Beyond the reach and safety of modern civilization, deep down in the heart of a forgotten forest, a lone gothic amphitheater sat in its grave silence. Empty, cobweb ridden, and rotted seats were set row by row, as flecks of golden leaves and tiny desperate rodents scrambled between. Luna's moon shone down upon the reclusive stage and audience arrangements as wind ebbed and flowed gently about. However, with a sudden flicker, the lights of the stage came to life, and there stood the bizarre master of this night.
The creature was roughly six feet tall, wearing dark grey jeans, a light grey hoodie, and had wild, light brown hair. Those features, in of themselves, were most unremarkable. However, upon further inspection, his two more unusual qualities shone through the drab ensemble of grey that clothed his figure. Sharp cloven hands, bound in bandages and barbed wire, flexed and cracked in anticipation. Lastly, a half skull mask adorned his face, with a lengthy, rusty nail poking out from the forehead. He gave a grin, pleased with the state of his lovely theater, and gave a short bow and a chuckle.
Good evening, my friends. I am Wrath B. Forgivnez, and welcome back to this beautifully hollowed amphitheater. I have told a fair few stories during my time here. Stories about lost love, of friendship and bravery, of nightmares and of eternal promises. Tonight, I shall tell you a different sort of story. A story more about the stress of life. Of ambition and of personal strife to achieve the one thing you want most.
We all know that the dear little Sweetie Belle has an older sister. Quite a talented one, in fact. A proficient seamstress, digging her hooves deep into the world of fashion, willing to do what she can to make a name on the scene. Oh yes, her hunger for such glory is bountiful and powerful. However, the creative world is a stressful beast, and can have a strong, and sometimes terrifying, effect on those deep seated within it. Anyone in such a realm knows this well: Sleepless nights, anxiety of deadlines and reception, harsh and personal critique on your own work that is unwarranted at best, and perhaps ire and resentment of those around you if they hinder you in the slightest. Tonight's tale is about what happens when those stresses get to you... and what happens when someone... or something... is watching. This is a tale I like to call:
FORSAKEN FASHION DOLLS
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At the edge of the sleepy town of Ponyville sat the extravagantly decorated Carousel Boutique: A quaint little shop of bold ambitions, as the matriarch and proprietor worked diligently within its walls. The owner of this little establishment was none other than Rarity, resident tailor and dressmaker of a high standard and quality. Her curled royal purple mane bounced against her alabaster coat as she trotted between projects, both custom orders and inspiration fueled products to display for sale. Her horn flared as she reached for various colors of matching and contrasting fabric to use, pulling them free from their shelves, as well as lifting various tools and threads to work the materials for her art. For such a young entrepreneur and fashionista, she was extraordinarily talented, even despite her main talent was the ability to locate gemstones. However, she would confess to herself, she'd be nothing without her ponnequin collection. Antique, featureless and statuesque objects that she bought years ago with her hard earned bits which fetched, at the time, for a high price. They were well worth every coin, as she used them to great effect ever since. The perfect base size to start off custom measurements and androgynous enough to mimic either mare or stallion. However, they were always fairly delicate. To be fair, they had taken a slight beating from use and the occasional minor accident and came out no worse for wear, but it was a precaution to always denote to her sister that roughhousing near them was forbidden. If they ever took a hard enough and heavy fall, there was a good chance they would break beyond feasible and workable repair.
Never the less, such a thing wasn't much of a worry for her, as she believed her dear little sister would heed her warnings. Well, she did once upon a time, at the very least. Ever since her young sibling formed the "Cutie Mark Crusaders" with her little friends, those beliefs were thrown to doubt. All she could do now was hope that she'd still be careful.
She was on a roll with her projects: sewing, snipping, tying, cutting, and decorating with grace and flair, molding every garment into a design of unique and properly tailored beauty. The proper colors with the proper patterns, fastened with both practical and decorative stitches, almost glowed in the seamstress' eyes. It wouldn't be long now before she would be done and able to move on to yet another order or personal project. Though, her merry attitude wouldn't last, as there was a loud bang, coming from the front door, the sound of a squealing pig, and three panicking children.
