//------------------------------// // A Matter Of Perspective // Story: 30 Days/ 30 Stories // by Fenton //------------------------------// Paper Filler was lost. At least, he thought he was, because the rather decrepit building in front him wasn’t looking like a boutique. He checked the address once more and saw he was at the right place. “I hope this isn’t another one of your ‘jokes’, Pen,” he mumbled to himself. “Or you’re gonna hear what I think of your humour.” He knocked on the door, expecting the worst. He was quite surprised when he heard a crystalline voice from the inside. “You can come in, it’s open.” The goodwill he could hear in it was welcoming, so Paper Filler entered. The room was dark, and it took him a minute for his eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light. He couldn’t prevent himself from wincing. Dust covered the few shelves disseminated here and there, and light didn’t quite manage to go through the thick layer of dirt on the windows. “Make yourself comfortable,” said the voice. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Paper acknowledged the surprisingly immaculate table and chairs on his right. A small island of cleanliness among this filth, it was providential, so he didn’t was any more time and sat. He took his notebook and a pen with his magic from his saddlebag, and soon enough, a white coated mare came from upstairs. “I’ll be right back, I’ll make us some tea,” she said. Paper took a moment to gaze at her. She somehow managed to repel the darkness by her sheer presence. It was like finding a gem among dull rocks. Once you had laid an eye on it, you couldn’t see anything else. Even more surprising was how she could manage to keep her coat clean. If he hadn’t seen her horn, he would have guessed she was casting a spell to keep the dirt away, but it seemed the grime didn’t dare to tarnish such a pretty gem. The mare got back from the kitchen and he cut himself from his reverie. “I apologise for the mess,” she said while serving the tea. “I’ve just arrived and I didn’t find the time to clean up a bit. So, Mr Scribbler, I presume?” “I’m afraid Pen Scribbler is ill, Mrs Rarity,” he replied. “I’m Paper Filler.” The mare frowned. “Oh my, I hope it's nothing too serious.” “You have nothing to worry. It’s probably just the flu.” “Still, he must be feeling awful. Would you kindly give me his address? I shall send him a card later.” Paper Filler wrote the address on his notebook and tore the page. “Thank you. Now I guess it means the interview is postponed.” “Actually, Mrs Rarity, Pen Scribbler sent me here in his stead, unless you specifically wanted him.” She bit her lower lip. “Well, far from me to sound rude, but are you well versed in fashion?” “Not really,” he replied. “I’ve just browsed through the file they gave me. My domain is literary criticism.” Rarity seemed to ponder the thought, her eyes on the ceiling, likely weighing the pros and the cons of being reviewed by a complete stranger to the fashion world. Pen Scribbler waited patiently for her judgement, trying to silence the little voice saying he actually cared about the verdict. He succeeded, maybe a bit too much. “To be completely honest, I despise the fashion world and all those superficial ponies,” he added. “I’m simply here because I owe my friend a favor.” He immediately regretted his words. Not wanting to be here was a thing, but spitting on what was probably the life-career of a pony who had been nothing but welcoming was something else. He was about to mutter an apology when he was stopped by her reaction. To his surprise, there wasn’t any single trace of anger or disdain on her face. In fact, her eyes lit with sparkles. “Mmmh, postponing the interview would force me to come back another day,” she said flatly, though Paper Filler was sure to hear a spark of excitement in her voice. “My schedule is quite tight. Okay, it’s settled, we’ll do the interview right now. “And maybe I’ll be able to change your mind in the process,” she added with a wink. “Sure, you can try,” he replied, smiling despite himself, relieved he hadn’t crossed her. Paper Filler retrieved his friend’s notes and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Rarity, you’re a month away from opening your fourth boutique. With the success of the others, you could have chosen any other city. Why Vanhoover?” “It’s mainly a matter of geography.” He raised his eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? Geography?” “Why, yes, geography. You see, with my boutique in my hometown and in Canterlot, I already occupy the center of Equestria. And since I’m