Featured

by B_25

It's All about the Quality Invested, Baby

"Okay, Rarity." Spike held up his claws to ease the situation, his feet edging down the steps of the staircase. "There's no need for anyone or anything to be harmed here today, so why don't you do yourself a favor and put down the typewriter?"

Rarity, hunched over and panting heavily, continued to glare at the drake from underneath the weight of the clunky typewriter held over her head. She stood at the center of the main floor, next to the circular desk, where she had gotten the typewriter from with the intent to smash it into the floor. Or, at least, that's how it looked to Spike upon his arrival.

Finally, his feet reached the floor, though he dared not take another step. "I'm just going slowly put down my trusty feather duster, and at the same time, I want you to gently put down the typewriter, okay? Afterward, you and I can talk about whatever it is that's going on right now, all right?"

That intensified her glare, but she didn't move an inch

Spike sighed a sigh of relief, slowly lowering himself until he was down onto one knee. He then brought his face up to look at Rarity from his lowered position, not to ask the love of his life to marry him, but to assure himself that she was not attempting to smash his head instead with the typewriter. To both his joy and dismay, she had yet to move an inch. "...this is the part where you're supposed to put down the typewriter."

His only response was her pants, heavenly to his ears, but disgusting to hers.

Spike bit his bottom lip, released a sigh not of relief, before attempting to clash his tired eyes in a stare against her frantic blue ones. "Look, the typewriter you're holding right now means a lot to Twilight, so if she comes home to find it shattered, and her floor broken, then our lives will easily be forfeit. You don't want to get burned alive by Twilight Sparkle because of some silly reason, do you?"

Then, he heard her speak.

"How could any of this be considered silly, Spike!?" The forehooves holding the typewriter began to tremble. Her hind legs, shaking since she picked up the clunk of junk, began to step from spot to spot in the most pitiful dance to maintain her balance. The scene made the drake's lips chuckle, but to his heart, the sight of her mane falling over her left eye drove it wild with love.

He did his best to suppress both before he spoke. "For numerous reasons, though I'm more interested in the reason that caused all this."

Rarity stopped glaring at him, her eyes set on the floor, as her vision became entrapped in a memory playing in her mind's eye. This memory outweighed the typewriter, for her shoulders came to slump, and her body became still as she revisited the event that caused her strife. Then, it was over in a flash, and she looked back to the dragon, not in a glare, but with tears stinging the bottom corners of her eyes "Ohhhhh Spike! The worst. Possible. Thing has happened!"

Spike felt his irritation leave him as something pricked at his heart. He took a step toward the mare, face gentle and his non-existent ears perked. "What, Rarity? What's happened? What can I do for you?"

"Ohhh...Spike, it's a matter that someone like you simply cannot resolve."

"You don't know that!" Spike threw his claw leftward, the glint of the sun being caught by the tip of his duster. "I may not be able to resolve the issue itself, but I can help you process your feelings on them."

"...are quite sure you want to know what's been troubling me, Spike? This piece of news has brought me nothing less than absolute devastation, so I can't possibly imagine the effect it may have on you."

"I want to know!" Spike cried, the energy that had driven her to pick up the typewriter now filling him up as well. "I don't care how bad it is. I don't care how much it may destroy me – I'll do anything if it means it'll make you happy."

Rarity gave a breath of finality, closing her eyes, and preparing her lips for the horror. "Very well."

Her voice was less than a whisper, but the drake's had his ears trained to catch every last letter.

"The...the thing is..."

Her voice gained a tint of sadness, no doubt a result of recalling the tragic event.

"...that...that my article..."

Her voice became like a squeak.

"...which I put in so much time into writing..."

Her voice was reaching its climax.

Spike could barely restrain his heart.

The truth may destroy him.

But it would be worth it.

For her.

"...didn't get featured in the fashionizta magazine!"

Tears spilled from her eyes. Her body continued to shake as the throes of sadness took their hold, not to mention the fact that the typewriter was growing heavier by the second. As for Spike, however, he simply fell backward – the beam of concentrated pettiness was too much to bear to the heart he willingly exposed for her.

With his back to the floor, the drake closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then spoke. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?"

"Nooooo..." Her sobs interrupted her answer, her eyes since close to try and suppress the water welling behind them. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. Such a truth is too horrible for anyone who admires my work...including meeeee!"

Spike let out a heavy sigh. He knew rarity was prone to taking a grain of rice and expanding it to a hot air balloon, but he hated himself more for not notching the signs. So he picked himself up from the ground, quickly shot the crying mare a glare, before dusting himself off. "...and why exactly is this such a big deal?"

A gasp of surprise escaped the alabaster lips. Rarity snapped open her eyelids, revealing not tears underneath, but of a flame that burned in each of her pupils. "Spike! You should know better than to talk ever so lightly about a lady's aspirations."

