//------------------------------// // The World // Story: Rarity's Genesis // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// Numbness held her steady during the walk. She briefly delighted in the rustic style of the country lane, with its simple plank fences, its bushes, and its guardian trees. Unfortunately, as soon as she saw the school, spikes ran through her insides. The chafing under her saddlebag flared up. Foals gambolled outside. One or two familiar faces galloped past. She hadn’t actually spoken with them. Not one-to-one. She’d seen them out and about in the street, true… …sniggering… …but that didn’t mean they knew her, surely? She was a… What’s the word the book used…? Ah, a tabula rasa. Blank slate. She liked that. It sounded elegant, especially compared with “blank slate”. Her gaze alighted on one unicorn filly, sitting alone on the edge of the playground. Aha, perfect. Look at how she’s fidgeting. Look at how she leans forwards slightly when someone runs past. She wants company. She’ll make a splendid test for the new and improved Lady Rarity. “Good morning!” Rarity said as she approached. “How are you?” Startled, the filly spun round on her seat. Confusion wiped her face clear for a moment. Rarity beamed. Be polite. Mom and Dad say “please” and “thank you”, but they don’t do it right. Most ponies don’t smile very well when they do it. There’s a knack, I think. Weakly, the filly raised a hoof and waved. “Uh… hi?” “May I join you?” Maybe I’m putting it on too hard, but it’s what a Lady would do. Mom and Dad aren’t Ladies. After a while, the filly grimaced. “S-Sure. Sure.” “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” said Rarity as she “placed her derrière” on the rough stone, “but do you like art? I do.” “Uh…” The filly glanced around – Poor girl can’t believe her luck! – “Not really. I like… animals.” “Oh.” Rarity sagged. “OK, then.” No! Don’t you remember!? Do NOT have no idea what something is. This is like that! “Er, I mean,” she said hastily, “how fascinating! I… like animals too. Like…” She thought back to her book. “Like butterflies.” To her delight, she saw the filly’s lips twitch, trying out a smile. She was sure the right thing to do was to make that smile wider. That meant liking. Rarity wanted liking. She almost drooled for it. “Oh, yeah,” said the filly, “butterflies are amazing. I’ve got a net at home. I don’t keep them!” She waved her forelimbs around as though to banish the horror. “I just catch them, take a picture, and let them go. I don’t like hurting them.” “Most gal-lant!” Wow, I’m really good at this. “Lots of Canterlot ponies have tons of collections. Not that I approve!” Rarity smiled weakly. “I like the Canterlot ponies who don’t collect them!” “I’ve got lists of genera at home,” said the filly to her hooves. “Uh… would you like to see them one day?” “I’d love to!” Ignorance overwhelmed poise in her head. “What is a ‘genera’, if you don’t mind my asking?” Horrifyingly, the filly sniggered – Wait… It sounded pleasant. More like a giggle. Giggles were unknown territory. “It’s ‘genus’ on its own,” said the filly. “Different kinds of butterfly.” “Aha! Different genres!” This got her an odd look. “No. Different genera. You talk funny. Are you from Ponyville?” Doubt coursed through Rarity’s head. Hadn’t this filly seen her with her parents? She must know her face, right? But if not, perhaps that was a good thing. “No!” said Rarity breezily. “Pfft! The idea! I’m from Canterlot. Mother and Father moved here recently. That’s why I talk like this. As if I’d come from this dirty little… Er, I mean, I really do like it here. It’s so… idyllic. That’s why we moved, in fact.” “It’s nice, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Phew! “You do things differently here?” “Uh huh. Our Winter Wrap-Ups are all done by hoof. I’m gonna be on the animal team one day and wake up the mice and rabbits and porcupines and snakes.” “Inspired!” While playing fillies giggled, Rarity extended a hoof. “Lady Rarity.” Slowly, the filly accepted it. “Sparkler.” So far, no hiccups. The classroom was just a box of a room with straw on the