"Oh no," Rarity said with heart-sinking terror in her voice. She dropped everything, and raced out of her studio, but it was far too late. A mud covered pig, probably pilfered from Fluttershy's humble abode, or even Applejack's farm, raced about her shop, tracking dirt and grime everywhere as three little fillies tried in vain to catch it, pleading for it to stop. Already, stands were knocked over, clothes were scattered, and Rarity was helpless to do nothing but watch as some of her ponnequin collection in the front room had already tipped over, smashed against the ground with the works of art drooped sadly away from the breaks. The little hog then raced towards the seamstress, causing her to jump and shriek in fear, which only grew louder upon realization. It was now in the studio, and she could already hear the sounds of catastrophe. Soon after, the three little fillies raced in after the little pig, and the horrible noise only got worse before everything became silent.
Rarity came out of her horror soaked stupor long enough to re-enter her studio to see the damage already done. All of her in-progress works were ruined, her materials were dirty, and the rest of her ponnequin collection was destroyed. Amidst the calamity were the three fillies, having now captured their pig, while the little light brilliant gamboge pegasus filly named Scootaloo checked for a mark on her flank, dusting off a bit of grime in the process.
"Nothin'," she sighed, dejectedly, which turned into confusion when the other two were looking behind her in worry. "What?" She then turned around to Rarity, whom stared at them with an oddly calm but frighteningly stern glare. "Oh, uh... s-sorry..."
"I-I'm sorry, Ms. Rarity. We thought we had 'im under control," the little yellow coated earth pony Apple Bloom said.
Rarity's eye twitched slightly, before she took a deep breath in to calm herself, and exhaled slowly. "I would like you all to leave. We'll discuss compensation later with Applejack."
"Yes'm," she replied, as they all began to leave, tails between their legs.
"Not you, Sweetie Belle," she snipped, causing her little lightish grey unicorn sister to stop dead in her tracks. The little filly turned back to Rarity as the others walked out the door, closing it behind them. Sweetie patted and brushed out her mulburry and light greyish rose colored mane to get rid of the excess mud and dirt, trying to get more comfortable in preparation for her incoming punishment.
"I-I'm sorry," she said pleadingly.
Rarity approached her sister and sat in front of her. All the seamstress wanted to do right now was yell, scream, and shout to her hearts content just to get it out of her system, especially after losing so much progress on her works. However, that wasn't fair to Sweetie Belle. It was clear she and her friends were trying to stop the hog, and it was likely that if she asked, Sweetie would tell her something along the lines of that they were "trying to get a cutie-mark in hog tying" or "pig catching" or something of the sort. This was just another in the long list of childish failures as they kept trying to force their own self discovery. Rarity knew this whole heartedly. She also knew that Sweetie was very sincere in her simple little apology. The fashionista swallowed her anger, gave a heavy sigh, and a gentle smile.
"It's alright," she lied, "It was probably an accident that you three lost control of the situation." She gave her sister a gentle pat on the head, before wiping away a little more of the mud, eliciting a giggle from the little sibling. "However," she started, causing her sister to snap all attention back to her, "I can't let you go unpunished. You should have at least been the voice of reason before all this happened." Sweetie Belle's demeanor drooped as she idly kicked at the ground, waiting for whatever sort of punishment she was going to receive. "First, you're grounded for the next few days to a week, depending on when my orders are finished." The little filly was about to protest, but Rarity hushed her before continuing. "You can still talk to your friends at school, but I expect you home sharpish after it's out. Secondly, when I have an opportunity, I'll be making good on my promise to talk to Applejack about what happened. Expect to do some chores on her end, little missy. You can talk to your friends there too, but no clubhouse meetings until further notice." Sweetie nodded, glad the terms of her grounding weren't entirely unreasonable.