'And shouldn't you know better to barge into your friend's home and threaten to break their typewriter while they're away,' Spike couldn't stop the thought and scarcely prevented it from spoiling past his lips. He felt his neck go limp as he head fell left, forced to deal with the bizarre situation with calm rationality – like he always has to. "Look, Rarity, I'm sorry, I really am! But I can't take you seriously when you're like this, so why don't you just put the typewriter down, and we'll hash this out?"

Rarity narrowed her eyes on the dragon as if she were searching for a trap. The weight of the typewriter was growing heavier, her forehooves were trembling uncontrollably, and yet, she was not ready to concede to the drake's terms.

"Okay." Spike knew begging for her compliance would get him nowhere, so he switched up his tactics. "So you're not willing to put the typewriter away just yet, fine. The thing I don't get is this: you said you put your everything into this article, but you're sad because it didn't get featured. How does anything of this make any sense?"

"How does any of this make any sense!" She repeated, gaining the strength to raise the typewriter higher into the air, where it caught the glint of the lamp that hung from the ceiling. From this height, it could easily be tossed at the drake, which filled him with the notion to be more careful with his words next time. "I put hours, hours! Into making that article and writing all that I knew into it, then forced to endlessly pace around my boutique, until I could take the waiting no longer, and dashed to the library to retrieve an early copy."

Spike nodded his head to show he was paying attention, as she continued with her sob story.

"But after all that hard work and waiting, I finally began to reach through the magazine, only to find that my article wasn't featured like it was meant to be!" Rarity could almost feel herself start to cry, her throat feeling dry and sore, though she carried on nonetheless. "Could you imagine giving something your best, only for it to be treated like junk afterward?"

"Story of my life."

"What?"

Spike realized a moment too late that the thought did escape his lips, causing him to shake other such thoughts out from his mind, as he focused on the mare before him. "Nothing."

A moment of silence reigned over the room.

“Rarity, listen." Spike drew a breath, injecting the utmost sincerity into his tone before speaking. "I think it's fantastic that you've found something that you can be passionate about; to challenge yourself in order to create something great. Not all ponies have that one thing which they can give their all to, so you should be happy about that fact alone."

Rarity kept silent, swallowing the saliva that had manifested itself in her mouth.

"But getting this upset over your article not getting featured is silly!" He couldn't help himself, his concealed emotions about the situation coming out. "You have no right to storm into someone's house and threaten to break their typewriter because of your problems. Not only that, but why do you care so much about getting featured anyway."

Rarity's emotions, while already being express, served to be amplified by the drake's outburst. "Why, getting featured is one of the greatest accomplishment a mare like me can hope to achieve! It shows the world that I mean business, that my words are to be respected, and that I'm finally on par with the big leagues."

Spike never ended his stare, not even when a look of conceit spread across his love's face, and especially not even as the shadow of the typewriter loomed dangerously over his head. But the drake for the life of him could not make himself care, driven to pure irritation that concealed all sensibility deep within him.

He approached her. Their stares clashed against one another. Neither had quite the clue what was going to happened next, both too far driven by irritation to focus on anything else, but the present. Finally, when Spike stood before Rarity, he bent forward, picked up the magazine that she had thrown down earlier, and began to flick through its pages.

She continued to stare at him, but when he did not meet her gaze, she was forced to speak. "And just what are you doing, Mr. Young Dragon?"

He didn't pay her a glance as he flicked to the next page. "Skimming through the magazine that you treasure so much."

"And why are you doing that?"

"You'll find out in a moment."

Spike began to indulge himself in the many articles based on fashion, despite his limited knowledge of tidbits Rarity would drop when she was at work. He wasn’t sure what to expect, besides a few vague notions.

That he would find different styles that were each uniquely expressed.

That he would find an assortment of clothing he could wear that may very well change his way of life, or make him more aware of different ways of life.

That he would find clothes which beauty would bring out a hidden character deep within us.

That he would find a fashion statement that evoked some feeling inside him.

But all his eyes kept setting upon were thinly articles that suggest ways to make you flank to look bigger, how to attract the attention of the room with simply your eyes, and essentially, how to shake what your mamma gave you.

Spike burst into laughter while throwing the article into the air, falling onto his back as the giggles themselves billowed in his chest. He was aware of the coolness of the typewriter’s shadow cast over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to think in this state.

“What!” Rarity rose the typewriter higher into the air with the energy gain from her indignation at Spike’s actions, not bringing herself to drop it upon him due to they mystery of laughter. “What has possessed you that you would laugh in such a crude way?”

Spike saw her face behind watery eyes, flicking away the droplets at its corners before speaking. “Because your magazine is silly! Most of the photos are just mares shaking their flanks, articles that are overly-wordy with no real point, and you’re sad that you didn’t get ranked next to them!”

Rarity felt a fury building in her chest as she pondered one of her hooves accidentally ‘slipping.' But, try as she might, her blue eyes caught sight of the fallen article next to the dragon, where those mares he spoke of were now shaking her flanks at her.

