//------------------------------//
// Dream... 
// Story: Flashbulous! 
// by shortskirtsandexplosions 
//------------------------------//

Hearing Rarity's exquisite voice humming in mid-work is reward enough for Flash Sentry's labors.  That's nothing to say about the ornate architecture and florid decorations of the studio's lavish interior, which is lightly—and sometimes not so lightly—scented all over with calming lavender and sweet vanilla fragrances.  Entering the place is much akin to discovering a flower shop—but in this case the flowers are larger, silkier, and typically worn on the bodies of lucky, lucky clients.

It is fortune enough—exquisite and delightful enough—to just step into that dainty domain, which Flashy does presently, trucking with him two heavy packages in his masculine arms.  He's barely halfway into the dress shop—fumbling past shiny sequin gowns and slinky cocktail dresses—when he hears Rarity calling out to him, having no doubt registered the good samaritan in question by the mere sound of his sneaker-falls.

"Good to know you made it before closing, Flash, darling!"  He sees her waving a hand while in the midst of hemming the train of a shiny yellow number.  With a smile dedicated to her work—her alabaster face leaning in with her working glasses just centimeters from her perfecting fabric—she blindly gestures towards the corner.  "Just put them over there.  One at a time.  There's a good beau."

Flash Sentry does as commanded, a thing the young man has gotten used to in these past few months.  It started with doing Sunset Shimmer a few favors by helping move items into her new apartment.  Then suddenly he was assisting Twilight Sparkle with moving new lab equipment around.  Soon, Flash was carpooling Applejack's and Rarity's sisters to and from after school events—along with half of Rainbow Dash's soccer team.  By the time he was passing out fliers for Fluttershy's animal shelter on a near-daily basis and delivering cakes for Pinkie Pie over the weekend, the girls had all gotten used to him being their habitual pack horse—not that they treated him terribly or nothing.  And even if they did, there was a part of Flash—a very tranquil and contented part—that would have been just as fine with that as well.

Just as he is fine with this weight—this ache—that makes his knees wobble as he approaches his delicious destination, situated between a dressing dais and a two plush velvet ottomans that look incredibly comfy at this present moment

"Mfrnngh!" Flash grunts while dropping the two heavy packages down with a noticeable thud.  He hadn't meant to make such a "macho" outburst, but the effort in releasing the weight had been simply too much for him to handle, and he currently sweats and pants in the relief of being free from it all.

This—of all things—draws Rarity to pivot away from her hard dress-work, and she's instantly gasping.  "Good heavens!"  She rises up, smooths out her pencil skirt, and clatters over to him on polished black heels.  "You absolute lunatic!  I hadn't intended you to bring in both sewing machines at once!"

"I just..."  Flash pants.  "...really dislike..."  Flash wipes his brow.  "...taking more than one trip to do things."

"Well, you won't have more than one spine in this life!"  She pouts, nevertheless resting a soft hand on his shoulder.  "Are you certain you're quite alright, Mr. Sentry?"

He smiles.  For whatever reason, Rarity had long chosen an extreme formality as a term of endearment for whenever he shows up.  "N-never better," he unceremoniously wheezes, drawing sympathy.

It works, although he didn't really need to try.  She feels her fingers squeezing him as she adds a coy wink.  "Any excuse for a young man to spend more time in my presence, hmmm?"

In response, Flash merely smiles into the ornate distance and breathes out:  "I think I need to s-sit down."

"Oh, you poor thing!  Sit down, you shall!"  With the gentlest of tugs to his hoodie's sleeve, the fashionista leads him to a long velvet couch.  There are no tear stains on the soft cushions—which means she hasn't fainted in a while.  No doubt Rarity has had a stroke of good luck in accomplishing her projects that week.  "Allow me to get you some water, Flash.  It's the least I can do."

"Don't put yourself out," he says obligatorily, nevertheless slumping where he sits on the edge of the couch.  His fingers flex and unflex, and his forearms shudder on the edge of both numbness and soreness.  He'll no doubt be feeling the effects of his muscular showing-off the next morning—or the next week for that matter.  As Rarity's heels clatter away, he finds his eyes drawn towards the center of Rarity's shop—to the pastel spectrum of fluffy and silky gowns hanging along rack after rack that border her main workstation.  It's all organized chaos, but of the most glamorous kind.  He couldn't come up with a better place to collapse even if he tried.

