living in fear that somepony is going to come into the room and do in her in. She’s suffering,” I say, pressing the point as gently as I can, getting a feel for her reaction.
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Rarity says. “You don’t think I’m being a poor host, do you?”
Like putting your hoof on ice and hearing the faintest crack.
“No. No, I didn’t—”
“It’s just, I pride myself on proper Equestrian hospitality,” she says, her tone never wavering, eyes locked on mine. “This city can be so terribly rude you know. Anypony can just throw money at the poor and call themselves charitable, but I’m always careful to keep my guests needs in mind. A little thoughtfulness goes a lot way, and really, it is the least I can do.”
“I think—”
“That’s good, Siren! Young ponies these days don’t spend nearly enough time just stopping to think. So tell me, while you’re pondering, do you think that letting Green wander free might be more hospitable? That it might improve her state of mind? Mmm, do you?” Rarity asks, advancing towards me a half step. “My initial thought was that it might be easier on the staff if she didn’t drag her putrid carcass around the building, polluting the hallways with her filth. There’s innocent blood on her hooves you know, and I put one of those little mats by the door, but somehow it never comes off and she just trails it everywhere. It’s such a production to sterilize those hallways. Everypony has to pull an extra shift. But, if that’s what it takes to be properly accommodating.”
The couch presses against my hind legs, and I realize I’ve been backing away, pressed against the far wall. She’s looking right at me, waiting for me to say something. “W-well,” I manage, pretty much nailing contrition, I mean, the stammer helps I think. “I guess when I stop to think about it, you only promised she’d be imprisoned, nothing about her conditions. I guess I pictured a normal room but, ah, but that was pretty silly of me. Really, given that she definitely deserves to be put in a cell and that would be much easier for you, you’ve gone pretty far out of your way just to make me comfortable. I just... wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Rarity.” I swallow, just to have a second to think. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment, nopony says anything. She just stares at me, her face blank, eyes wide.
Then, she laughs, a smile appearing on her face.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Siren. All is forgiven,” she says, reaching out with her magic to straighten my mane where it’s become a tad ruffled. “Now, come with me. There’s something I wanted to show you while we’re both here,” she says, with a touch of excitement, turning to lead me across the reflecting room.
I think that went pretty well. Determined that Green is a sore subjected, sounded Rarity out, no harm done and she likes me. Yeah.
Yeah, I nailed that.
“All anypony wants to talk to me about these days is politics: Trixie did this, security did that, hours and hours of ponies prattling on about their petty concerns. I put up with it, of course—I have my duties—but an artist knows there is richer earth to till.” Her horn shines, and above us, I can hear gears turning. Lenses and reflecting plates slide away into the ceiling and mirrors are revealed in turn, falling from above like descending knives to cut off our view of the glass mannequins and their fabulous dresses. Soon, the entire elaborate collection of tools has vanished above our heads, leaving us in an domed space, surrounded on all sides by mirrors, empty save for a small pedestal in the center, in the spot where Epiphany was meant to stand. “What do you think?” Rarity asks, breathless and eager.
It’s a muffin.
For a second, I think she’s putting me on—like when she upended the pot of warm water over my head. She’s just having a little fun with me, putting me in front of a muffin and daring me not to praise it as a brilliant work of art. I’m about to laugh and play along with the joke when I glance up at her eyes, just to check. She’s looking at me.
And she is in no way kidding.
“Uh...” I swallow that laugh down and away, luckily before it makes itself known, turning back to the muffin. “I didn’t know you baked.”
“Ah ah ah,” she chides me, with a little wave of her hoof. “No stalling for time. Your opinion, please.”