For a moment, they moved in their photos, sticking their tongue and giving an extra shake. As soon as she saw it, the picture returned to normal, causing the unicorn to sigh. “Fine, I concede that the current state affairs of fashion isn't quite like what they used to be.”

Spike felt his jolting laughter coming to an end, almost panting slightly to satisfy his pleading lungs, before standing back up onto his feet. The sight of his love no longer threatening to kill him brought some joy to his heart, though he still kept slightly to the right of her.

“But that doesn’t mean that this magazine wasn’t once part of the greats,” Rarity continued with an air of confidence, as sweat from the current extortion began to roll down her forehead. “Ponies of the future will know that the greats of the past were featured in this very magazine, and even though their current featured board isn’t quite what it use to be, it is still an indicator of being a part of the greats!”

She sighed, beginning to lower the typewriter to her chest. “One day, I hope, Spikey-Wikey, that I’ll write something brilliant enough as to be placed next to the greats. The day will come where my article will finally get featured, and because of that, it’ll become great.”

Spike shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t get how that makes any sense.”

Rarity raised her eyes brow, holding the typewriter closer to her chest to help bear the weight. “I beg your pardon?”

“I just don’t get how getting your article featured suddenly makes it great.” Spike stood there with his back slightly hunched, head weighed down by the influx of thoughts he wasn’t typically used to. “If something’s great, it’s great by its own standard. Writing something bad and having it featured doesn’t make it good, just as writing something great and not having it featured doesn’t make it bad.”

Rarity let the words echo in her mind. A pair of claws brushed against her arm, making her look down to see the drake taking hold of the typewriter, whose emerald eyes met hers, and he offered a smile. “I’ve already read what you wrote, Rarity, and it was great. You pour your passion into it, re-wrote it until it concisely told what you had to say, and most importantly, it had a meaning behind it.”

An air of honesty surrounded his words, but the alabaster mare did not quite believe them. She thought them words that were just trying to make her feel better, not an objective statement on whether her words were great or not.

And just as she was about to call him a liar, the heavyweight that made her tremble and exhausted left it. Spike had taken the full weight of the typewriter away from her, straining to keep his wobbling legs straight as he continued to speak to her.

She was amazed by his dedication to his words, almost believing them to be true by his words alone. “Listen...Rarity. When the ponies of the future look for inspiration from the past, they won’t care how many ponies liked or disliked the article, or if it got featured, or even the amount of followers of whoever wrote it.”

Spike felt his body ready to collapse from the unbearable weight, his entire body shaking at never holding something quite so heavy before. He knew that if he fell, that the weight of the thing would be upon his chest, yet he did not care about this fact.

“They’re going to care about the article itself and how much quality was imbued in it.” He took a heavy step toward the table, and then another, while never-ending eye contact. “That’s what makes you...different...Rarity. You don’t write for the trends and the ephemeral fame, but to make your words a timeless quality.”

He was almost on the table now. Its edge was eluding him from the massive bulk in his claws, straining the muscles in his legs to try and raise him to meet its height. “There’s no point...in worrying...if you’ll get featured or not. Focus instead...on the things within your control… like imbuing your work with as much quality as possible!”

Spike raised the typewriter with all his strength in a final hurrah! But, his chubby arms were not nearly strong nor long enough to get the hunk of junk over the table. The back of his feet slipped. The drake began to fall.

The weight of the typewriter would be upon him.

...were it not for the blue aurora that had surrounded itself around the metal, though it did flicker and waned under the weight, causing it immediately to slowly float to the desk that Spike had tried to reach for.

The drake himself looked to his right, seeing Rarity grasp the thing with her magic instead of her strength, and in one final burst of magic, set the massive beast where it belonged. Not a moment later she fell to her hooves, panting just as he was now.

The two then looked at each other as they looked on the floor, staring into each other eyes, before collectively bursting into laughter. They knew not the reason why they laughed, but their giggles filled the empty library.

After a while, the laughter came to cease, but the two kept laying on the floor. Rarity was the first to speak, looking at Spike as she did so. “You know, you’re absolutely right, Spike.” She then turned, looking up at the ceiling. “There really is no point crying in my bed about not getting featured, not stressing over how many ponies like or dislike my work. All that energy could be used to take the criticisms that can make me into a better pony, and imbue my work with everything I got.”

Spike looked at her for a moment, seeing not a promotion that would only last for a day, but a solemn promise twinkling in her eyes. Regardless of whatever happened next, she would go on to do her best to continue with this new way of thinking.

With a smile himself, Spike looked up to the ceiling of the library as well. “That makes me happy to hear, Rarity. I may think you among the greats, but Twilight tells me that the greats never stop learning.”

“Indeed they don’t,” Rarity said, gazing back at the drake across from her. “And I know that if I have you looking over my next article, it’ll be better than the one that got published today.”

Spike looked back to her, cracking the biggest grin that she had ever seen. “I highly doubt my involvement will make your article any better.”

She raised a brow. “And just why is that?”

Spike couldn’t help but burst into laughter.