"I can't thank you enough for delivering those new machines to me today~~!"  She songfully calls out from across the interior forest of frocks.  "This particular model is quite precise, but they break down so easily!"  There's the sound of trickling liquid from a water cooler.  "At the rate at which clients are paying me, I can just barely make enough profit to buy better and more elaborate materials.  It's a slow grind towards profit, and one day I'll surely be able to afford more long-lasting machines."  She clatters back over, smiling with a half-full plastic cup in her womany grasp.  "But until then... I'm afraid I'm going to have to rely on your strength and versatility over the coming year.  Assuming you're still chivalrous enough to volunteer it."

He takes the cup from her, grinning kindly.  "You don't even need to ask."

"Hmmmm..."  She leans back with a warm, rosy smile.  "Flash Sentry.  Our Knight in Shining Armor."

He feels a slight tingle somewhere, but his body is too unworthy of a place to house it, much less define it.  Instead, Flash cherishes in the mirth of the moment, toasting the cup into the air before taking a liberal sip.  "Anything for Her Majesties of Magic."

"Ah!  A most exquisite name for a team of harmonic do-gooders!  If only Rainbow Dash hadn't already solidified us as the Rainbooms.  Ungh!  So tacky!  Was it enough that we doomed our music band with that moniker for eternity???"

He finishes sipping and exhales.  "What would you have preferred?"

"The Generous Geodesonas, of course!"

He winks.  "Of course."

Rarity giggles.

Flash chuckles.

And then the place is silent for a toasty second.

"So, Flash..."  Rarity swishes around, sashaying back towards her work station.  "...since you've been such a kind, generous soul—would you like to be the first set of eyes to take a gander at my current progress?"

"Mmmm—"  He hums into a second sip, then limps to his feet to join her.  "I would be glad to."

"Now, please be gentle," she says, then facetiously adds:  "In your appraisal, of course."  A tiny, inward titter, followed by:  "It's still a work in progress, and I have yet to add the accents to the train."

"Oh, I... uh..."  Flash is distracted by several layers of pink and pinker on either side of him.  Half and quarterly-finished gowns dot the heart of the Boutique—hanging off of stiff mannequin figurines.  To any random stranger, they would look like complete dresses, but Flash knows better.  There is a transcendent state beyond perfection that Rarity aims for, and on almost all occasions—she makes her mark.  "I... I-I've no doubt that you'll... uh..."  His eyes linger on a particularly flouncy snow-white number with lacy flared shoulders dotted with tiny star-shaped sequins that glitter in the studio light.  "...that you'll pull through with flying colors."

"Or in this case, flowing silk!"

"Yes.  That—"  Flash looks ahead, and he nearly spills his drink to avoid bumping into Rarity.  "Guh!"

"Careful, darling."  Rarity's calm voice keeps him from apologizing profusely for the mess he ultimately does not make.  "'Tisn't the season for bathing suits."  A humorous smile, and she hoists up a length of the dress that she is currently working on.  "Voila!"

Flash finds himself gazing at a golden-yellow number made out of interwoven silk and nylon tresses.  There are several layers of skirts, ruffling outward like the petals of an enormous flower, but the hems are far from even.  He spots numerous pins and needles placed strategically, demarcating where the final cuts will be made.  At last, he spots the train that Rarity refers to, and he marvels at the crystal-studded bows forming an elaborate floral design in the back, perfect for adding weight and shine to the half-finished ensemble.

"It's..."  He breathes in.  "It's..."  He attempts to breathe out, but suddenly fails.

"OoooOoooh!"  She coos, smiling wildly with a glint to her working glasses.  "You sound impressed!  You don't think it's over done?"

"I mean, if it's what the client wants..."

"Flash..."  Rarity pouts momentarily.  "Do be honest with me.  I shan't expect any less from you."

"It's beautiful, Rarity.  It really is.  Just..."  He swishes the water in his cup a bit, looking at the partially-formed bodice and sleeves of the gown.  "...call it personal taste, but—"

"Do go on, dear."  She holds the dress up so that it's situated in front of her.  "Perhaps a look from the front will make a better impression?"

She isn't wrong.  From this angle, Flash can see how an upright posture of the wearer allows for the reflected light overhead to travel down the bust and the outer sides of the bodice in glittering trails.  He now realizes that the whole design of the dress is aimed to make an observer follow the fabric down and further down until they catch sight of the jaw-dropping train.