“Well, from an artistic perspective...” Yeah, it’s a muffin. I got nothing. Analytical Siren, you want to field this one? “The medium is the first thing that stands out to me, more than the message itself. You’ve chosen a perishable good, which means that the ravages of time are an inherent subtext to the message. Specifically though, you’ve chosen a perishable good wherein we can only derive value from it by destroying it. From that alone, I’d say you’re in danger of the medium overpowering the message. Whatever you meant to say, the takeaway is going to be that all beautiful things must perish, but there is value in their transitory existence.” I shoot her a quick glance, making sure I’m on the right page. Poker face. So, no missteps yet, but she’s not giving me the answer. “But, lets assume it’s more likely I’ve missed something then that the artistic mind that created that masterpiece you're wearing would make a mistake.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, dear, but it won’t get you the answer,” Rarity says, giggling politely. “Still, continue.”
“Visually, nothing stands out to me. Banana nut. The muffin cup is unremarkable, paper, looks disposable.” Something tickles my nose, and I lean in, sniffing at the air. It’s fresh out of the oven. Smells tasty too. That’s unexpected. I fall silent for a moment, biting my lip as I thought. Vaguely I’m aware that Rarity has started to watch me with more open interest, but, only in the back of my mind. Now I’m curious.
“I see two possibilities. One is that you have some minions under the floor waiting to put a fresh muffin on the pedestal right before it rises. Valid, an interesting point to be made there about the lengths ponies go to to maintain appearances, but, it doesn't fit what I know of your character. You’re looking for depth for yourself, not mocking shallower artists.” Well, perhaps I’m a little more than vaguely aware that she’s watching me. My survival does depend on her liking me after all, and I look so enraptured that it sounds genuine. Multitasking is really just something you’re born good at. “Two is that you’ve somehow chemically treated the muffin so that it will always be warm and smell fresh, but, what would be the point? It will still be destroyed when I eat it. Maybe there’s a point there about mocking markers who try to look young since they’re all going to die eventually anyway, but earlier you defended that and...” It will still be destroyed when I eat it. “And...”
I bite my tongue a little, just to shift postures. That’s what you do with a muffin, right? You eat it, and then it’s gone. That’s the point. My hoof taps the floor to keep time, all the little cogs in my head turning.
“You could have enchanted it to be invulnerable, that way it will always smell nice and be pretty, turning it from a transitory object into... nnngh. No. Wait. No. That would significantly lessen its value in the process and there is no way a pony who is still producing masterworks at your age is going for a twice-as-bright-half-as-long candle piece. Something when I eat it. Something to...” I’ve got Rarity on pins and needles now. She’s just about standing on the tips of her hooves, leaning in to see my face. “Something to...” Time to take a chance. “You’ve created a muffin that can be eaten an unlimited number of times.”
“Yes!” Rarity shouts, actually hopping up and down for sheer joy. “Try it, try it, try it, try it!”
I levitate the muffin off the stand and take a bite, listening to Rarity titter with glee next to me. It’s delicious, rich and crumbly, full of flaky banana bits, and when I swallow, there the muffin is in front of me, whole and unbroken.
It still smells good.
“Sun and stars, this is genius,” I whisper. Without even thinking, I drop the muffin to the floor and smash it flat under my hoof. When I lift my leg, it’s whole once again, sitting there and waiting to be eaten. I pull the wrapper off, rip it in half, spit on it just to see what happens. No matter what, the muffin always returns, just waiting for me. “What is this doing here? Forget your outfit; this should be in a gallery! This should be a museum's star attraction!”
“What, so those overmarked simpletons can whine at me about eliminating hunger?” she asks, shaking her head and smiling at my own bedazzled expression. “Art was meant to be appreciated, Siren, but these days, it doesn't seem like there’s anypony who really understands my work. You don’t know how happy it makes me to find a young pony with the true gift.”
“Well, I’m happy to observe a real master,” I say, hesitating for a moment. It might be overreaching but, double or nothing. “And... maybe while I’m here, you could teach me a few things?”
“Oh, it’s been years since I had a protege!” Rarity says, gleefully pulling me over into a hug. “We’re going to be the best of friends!”
Yeah.
Yeah, I nailed that.
Revision 9:
“Yes!” Rarity shouts, actually hopping up and down for sheer joy. “Try it, try it, try it, try it!”I levitate the muffin off the stand and take a bite, listening to Rarity titter with glee next to me. It’s delicious, rich and crumbly, full of flaky banana bits, and when I swallow, there the muffin is in front of me, whole and unbroken.
