//------------------------------// // Close-Knit Friends // Story: Knitting Encouragement // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// By the sixth day, Rarity could feel the chains closing in. She lay on the bed in Cheerilee’s room. At this point, merely standing near the studio was enough to crush her spirit like a beetle under a boot. She’d spent all of yesterday staring at the blank page that reflected her own life. “Feel better?” said Cheerilee calmly. Even here in her own room, she preferred to lie on the floor. Or so she’d claimed. Rarity sank into the quilt. “A little.” “That’s the spirit. So long as you never give up, inspiration'll come to you. I guess artistic genius just needs a bit of struggle before it can bloom.” Shut up. Rarity almost wept. That thought had been too unladylike. However, she found her gaze drifting downwards, away from her own blank page and towards Cheerilee’s rough sketch on the floor. Her unguarded, unproblematic sketch. Rarity licked her lips. Despite Cheerilee’s prior blushing and brushing aside of any praise, that was a good design. Sleek. Elegant. Simple. Matilda would love it. Her jaws ached with the hunger driving them. As surreptitiously as she could, she glanced sidelong at the sketch and recreated the swirls and lines on her own paper. Someone like Cheerilee didn’t need attention, but she did. So absorbed was she by this copying that she only later noticed Cheerilee had stopped drawing. The filly was curled up on the carpet. Her head was bowed, her eyelids half-hiding her gaze. Something moved Rarity to say, “Are you quite all right, Cheerilee?” Cheerilee started as though waking up. “Sorry? Oh, I’m fine.” “Jolly good.” Now, to get the poofiness of the sleeve right… “You know, you’re a really good friend, Rarity.” The comment was so unexpected that Rarity put her pencil down. She sensed words waiting to be spoken. “I heard about what happened with the geode.” Cheerilee wasn’t smiling, though her voice still had that special cheer pumping through it like life-giving blood. “You could have kept all those gemstones to yourself, but you gave them to us instead.” “Well, to the costumes.” Rarity’s heart sank. Don’t remind me, please. I HAVE to be more than just “Gemstone” Rarity. I need dresses. Class. Poise. Skill. To be a lady. Cheerilee glanced at her wardrobe, where the encrusted costume still sparkled. “That’s right. And, well, you didn’t have to. Maybe you didn’t want to, not completely. But you still did.” “Uh…” Rarity glanced at her own copy of the sketch. Clearly, she’d have to tweak the design so it wasn’t obvious. “And that’s how you got your cutie mark, isn’t it really?” The words smacked Rarity across the face. She blinked, and then she squirmed, trying to wriggle away from the horrible heat of Cheerilee’s slumped form. Suddenly, being in the same room as her was far too close. “What?” she said. “By being a good friend. I see it clearly now: one diamond for you, one diamond for someone else, and one diamond for a bystander pony to enjoy. It’s symbolic of your sharing of beauty.” Rarity stared at her copy. Of course, she’d thought about the symbolism, but to actually hear someone else say it, crisply and clearly… Cheerilee sounded so certain… “So why hasn’t it worked for me?” Cheerilee was still curled up on the carpet. Nothing had changed, not even in her tone. She was trying to sound amused. “It’s funny. I’ve tried sharing and being nice, too.” All this time, I was just thinking about me. I’m locked into place, but at least I’ve got a place to call my own. “But I guess it’s not my destiny. Maybe that’s a good thing, but… I wonder sometimes…” Now the copied sketch was a monstrous mockery. Rarity recoiled from it. Oh, my goodness. Furiously, she scrunched up the paper. No. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t go down that route. Sharing of beauty… That’s what a fashionista ultimately does, isn’t it? Makes ponies happy. Not commonly happy, either, but… nobler. As if everywhere could be Canterlot, instead of Canterlot hoarding all its finery in one place. Not even then! Matilda could see beauty in Ponyville… They weren’t chains. They weren’t locks. She could wrap around things, hold them solid for as long as she wanted, weave them in and out, keep unnecessary things held back and allow other things through. They were tools. She could do things with tools. She had something. She glanced at Cheerilee’s haunches. Nothing. “I know what you mean,” she said gently. When Cheerilee looked up, she said, “Listen, I think your design…” “What about it?” Cheerilee tried to cover the sketch with a hoof. Blushes gripped her cheeks. “It’s perfect. With your permission, I’d like to make an unusual proposal. Perhaps we could… share the beauty?” “Share?” Cheerilee cocked her head. “How?” Rarity’s mind flexed its muscles. “Allow me to make a few suggestions. Just hear me out, then say what you think.” Sitting on the sofa yet again, Rarity leaned back and let out a long, lavish breath. Local produce as it was, she knew good Quills and Sofas Inc. upholstery when she sat on it. Beside her, Cheerilee fidgeted in her seat and idly tapped the top of the bag with a dangling hoof. “You’re sure this’ll work?” she whispered. Not a clue. “Naturally,” she said, flapping an idle hoof. Opposite, Big Mac gave her a polite if tight-lipped nod, his face pale. “The Ditz” held up the tattered tangle that had been technically a dress not five seconds before. Suri smirked and slipped her entry back into her bag. “Bronco Jersey. Don’t come much more expensive than that.” Sidelong glance notwithstanding, Matilda clapped her hooves with the correct Canterlot measure. “Fantastic work, as always. Now,” she continued, turning to Cheerilee. “How about you, dear?” Cheerilee gulped. Leaning forwards, Rarity eased a hoof over to hers and pressed down reassuringly. “Uh,” said Cheerilee, “well, I… I mean, we went about it… a little differently,” she said, and she rushed forwards and pulled out the dress as though afraid it’d evaporate soon. “I – I mean, we – call it ‘Discretion: The Better Part of Velour’.” Big Mac giggled, and then covered his mouth with a hoof. To Rarity’s satisfaction, this reddened Cheerilee’s cheeks. “You say ‘we’?” Matilda clicked her tongue; nearby, “the Ditz” and Suri mumbled, leaning forwards. “Y-Yes, Miss Matilda. It was a collaboration. I don’t know if it’s against the rules, but Rarity said my design was good –” “Perfect,” corrected Rarity breezily. “– and so I went with that, only my knitting wasn’t as polished as hers, but I did it. She helped me with my technique… So technically, I’d like to call it a collaboration. That’s all right, isn’t it?” “Oh, of course it is.” Matilda’s chuckle warmed Rarity’s heart. “But ‘technically’?” “I did help with a little of the finer details,” said Rarity. Cheerilee’s ears drooped. Rarity was painfully aware of how often Cheerilee had looked at her haunches last night, as though willing the cutie mark to epiphany its way into existence. Matilda whistled. “You certainly did a good job there. Well done, ladies. Certainly a creative approach, and the skill is exquisite. A mixture of Canterlot and Ponyville tradition. Very well done.” Better still, Rarity had seen the twinkle in her eyes. She’d seen it in Cheerilee’s too, when she’d proposed the collaboration. Before Cheerilee packed it away, Rarity leaned forwards – almost on top of Cheerilee’s left side – and ran her eyes along details she couldn’t stop admiring. Elaborate hearts embossed like the feathers of a paradise bird. Splaying colours of the skirt like a rainbow made from sunset oranges and purples. On the chest, two donkeys leaning against a balcony, watching the silhouettes of phoenixes crossing the sun’s disc. Suri was declared the winner. To Rarity’s surprise, she wasn’t bothered by this and even said “bravo” during the applause. No one seemed to have noticed the three little hearts embroidered in the skirt of Cheerilee's dress, roughly where the cutie mark would’ve been. Nor had they noticed the little message near the hem: “To a generous friend.” Rarity insisted Cheerilee take it home, collaboration be darned. It was miles better than that pineapple-dandelion-banana-bunch costume, anyway.