"Third," Rarity started, glancing about the room, "you're going to help me clean up this boutique."
"But, that's gonna take all day!" Sweetie finally protested.
Rarity's eye twitched for a moment, but she suppressed her ire. "Perhaps, but I'll be helping. If we work fast, we'll be done long before supper, and I'll then help you with any school work you have. Deal?"
Sweetie grumbled for a moment, before replying with a dejected, "Deal."
"Excellent!" Rarity exclaimed, clacking her hooves, before she set about starting up the cleaning process. Sweetie followed suit, and soon the two began scrubbing away the tracked mud and gathering soiled clothes to be washed later. Sweetie Belle herself moved to the store and showcasing room, dealing with majority of the mess there, calling her sister over when trying to deal with a task a bit too large for her small frame, such as picking up broken bits of display shelves. It was a shame, but they could be easily be replaced, and the wood and nails can be recycled. The ponnequins, however, would be a lot harder to deal with, mostly as she didn't wish to throw them out yet. She had them for years and was able to successfully repair them before, however it was always from minor damages.
She ignored them for now and proceeded with the rest of the cleanup: scrubbing, dusting, gathering soiled materials for washing, and discarding whatever was damaged beyond reasonable repair. Including a fair number of her works in progress. Even the drapes that dressed the windows weren't unmarred.
However, while rummaging through the various things she was sorting for wash and garbage, she came across a recent fashion editorial magazine. One that she had been meaning to read for quite some time. Absentmindedly she flipped it open, and began idly looking through the pages, checking out some of the latest trends and creations, and glanced through some interviews talking about design techniques. It was then she came across one peculiar ad.
"For Sale: A set of five ponnequins. Kept in great condition, asking twenty bits of the lot, or five bits each. Fifteen Minutes north of Sweet Apple Acres." Rarity's eyes lit up. "Oh, what LUCK!" she exclaimed, before stopping for a moment. It wouldn't be fair to Sweetie if she just took off to pick up new ponnequins out of the blue. However, it would also give her a good opportunity to talk to Applejack along the way. There is also one other thing. She glanced to the pig, that still sat bound and silent on the ground where it was left. "Might as well do it all at once. Oh, Sweetie?" Her younger sister poked her head around the door frame, answering her name. "Where did you get this little pig from anyway?"
"He was from Apple Bloom's farm."
"Figured as much," she muttered, "Well, I guess I'm off to drop him off then, and have a small chat with Applejack, and maybe stop to grab a few things for the shop. I should be gone for about forty minutes, give or take." The grabbed her saddle bag and bits, and summoned her magic to pick up the little pig. "You stay and clean while I'm gone, and please stay out of trouble. I'll be back as soon as possible, ok?"
"Ok," Sweetie Belle mumbled, not entirely happy she was going to be cleaning the shop all alone for nearly an hour.
"Alright, see you soon!"
And with that, saddlebag across her back and carrying a somewhat bewildered pig in her magic, Rarity proceeded up the street and headed for Sweet Apple Acres.
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It wasn't exactly the most pleasant of visits, Rarity confessed. While she has grown to see Applejack as a good and close friend, admiring her work ethic, dependable nature, and honest personality, she could never quite appreciate the rough an tumble life of a farm pony in the same way, but that was small stitches compared to the matter at hoof. To say it was a tad embarrassing to stop by Sweet Apple Acres to drop off a pig and discuss with said close friend about consequences over recent transgressions from the little fillies in question was putting it lightly. Applejack even had enough of a nerve to giggle at the splotch of mud Rarity missed scrubbing off her own coat in her haste. Never the less, despite the chat being less friendly than she would have liked, she did take a few seconds to invite her to the spa at the end of the week. Applejack declined, naturally, but the obviousness of the answer was no less disappointing. One day, I swear, you will join me and get a little bit of real R and R for yourself at least once long before I go grey.