It still smells good.
“Sun and stars, this is genius,” I whisper. Without even thinking, I drop the muffin to the floor and smash it flat under my hoof. When I lift my leg, it’s whole once again, sitting there and waiting to be eaten. I pull the wrapper off, rip it in half, spit on it just to see what happens. No matter what, the muffin always returns, just waiting for me. “What is this doing here? Forget your outfit; this should be in a gallery! This should be a museum's star attraction!”
“What, so those overmarked simpletons can whine at me about eliminating hunger?” she asks, shaking her head and smiling at my own bedazzled expression. “Art was meant to be appreciated, Siren, but these days, it doesn't seem like there’s anypony who really understands my work. You don’t know how happy it makes me to find a young pony with the true gift.”
“Well, I’m happy to observe a real master,” I say, hesitating for a moment. It might be overreaching but, double or nothing. “And... maybe while I’m here, you could teach me a few things?”
“Oh, it’s been years since I had a protege!” Rarity says, gleefully pulling me over into a hug. “We’re going to be the best of friends!”
Yeah.
Yeah, I nailed that.
Release Version:
“Yes!” Rarity shouts, actually hopping up and down for sheer joy. “Try it, try it, try it, try it!”
I levitate the muffin off the stand, hesitating for a moment as I bring it towards my mouth. I mean, this has got to be a trick or something. I’ve never heard of magic like that. Entropy is one of the fundamental truths of the universe. Magic can fiddle with it for awhile, but in the end, there’s no cheating the reaper.
Unless you’re Princess Celestia, of course.
I take the bite, listening to Rarity titter with glee next to me. It’s delicious, rich and crumbly, full of flaky banana bits, and when I swallow, there the muffin is in front of me, whole and unbroken.
It still smells good.
“I...” I don’t know what to say. Art is about observing the universe! Giving meaning to it all. Art is a reflection of the world. You can’t just come up with your thesis and decide you’re going to make the world fit the piece. “This...” But you can, can’t you? If your thesis is that intellect and will triumph over all barriers, don’t you need to show that for it to be meaningful? How many artists have screamed that their works will live forever, but hers really will. More than that! It’s first. The first really eternal piece of art.
Without even thinking, I drop the muffin to the floor and smash it flat under my hoof. When I lift my leg, it’s whole once again, sitting there and waiting to be eaten. I pull the wrapper off, rip it in half, spit on it just to see what happens! No matter what, the muffin always returns, just waiting for me. What can I do but laugh?
“Sun and stars, Rarity. You’re a genius!” I say, and it’s true! It’s like the first time I saw a real gallery—that tense excitement, the need see everything there is to see, to know what makes it special! “You’re the greatest artistic mind of your generation! What is this doing here? Forget your outfit; this should be in a gallery! This should be a museum's star attraction!”
“What, so those overmarked simpletons can whine at me about eliminating hunger?” she asks, shaking her head and smiling at my own bedazzled expression. “Art was meant to be appreciated, Siren, but these days, it doesn't seem like there’s anypony who really understands my work. You don’t know how happy it makes me to find a young pony with the true gift.”
What can I do? I need to throw myself at her hooves. I need to shout “teach me!” at the top of my lungs. But I can’t. Equestria comes first, getting home comes first, but... I can get on her good side a little. That’s the point of all this, wasn’t it? To get her to like me. Yeah, she thinks I have the true gift! I can play that.
“Well, I’m happy to observe a real master,” I say, hesitating for a moment. It might be overreaching but, double or nothing. “And... maybe while I’m here, you could teach me a few things?”
“Oh, it’s been years since I had a protege!” Rarity says, gleefully pulling me over into a hug. “We’re going to be the best of friends!”
Yeah.
Yeah, I nailed that.
I haven't read the Vision series (and only half-played Bioshock), but you had some cool ideas in that old outline. I might read it some day.
