Three windows there were overlooking the darkened Emerald Street. Three mares appeared in them, one by one, each more worried than the last.
“There’s nothing to worry about, darling,” Rarity’s soothing voice came from the side. “It’s a five-minute walk, after all. You’ll see, she will be here safe and sound, and momentarily.”
“Unless something stopped her,” Sassy Saddles added from the other end of the boutique. “Frivolous fibers, I haven’t seen such a dreadful weather in ages. I wouldn’t stick out my muzzle even if they paid me!”
“Remind me that when I’ll be calculating your bonus,” the first mare replied melodiously, giving Sassy a ‘you’re not helping!’ look behind the third mare’s back. “I’m sure she’s fine, Fleur.”
Fleur shuffled her hooves anxiously, scraping the expensive floor of the no less expensive Carousel Boutique. Perfect! Just perfect. She knew she should have disregarded the fundraiser altogether and stayed with Chestnut. In fact, she should be holding her hoof right now and making sure she reaches the next point of their busy day safely, like a good mother would.
But no—instead, she’d gotten herself convinced her presence was necessary at Golden Gavel’s auction. Fancy Pants was to blame for that, him and his well-made remarks about trust and bravery and whatnot. The Weather Corps was guilty too, with their nonsensical schedule for today. Oh, and Garlic Bread as well, with his personal assurance that her daughter will be done by three o’clock. Come to think of it, even Chestnut wasn’t innocent! She promised Fleur she would be careful and that she just wanted to make use of her talent, to help someone because it’s Hearth’s Warming after all.
Everyone was to blame. To Tartarus with all this seasonal understanding!
“She’s gotten herself into something. I can feel it.” Fleur’s breath left a mist of exasperation on the glass. “Plus the lights went off. If that’s not enough of a sign, then I honestly don’t know what is.”
“I swear it’s Maregots all over again,” Rarity remarked under her breath, but then put a hoof on Fleur’s shoulder. “Listen. You have every right to be worried and I find it commendable that you do, because it proves that you care. But there is a difference between worrying and straight panicking. Remember our last? Galloping through Canterlot in a particularly unladylike manner?”
“It is not the same if that’s where you’re going with this,” Fleur replied adamantly. “The last time Chestnut was lost, I cared only... well, mostly... about finding her so I wouldn’t have to deal with any legal repercussions from Doctor Hugs. I had to find a missing orphan. Now, frostbite or not, I’m going to get my daughter.”
Without delay, she summoned a pair of brown and orange crocheted earmuffs from the auction and rushed to the exit. She was one step from the door, one step from unwrapping the package, when she noticed herself in one of the many mirrors scattered around the boutique. Those earmuffs, to that scarf? She gave a spin, quickly glancing over her figure. What was she thinking?
“I can’t be rescuing anyone looking like that,” she murmured. “Fashion upgrade, s’il vous plaît?”
“At once!” Rarity exclaimed. Out of nowhere, a trolley with a hundred scarves and one Sassy riding it parked next to Fleur. A large box of leg warmers quickly followed, and so did three separate hanger stands with dozens of wooly caps and hats. “We wouldn’t have you leave not looking absolutely fabulous.”
Fleur cursed the tingling of her fashion sense, but allowed the mares to change her ensemble five times in the next twelve seconds.
“If it’s any help, Emerald Street is the safest place in Canterlot,” Rarity said. “There are no maintenance alleys nor shady businesses running about. Only big and gleaming ones, if I do say so myself,” she giggled. “Well, of course not with the power outage, but you’ve seen how we freshened up the neighborhood.”
“Green snow. I should have known it was you.”
“We wanted to make something spectacular.” Sassy swapped the other mare’s hunter’s knit cap for a ski-hat with twin pompons, a balaclava, and finally a bomber hat. “The whole pattern was Rarity’s idea while I’ve been managing the details. First, we appealed to the City Council and the Weather Corps to make the snow appear green. Second, we convinced other businesses to set up some green decorations. Green ribbons, green candles, even green wreaths all around!”
“Aren’t wreaths already green? Just asking.”
“Green today, red tomorrow. Trends come and go,” Rarity added. “There were supposed to be flags too, but it didn’t work out, unfortunately. The Weather Corps’ instructions stated explicitly to remove those from our roofs.”
Sassy gave a nod. “Unfortunately. But we’ve even had an acquaintance paint the candy canes green and white instead of usual red. All to raise the public spirit on the Emerald Street… plus it goes so well with our new line of green Hearth’s Warming vests!”
“It does? What a coincidence,” Rarity said mischievously, wrapping and unwrapping Fleur’s neck in scarves of different thicknesses and numbers of tassels. “I’m sure you’ve heard most of the local designers are going with gold and yellow this season, but puh-lease, that’s what they’ve been showing last year. I simply wanted to remind the fashion world there are other, interesting colors to wear in the season, not just those in which we wrap our gifts.”
“Which in itself is a regional matter,” Sassy pointed out. “In Trottingham, we pack our presents in silver and white.” She took a step back. “Hmm, I don’t know. Less tassels, perhaps?”