"Oh.  Wow."  Flash takes another sip to cool something inside him upon digesting the sight.  "You weren't kidding."

Rarity tilts her delicate nose up proudly.  "I call it 'Golden Falls'."

"Heh... that's a pebble's throw away from something way... way worse-sounding."

She rolls her eyes, then smiles at him.  "Well, if you must know, it complements the wearer's blonde hair perfectly!"

"I've no doubt."

"I want her to look like an ethereal goddess... as if her beautiful crown is the source of all the reflective majesty."

"Great work, Rarity."

"Oh—now you're just saying that!" she chirps in protest.

Flash smiles, squeezing the cup lightly in his grasp.  "Of course I am.  It's a real work of art in the making.  Who could possibly doubt you?"

She sighs slightly, her smile a predictably tired one. "I can tell it's not particularly thrilling to you."

"Yeah, so?  I'm not the client."

"'Tisn't the point.  I am now immeasurably curious, Mr. Sentry."  She lays the dress neatly down on the table and looks over at him.  "If you could speak for her—how would you go about changing it?"

"How would I?"

"That's right."

Flash squirms slightly.  He hasn't expected to be asked this question, and yet he has.  "I... uhm..."  He shrugs.  "I would do it different, y'know...?"

"No.  I do not know.  Please elaborate."

"Rarity, you're the expert here—"

"Beauty is in the heart of everyone, Flash."  She folds her arms with a smile, balancing her loose glasses in one hand as she eyes him.  "Humor me.  I am quite curious."

"Well..."  He gazes at the dress, scratching his chin with a free hand.  "...y'know... uh... that remake that Disney did?  Of Beauty and the Beast?"

Rarity winks.  "Starring the illustrious Dan Stevens and a subtly curved block of wood?"

"Right."  Flash nods.  "Good on the whole production team making a wonderful cinematic experience and all.  But... but that movie's version of Belle's dress..."

"Hmmmm..."  Rarity taps the edge of her glasses to her lips.  "Left a lot to be desired, yes?"

"I just like..."  Flash shrugs.  "I-I dig the animated version more."

"Because it's more elegant?  Extravagant?"

"It's... like... fluffier..."

Rarity chortles gaily.  She leans on the back of her chair for support, catching her breath after that outburst.  "Well, Mr. Sentry, I would have to agree.  It most certainly is!"

"Totally!"  Flash shrugs once more.  "Fluffier and... swishier... and fwoofier..."

"All supremely important qualities to a gorgeous ballgown."  Rarity winks.  "Unequivocally."

"And like..."  Flash cocks a hand to his hip while swirling the cup of water.  "Why the heck do dresses not have shoulders anymore?"

"You... will have to elaborate on that, dear."

"Puffy shoulders, y'know!"

Rarity snorts—but somehow manages to maintain her composure.  "Well, that is one way of putting it—"

"Like..."  Flash wanders past several rack-hanging gowns, his arms lingering a few breathless inches from their colorful gossamer materials.  "I get what most prom dresses and ballroom gowns are meant to do these days," he says with a sigh.  "Off-shoulder cuts and sweetheart bodices are meant to accentuate the natural beauty of a woman and her upper arms..." He grits his teeth briefly.  "But what's so wrong with embellishing the upper frame of the dress anymore?  Sure, Queen Anne designs and illusion collars and cowl necklines are pretty—but it's almost as if everyone's afraid to cover more skin."

Rarity blinks at him.  "You..."  She tilts her head aside, tapping the frame of her glasses thoughtfully against her exposed teeth.  "...seem to know an awful lot of dress terms, Mr. Sentry."

"And it's not like I'm a prude or nothing," Flash continues.  "But everything looks so... thin and same-y."  He swivels to face her.  "Even with the skirts!  These days it's all about narrow pleats or thin 'mermaid' looks or... or some asymmetrical number that barely flares out!"  He smirks goofily, sincerely.  "Whatever happened to fullness?  Y'know... hooped ruffled skirts... frickin' bustles, even!  I'm not saying that everyone should go back to the eighteenth century when it comes to design, but... there's something to be said about... about..."

"Relishing in old-fashioned opulence?"