Hope you're doing all right, though. Depression sucks.
I'm still trying to get caught up on the series just because I enjoy it immensely (but don't always have the time or patience to read it - which probably makes me a bit hypocritical given my own word count), but it's nice that you're giving your readers some parting gifts in any case.
Really sorry about the depression. I hope that you feel a little better soon, but in the meantime, it's always nice to hear something from you. After all, without you, I don't think my own writing would have improved as much as it has, and I'll always be grateful for that.
3751865
It really, really sucks. Yes.
Luckily, medication helps. But I'm still not terribly inclined to write these days. I do try, but it rarely goes well.
Also, you should read Siren Song. It's really a great story.
3751938
Hey THM.
Depression sucks a lot. But hey! Keep writing about robots. You're getting good at it.
What about Spike?
I'd forgotten how good this story was and how great Siren is with all her constantly calculations. I don't think I've ever read various revisions before but this was really interesting. It's like failing a persuasion check in Fallout then reloading to try again! I loved all the little (and not so little) differences though I couldn't really differentiate 8 and 9. Unfortunate the end of Vision had to happen like this but at least I can get started on Daring Do now and I'll have to check out the original outline later.
So was the analysis of Epiphany replaced by the muffin scene, and if so, why?
3752166
It's a giant sea-serpent living outside the city. At one point, he knocks on the windows and freaks Siren out. Later, it emerges that he's the one who saved her from the shipwreck when she was in danger of drowning.
3752191
Mostly because Epiphany got several scenes to herself later on, and so everything Siren was saying about her was going to become clear through her actions. Given the choice between showing what Epiphany is like and having Siren tell us, the former is better. Plus, I just really liked the muffin scene for putting Siren off her guard.
3752268 Wow, that's sad... but really awesome.
3752076
Thanks! Maybe someday I'll actually be good!
...Hey, wait just a darn minute!
Nah, seriously, thanks for the compliment.
Wow, there's a lot of stuff here in this entry. It'll probably take me awhile to read through all of it.
I'm sorry to hear about your depression. Hopefully you'll be able to recover some and enjoy writing again someday, even if it's not the stuff I've been following. Not being able to enjoy the things you used to is pretty terrible.
3752664
Well, it's mostly 10 versions of the same scene, so no rush.
And, yeah. It does suck. But, you know, could be worse! I'm sure I'll write again sometime.
Oh, dear; I'm sorry about your depression. Good luck. Thank you for the background material.
Man i am still super sad that you'll never finish this. But that's still better than to have never been able read it at all, better to love than to have never loved at all and such. What i really appreciate about Siren Song is that you actually had a direction, not only that you planned out so much in advance, but put so much thought into scenes and characters. Something that's not common at all in fanfiction.
I actually remember the first time you posted chapter 1 of Siren Song, and i was actually not into it at all, cause i was in fact waiting for the next chapter of I Forgot I Was There. The only reason i gave it a shot was because i was curious about the summary and what caused twilight to leave celestia and equestria. And i really didn't get into the story until about chapter 7 or 8. At the time i avoided any fic containing OC ponies like the plague. So Siren Song is actually the fic that warmed me up to OC. Since the OCs in Siren Song were so well written. So good job on that. I'll be reading this blog in detail later tonight.
Good luck on your future endeavors Gappy. Your ponyfics have been a pleasure to read.
I still miss Green Apple
3753045
Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading.
3753707
Thank you for saying so. I'm really glad you enjoyed the story, and I hope one day to write more stories you'll like just as much. This extended trouble I've been having is very frustrating, but it's relieving to know that my readers still got something good from it, even if I wasn't quite able to give it the ended it needed.
And yes. Green is awesome.
3753822
I did indeed. I may have wanted more, but what I got, I enjoyed. :)
Certainly is interesting to note how Rarity evolved in your story through the editing faze. She certainly seems to match up better with her show version when under the effects of that dark magic book.
3754412
I wrote this before that episode!
Clearly I can see the future.