floor. Given how pink and swirly the outside had been – And how white and pure its steps! How grand its belfry! – the inside was lacklustre. Gloomily, Rarity pretended to listen while the teacher introduced herself and chalked stuff on the blackboard and didn’t even try to ask Rarity her name, or what kind of art she wanted to do. Mom and Dad said they’d do art. The teacher had placed all the students in straight lines and neat rows. Sparkler sat some way away. Bored, Rarity's ears flicked. Whispers tickled her hearing. She noticed lips moving on the two fillies before her. “And then Fruitbasket said she was never going to forgive her for telling everyone,” whispered the one breathlessly. “I wouldn’t either,” hissed the other. “Blueberry Swirl told Cheerilee, and you know Cheerilee can’t keep a secret.” “Yeah, but Fruitbasket shouldn’t have said she liked liked Honey Drop.” “Pfft. She doesn’t even know what that means.” “She does. She just wants attention.” Fruitbasket? Wait, I’ve heard about her. Why does she want attention? Does she really “like like” Honey Drop, or is she faking it? Curiosity giggled in her chest. She was hearing secrets. It was like eating chocolate cake when Mom and Dad had told her not to. She had to tell someone! This was fascinating stuff. She would never have guessed that about Fruitbasket. She always thought the filly was a stone wall when it came to feelings. Besides, what did “like like” mean? Excitedly, she turned to the filly next to her to ask, but then drew back from the sight. Her neighbour stared at the teacher avidly, sat up straight, even wrote things down now and then with – Ew! – a pencil in her mouth. Rarity took one whiff and sweat clawed at her nose. Gross! Look at her hooves! There’s bits of mud stuck to them! Doesn’t she wash? Grimacing, Rarity returned her gaze to the blackboard just as the teacher said, “Now, can anyone tell me what this is?” Disappointing squares crammed themselves in the centre. Rarity looked around. No one put their hooves up except the stinky filly she’d just been eyeing up. “Yes, uh… Applejack?” said the teacher. “Miss Pencil Sharp’ner,” said Applejack, “that looks like a Mark Ten Softskin Crate. We got ‘em up at the farm.” The teacher blinked in surprise. “Oh. Uh. Is it? Well, I was actually going for ‘box’, but… good answer, Applejack! Have a star.” A star!? She gets a star!? For that!? Rarity gaped as the silver sticker floated over to Applejack’s puffed-up chest. To her astonishment, the mare actually blushed at this as though ashamed, yet simultaneously a smile bloomed between the natural rouge. Ridiculous! An apple farmer gets a star over me? But… But Ladies are educated! Not farmers! All the best books come from Canterlot, not from orchards. To her horror, she saw the mare actually pick her nose. With those muddy hooves! Wooziness shook her head up. She wondered if this was what it was like to almost faint. More squeaks of chalk against board. “Now, who can tell me what this is?” Rarity’s hoof shot up at once. She’d be darned if she was going to miss this one. “Miss! That’s an impressionistic sunflower! I saw one like it in my book!” “No, no, no… uh… Rarity. That’s a daisy. I was actually going for ‘flower’.” Hopeful, Rarity stared at the box with the stars. Nothing came out. “What!?” she shrieked. “But Fidelity’s Greeting the Sun looks like that, and that’s a sunflower!” To her surprise, scowls met her across the classroom. Fillies turned in their seats to throw them at her. “But,” began the teacher, “young lady –” “It’s not fair! I did what she did, and I know art when I see it. I’ve seen pictures! How come I don’t get a star? She got one, and that was for a silly old crate!” Sighing, the teacher threw up her hooves. “All right, all right. It was a keen answer, I’ll grant you that. Here you go.” “Thank you.” Rarity closed her eyes and stuck out her chest expectantly. Her first star tickled a bit as it landed. She beamed around at the other foals. None of them beamed back. Later on, when the teacher finished explaining the rules and ran through the register, she heard voices muttering about her.