“More tassels, perhaps?” Rarity replied, also taking a step back to look at the mare. “What do you think, Fleur?”
For the most part, the ensemble the two mares created consisted of two scarves, one pastel green and one pink-white, entangled together like a braid. The Yakyakistanian earmuffs, however artsy, wouldn’t go well with that, so they’d been replaced with a snowy bomber hat with grassy stitching. The leg warmers created neat, pink framing for the search-and-rescue costume worthy of a high society mare.
“I have my reservations, but there’s no time,” Fleur quipped and dashed outside.
If it wasn’t for the frightful cold biting her nose, the view itself would take her breath away. The power was back on, and the entire street shined with colorful lights, bright blues and brilliant yellows—which, however, wasn’t enough for Fleur to notice a dark, filly-shaped smudge which galloped past her and into the boutique.
“Close the door, close the door!” the smudge called.
“Eek!” Fleur squeaked and closed the door. Behind her.
Two Royal Guards appeared from behind a big decorative present in the middle of the street. They were in a rush as if they were chasing a dangerous individual, and Fleur, having put two and two together, was once again questioning the reality, probability, and abnormality of the situations her daughter was getting herself into. It was amazing, in a way, so she wasn’t even mad.
“Buckleberry, take point!” huffed the shorter guard as he stopped by the boutique. “Private Wave Heart of the Promenade Patrol! Madam, we’re in the middle of a pursuit after a thestral suspect. Young mare, possibly a teen, grey coat, orange scarf. Have you seen her?”
Fleur shot her hoof down the street without hesitation. “Something just went thataway!” she called, playing a scared snob convincingly enough. “But you should also try the cafés by the Promenade. A friend told me there’s been a robbery there, is that true?”
“Attempted robbery, but don’t worry. The Royal Guard will find her,” he shouted and galloped away.
“Sur mon cadavre, you will,” Fleur murmured.
Back inside the Carousel, she found Chestnut halfway through greeting the other mares.
“…Miss Rarity. Miss Saddles. How are you on this fine afternoon we’re having?”
“Look at the well-bred young lady you are!” Rarity said in glee. “Without a doubt my dear friend Fleur had a hoof in that.” She glanced over the filly’s back. “Am I right, Mom?”
Fleur sighed with relief and began unwrapping herself from the wooly layers. “You should have seen her at the party. I may have shown her a few tricks, but it was her who charmed the entire Canterlot Elite,” she said, giving Chestnut all the spotlight. The filly took the compliment with dignity—and a little joyous bouncing, which stopped when Fleur flooded her with motherly attention. “But look at you! You’ve been running. Did you have your cap on?”
“Yeah,” Chestnut replied. “Really, I’m alright, and I brought some freshly roasted chestnuts, see?”
It would take more than a treat to stop Fleur now. “That’s wonderful, but what about the scarf? You know you shouldn’t be running with your mouth open in winter…”
Chestnut nodded. “Yes, the cap was on all the time.”
“…or better yet, don’t walk with it open either, and oh, don’t speak. Breath through your nose. You remember about breathing through your nose? Because I was so worried. Trotting through the city alone, such a dreadful weather, and with those lights gone off, no less!” She’d continue the litany, but she noticed a vivid shade of embarrassment on Chestnut’s face. “Well, but you’re with us at last. Come here!”
Fleur hugged Chestnut tightly. She was her daughter. Her little batpony. Her précieuse châtaigne. She was here, and Fleur’s heart soared.
“Help,” the crushed filly mouthed. “Can’t… breath… Miss… Rarity?”
The fashionista took five to enjoy that show of affection, but ultimately had mercy. “I think that’s enough, Fleur. She fits in her vest just fine.”
“Not enough.” Fleur kissed the filly on the forehead and playfully messed her mane. “Never enough.”
Sassy, who’d taken upon herself putting all the scarves, headwear, leg warmers and whatnots back where they belonged, clapped her hooves. “Now that we’ve put a pin in getting you in for our little get-together—the weather really is awful, and you must be cold, young miss. What will you have, hmm? Hot tea? Maybe coffee?”
“Is there a chance for some cocoa, perhaps?”
“Trends and tassels, you’re reading my mind! There should be a sizeable supply in the back,” the mare replied. “Rarity, a cup for you? Yes? Fleur, yes? Alright, so four cups it is.”
“I guess I’ll go with Miss Sassy?” Chestnut offered questioningly, swapping the silver package off the table. “These roastnuts should be good with just about anything, but it won’t hurt to warm them up a little,” she added, looking at Fleur for approval, which she granted.
With the two rummaging through the kitchen supplies, Fleur and Rarity moved the party to two horseshoe-shaped sofas, courtesy of Inks and Seats. The sofas and the low table between them purposed to ease the waiting game for the clients, mostly poor stallions whose mare companions got stuck in a dressing room. Husbands and boyfriends could rest their legs there, pray for the salvation of their wallets, and of course guard the carefully chosen ‘of course I will wear it more than once, honey’ pieces of clothing.