also established on the West coast, I thought I should aim for the East.” “Okay,” said Paper Filler, taking notes. “Hearing you, we could think you were talking about some military campaign. Do you plan to impose your designs in all of Equestria? What about the other designers? Do you intend to trample down the competition?” He bit his tongue and scolded himself once again. Even if fashion was far from something he cherished, that wasn’t reason enough for being rude to her. From the little time he had spent with Rarity, he got the impression she wasn’t like those snooty ponies he had met once or twice. “I apologise, Mrs Rarity. That was —” He was cut short by her giggles. “Oh dear, you’re not going easy on me, are you?” She took a sip of her tea. “Don’t worry, even if I have a reputation of overreacting, I won’t be upset by some rough phrasing, or else I wouldn’t have been able to survive in this world. “To answer your question, it’s less about imposing my designs and more about sharing my vision. I consider myself as an artist, and, as such, it’s my duty to spread my vision as far as I can.” She leaned towards him and gave him a disturbing smile. “And if you hadn’t simply browsed through your file, you would have probably seen I regularly put new designers under the spotlights. So, no, trampling the competition is out of question.” She leaned back against her chair, keeping her eyes locked with him. “R-right,” he stammered while scribbling. He opted for an easier question. “What about that vision you’ve talked about? Could you tell me more?” Her smile became genuine again when she spoke, but instead of answering him, she asked, “Tell me, have you ever seen ugly ponies?” Paper Filler looked at her, incredulous. “W-what?” “Have you ever seen ugly ponies?” He pondered the thought. “Well, I guess you could say that I have, yes.” “And why do you think they are ugly?” she said right after. “I… maybe Nature wasn’t feeling generous at the moment — well, not really, because I guess it also depends on who looks at these ponies. They don’t fit in the beauty standards? ” “Yes, we have standards and beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but that’s only the first half of the answer. They are ugly because they believe they are.” “What do you mean?” She put both of her hooves on the table. “Ponies believe in standards, and the result for those who don’t fit in, as you said, is that they also believe they are ugly, no matter what you could tell them. My job, no my inspiration, what drives me to create, is to make them see,” she said while hammering her hoof on the table. “ Even if, without false modesty, I’m well-known for my complicated and sumptuous dresses, it’s all about that small garment, a scarf, a tie, or even a simple hair slide you put on them, before putting the whole in front of the mirror.” “And then, they see. They see a beautiful pony. They see somepony worthy of being looked at. They don’t see that little clumsy foal or filly anymore, the ones who were too embarrassed to show themselves in public.” Paper felt a bit lost by her claims. He hadn’t expected to find the same burning passion he had sometimes witnessed when listening to some authors. “You aren’t clearly talking about everypony,” he argued. “Granted, the standards can sometimes be a little oppressive, but they are standards because they are suitable for the majority.” Rarity burst into laughter. “Oh, you can trust me when I say everypony is affected. From my experience, even ponies who claim or act like they don’t care about fashion and beauty can have complexes.” Her eyes were looking at a very far away place. “You know, a very good friend is a bit overweight, which is a complete mystery considering her diet. Knowing her, I wouldn’t have bet she would care about the look of others, but the first time I put a dress on her, she almost broke into tears. Another one is a bit bulky, which isn’t a surprise considering her work, but one day I — but look at me, rambling like an old mare. Maybe you had other questions.” “Y-yes,” said Paper, disappointed she had stopped. He had completely forgotten to take notes, completely enthralled by her vision. Scolding himself, he scribbled a few words before jumping to the next questions his friend had prepared. Once he had wasted them all, he realised with regrets the interview was over. “I, hum, I would like to ask you one last question, Mrs Rarity. C-could I have a demonstration of your talent?” “Of course, darling. Follow me upstairs.” One hour later, Paper Filler exited the building with a beret on his head and a bright smile on his face.