I will never get over how perfect your Rarity turned out. I take it you completely re-imagined her between revisions 6 and 8? She went from "vulnerable" to "radiating power and direction". The effort really shows well. I think she would be proud of her depiction.
I'm curious about all of it. Planning, partially-written scenes, random notes. Any chance you could put it all into a zip file and upload it somewhere? Or share a gdoc folder with everything?
Also, what does Siren do after Vision is saved? The ending is very Pony, in the sense that technical problems are not important once the moral and personal conflicts are solved, but I can't consider it complete until I know how life goes on for Siren.
EDIT: I hope some of THE MAGNIFICENT WRITERS OF FIMFICTION end up writing stories about life after Vision. Cough cough.
3755101
I wouldn't say completely. She was always intended to have the power, but in her early versions, she was supposed to project a heavy air of regret. Stains on her honor that can only be "washed away" through the deeds Siren sees. She has to destroy her old creations, she has to make new ones that are perfect, but the guilt never quite goes away.
That ended up changing, and her new disposition was summarized as: "Evil Sorceress." In fact, at several points, Siren explicitly refers to her as such during her visions. "Slay the sorceress, get her treasure." Or in her trips, "Blood of a sorceress," Or referencing Rarity's jewelry as being magic or made from pony's souls.
The reference I enjoyed the most though was, "She's just a pony, not Sombra's ghost!" when she is in fact very much like Sombra at this point in the story (corrupted dark magic unicorn ruler).
Sure, PM me an email address, I'll share it on the central folder.
After the city surfaces, most of the ponies still living there return to Equestria. Most of the city is nonfunctional at this point -- with the forcefields gone, the windows are just archways, open to the sun and the sea air. The Rainbow Tram is just a twisting ribbon of metal with disabled trains hanging in the midair, and all the alchemical magic has turned to seawater. But a few ponies remain behind, either because they like the sea, or there's nothing left for them in Equestrian, or they just can't bear to leave the city. But their numbers eventually fade, and it's abandoned completely.
With nopony living there, Vision becomes a legendary ruin in the middle of the ocean. A sprawling metropolis of white stone, beached submarines, highly advanced technology, and lost alchemical secrets for those with the will to plunder them. While no serious attempt to salvage it is ever made, tourists, historians, and would-be adventurers show up from time to time. The only thing there of any real value is the Elements of Harmony, still a civic monument at the highest point in the city. Celestia attempts to remove them back to Equestria several times, but is unsuccessful.
Siren stays in Vision -- for awhile, anyway. Unwilling to face Celestia and still convinced that there's nothing for her in Equestria, she stays with the other holdouts in the city. As they get older, she realizes that she's aging exceedingly slowly. The supernatural blood that gave her skin like iron also apparently protects her against the ravages of time, and eventually she is the only one left. She tries to play the part of a hermit for awhile, hiding out in the ruins, but can't stand it for more than a moment. She's a social creature at heart, and at the first chance, she hops on with a ship of tourists and returns to Equestria.
More than a decade after she left, Siren finally returns to Canterlot palace and faces Celestia -- and Twilight as well. They have a long heartfelt chat, and finally, by fits and starts, she begins to forgive Celestia for lying to her for so many years. Twilight she cares nothing for and wants nothing to do with, but at Twilight's pleading, the two do spend some time together. Enough for Twilight to feel she at least knows her daughter.
Eventually, after some time frittering around Canterlot, Siren decides to fulfill her original dream and become an artist.
She's a pretty okay artist. Like, it pays the bills, but not great.
3755360
I think I can rest in peace now.
3755360
Goddamn that would have been amazing to read. Still, i wonder, and i hate to sound like a broken record here. But where does Green fit in into this? Was she one of the ponies that stayed in Vision with Siren?
I always like to imagine that Siren and her friendship turned genuine after all the crud they've been through. Same with Berry
3755767
It did become genuine, in both cases.
But no, she went back to her farm. She never really wanted to be famous or a model, just for ponies to think she was pretty. She's still a farm pony at heart.