Like in any store during the season, there would also be a gramophone set for ambiance, and a collection of Hearth’s Warming-themed magazines: the popular among younger audiences Cosmare, trend setting Cellist’s Fair, and of course Glacial known of its cheeky columns and stylistic photos. Glancing over, Fleur wondered how long it would take for her to stop recognizing the ponies modeling for the covers.
Rarity seated herself next to her.
“What did I tell you? Safe and sound.”
Corners of Fleur’s mouth arched up. “Oh, shush!”
“I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Fleur,” she said quietly. “You and Chestnut—you two are so precious together. The last time we talked you were quite downhearted and I didn’t know how to help you besides giving some generic pointers I could think of. I apologize if my advice sounded so… cliché back then.”
“Your generic pointers were just what I needed, it seems. From my point of view you knew exactly what to do and what to say.” Fleur realized she didn’t have a chance to sit down with her friend and talk since they’d met at the Maregots. “I was pretty much running in circles, but you gave me courage I lacked. I don’t think I would have made it through without your support.” She squeezed the other mare’s hoof. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” Rarity replied and lightened up. “So, tell me so I could have something to gossip about: what is it like to be a mother? Is it everything they tell it is?”
“It’s… unique. It’s nothing like the articles I’ve read in the past, that’s for sure. They describe the first few weeks as a nightmare because newborn foals take all the attention, but my experience is and will be different, because that’s not a newborn foal we’re talking about,” Fleur replied. “Chestnut’s fourteen, but if you consider the orphan factor you’ll end up with a filly who is more mature in certain aspects, as if she was older. At the same time, I think, she now has a chance to play, to enjoy herself and do things she couldn’t because she had other matters on her mind.” She cracked a smile. “Which, believe it or not, makes her sound straight juvenile at times. She’s a box full of surprises I’ll be discovering every day anew.”
“That’s a smart conclusion. Did you come to it all by yourself?”
“Mostly.”
“Pray tell.”
Absent-mindedly, Fleur shuffled a magazine at her hooves. “A few excerpts came from the books on parenting, others I figured out on my own. Most of the lecture is aimed at those who are with their child from day one onwards. I didn’t have that luxury and there’s a lot I’ll have to learn on the run about her from her,” she pointed out. “Some parents choose to shape their kids as they grow up, darn, I had a plan to shape mine. With Chestnut, it’s not only that I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t. She is her own person—and it’s fine by me.”
“You and Fancy went through a lot to finally make your family a bit more complete,” Rarity said.
Fleur walked around the sofa and sauntered along the dresses on display. She always enjoyed boutiques after hours. She could still enjoy the fashion, but it was so blissfully calm.
“Complete, period,” Fleur replied. “Two plus one suits me just fine. The original idea of raising two children was tailored as an excuse to phase out of the high society, but Fancy Pants and I dragged Chestnut into it, so now we actually have a reason to stay.” She passed her hoof along a green cashmere dress with side bow detail, one of many ensembles in the boutique which would fit a Canterlot Elite lady just fine. A Canterlot Elite lady... like Chestnut? It was too early to tell. “One thing that haven’t changed is that I still want my daughter to have a good future. Establishing a few contacts with the right ponies will at least give her a backup plan if whatever she chooses to do in life doesn’t work out.”
“I see. In order to help her succeed in the game, you need to play the game as well.”
Fleur couldn’t agree more. The status quo of the Canterlot she knew had been stirred, but so far nothing new came up. As far as she knew it, everyone was focusing on the weather or on spreading the magic of the season—or using that magic to up one’s one social standing. Some crazy ex-supermodel adopting a thestral was old news at this point. Not for everyone, of course, especially with Upper Crust intending to ‘capitalize’ on her mistake. Collectively, however, the Canterlot Elite was probably waiting that one out. Perhaps they wanted to see if that this whole ordeal was a fad, or wondered if Chestnut was going to become a token daughter for her and her husband.
“But, correct me if I’m wrong, the ball does go both ways,” Rarity added. “So the question remains: who will be playing by whose rules? The Elite by yours, or Chestnut by theirs?”
Fleur came a full circle around the displays, pondering the consequences of either scenario. Changing the strictly traditional way of thinking some ponies had was going to be tough, but not impossible. Seeing Chestnut change and lose herself in the game of appearances and fake importance—a sad vision, but technically possible without someone watching over her. It was something Fleur must never allow to happen, which was why she was going to bear the antics of the Elite a little longer, and as long as it was necessary.
She heard laughter coming from the other end of the boutique. Sassy was levitating four mugs and a bowl, and Chestnut accompanied her, chatting happily. A warm smile came back to Fleur’s muzzle in an instant, along with a hearty dose of motherly pride. That was her daughter, her little light that could pierce the thickest clouds of worry and doubt, a filly whose enthusiasm was the epitome of what Hearth’s Warming was all about: being excellent to each other, and especially to your family and friends. She hoped for that one thing to never change.
“Another time, perhaps?” Rarity whispered.
“Oui. It’s Hearth’s Warming after all,” Fleur said. “Let’s focus on what really matters!”