With this said, however, the young farmpony was kind enough to offer to lend her a cart to use to transport recycling materials and garbage out of her boutique. It couldn't have been any more of a blessing than it had, especially since she'd probably need it to take home the ponnequins, if they are still there at such a steal.
It didn't take her very long to find the place she needed to be. Apparently, about fifteen minutes outside of Ponyville's borders was a quaint little country house with a rather large yard, and a decent amount of brush behind that. It was cute, if a bit rustic, but what drew her attention was the prize that drew her here in the first place: Five, beautifully crafted and pristine ponnequins, perfect for garment making and display purposes. Two of them were earth pony models, two were pegasi, and one was a unicorn. She was gonna miss her old ones, but these were a fine replacement in her eyes.
"Hello?" she called out, "Is anypony here? I came to purchase the-"
"Ponnequins?" chuckled a rather off-beat, scraggly voice.
Rarity jumped from the sudden appearance of a sickly thin, grey coated unicorn with a wiry, crimson mane. He gave Rarity a leer, before cracking a wry smile. Rarity herself gave a light, embarrassed chuckle, stroking her royal purple curls in comfort.
"O-oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," she said. "My name is Rarity, and I'm-"
"Yes, yes, I know why you're here. You want the models. That'll be twenty bits. Quickly now. Shove off with them, eh?"
"Whoa-hey, what are you rushing me for? I've just barely introduced myself, and you've hardly done so on your end. I mean, a real gentlecolt would at least have the courtesy to-"
"I ain't no gentlecolt, little lady, and this ain't no social gatherin'. I'd just 'preciate it if ya payed me and took the curse-ed things with ya."
"Hold on a second," Rarity demanded, "How did you even get an ad into the-?"
"Oh, that ol' thing. I just pulled in a few favors. I knew a few ponies in Canterlot once upon a time, and they agreed to lend a little hoof in this. Now, the twenty bits, if ya will?"
Rarity gave a bit of a growl, not exactly happy about being interrupted constantly by the strange pony. Never the less, she did have her own important matters to get back to, and arguing about it with someone she barely knew would just cost more time.
"Very well," she said finally, opening her saddle and removed thirty bits from within. "You can keep the change if you'll be ever so kind as to help me put them in the cart.
The old stallion gave a toothy grin at the extra cash he was given, and looked back to her with a properly warm smile. "I'll do ya one better, miss." And with that said, his horn flared up with a deep red glow, picking up each of the ponnequins, and placing them nicely into the cart. "That oughta do it. You trot home safe, ya hear?"
"Why thank you," Rarity replied with a genuine smile, "You're not nearly as rude as you made yourself out to be at first." As she was just about to leave, however, the stallion called after her once more.
"Oh, uh, Miss Rarity, was it?"
"Yes, what do you wish to ask me?" she questioned, stopping in her tracks.
"Just wanna make sure ya know," he started, giving a rather ominous grin, "Be careful 'round them ponnequins. They're VERY particular, and can hear everythin' goin' on near them."
"What does that-"
"Do keep your temper."
"My temper?!" Rarity huffed upon hearing such a bizarre warning with an even more bizarre request. She looked back to Ponyville for the moment, and looked to the horizon, getting a gauge for the time of the day. "Well, I think I'm quite alright when it comes to that, thank you very much. So, while I appreciate the concern, I however-"
As she said this, she looked back to the house where the old unicorn stood, only to find he wasn't there anymore. She looked about the yard, yielding no results. She tried to gaze at the sides of the house, but still saw no one. She heard no door close, and no hoofsteps made. She didn't even hear the pop of a teleportation spell.
"Well, perhaps he's just a very quiet individual," she reasoned, before she set about her path back down the road. She hoped Sweetie Belle was doing alright and stayed out of trouble. She had also hoped no one showed up to her boutique while it was likely still such a giant mess. If that ever happened, she'd probably freeze up in place and just drop dead out of shame. A slight hint of resentment crossed her mind over the situation, but she swallowed the negativity as soon as she could.
As she returned to town, one of the ponnequins shifted.