"Sure!  Like..."  Flash shrugs.  "Dressy occasions have lost their fairy-tale flair and... replaced it with tube and pencil skirts."  He winces slightly.  "Erm... no offense."

Rarity giggles lightly.  "None taken."  She smoothes out her outfit a bit, then crosses her arms.  "From the sound of things, you are quite the fan of the 'princess' look, Mr. Sentry."

"Mmmmmm..."  He hums into the cup of water, pretending to take a sip, if only to avoid her eyesight.  "...yeah."

She taps her cheek in thought, gazing between the young man and her current job.  "Y'know..."  She scuffles over towards another bench, rummaging through a layer of folders and notebooks.  "...just last month, I had an early request from a joint group of clients—all attempting to plan a 'princess wedding' at some local amusement park."

"Oh yeah...?"

"That's a major thing, of course," Rarity declares.  "Grown women our age and even far older wanting to experience a portion of that 'fairy-tale flair,' as you put it, and on the most important, romantic days of their lives, no less."

"Just how do they pull that off?"

"Through this... a-hah!  There they are!"  She pulls out a series of wide blue sheets sketched over in charcoal pencil.  "Behold!  My initial sketches!  I think you will find some of these—or perhaps all of them—more to your 'taste,' Mr. Sentry."

Curious, Flash walks over.  Curious, Flash gazes down at the illustrations in question.  Then, mesmerized, he exhales through pursed lips.  "O-oh..."

Sheet after sheet, he sees sketches—designs—of very-close-to-being-realized gowns of sheer Victorian variety.  The shoulder cuts aren't cut at all—but mostly pronounced, even exaggeratedly, and sewn in as a completely different structure from the rest of the dress, with long laced sleeves that run down the full extent of the imagined bearer's arms.  There are separate layers of the gowns—most of them exposing inner sanctums of ruffled taffeta in a wide "V" slice at the front of the skirts.  There is no doubt that—if a lady were to do a twirl in any single one of these things—it would fan out and occupy all colors of a pastel rainbow.

"Do you approve of the designs?" Rarity sing-songs.

"They're... uh..."  Flash Sentry says, more like wheezes.  He swallows a dry lump down his throat as his fingers knead at the edge of the rough, rough sketch paper.  "...they're something, alright."

She stifles a chuckle, then reaches in to slide one sheet to the top.  "You mentioned Disney before.  Do you recall Ariel's pink dinner dress in the middle of the film?  When she sits down and brushes her hair with a fork?"

"Well, of course."  Flash nods.  "Who doesn't remember that—?"  Rarity slaps the sketch before his eyes, and he nearly bursts a gasket.  "Guhhhhhhhhh—"

"Heehehe... how's that for 'puffy' shoulders."

He makes a sound between a chortle and a whimper.  In any case, he's smiling.  "Puffiness supreme."  He glances over his shoulder.  "And you're telling me that an adult commissioned this thing?"

"Well, I may have embellished a bit, but I swear I stayed within the parameters of their specifications," Rarity maintains.  "Don't be surprised, Flash.  Innocent beauty is forever."

"Yeah."  He nods, his eyes glued on the baby-pink shade that was sketched in with colored pencil.  "I guess you're right."

A slight pause, and Rarity clears her throat.  "There's... there's some electronic game... a classic, I'm told.  Involving an elusive 'Mario' character and his jumping on turtle shells—"

"Have you seriously never played Super Mario Brothers?"

"Oh hush!"  She playfully swats his shoulder.  "Repeatedly playing those blasted games could ruin my trained eye!  Ahem.  Allow me to get the point!  There's a damsel in the game, from what I understand.  'Princess Toadstool,' I believe."

"They call her 'Peach' now, but sure."

"In any case..."  Rarity proudly slid another sketch to the surface.  "Look familiar to you?  Hmmm?"

"Oh..."  Flash has to cover his mouth with a free hand at this point.  "Oh gosh."

Rarity giggles.  "I'm guessing that's a 'yes.'"  She fluffs her purple curls and proudly speaks on:  "Sadly, I knew next-to-nothing about what the client was talking about.  So I had to do some extensive research online... Google Image search and all that nonsense.  Such an adorably childish character, this Peach Toadstool, but so very easy to exploit in all her marketably girlish fashion..."

Flash wants to listen to Rarity's words.  It's only the gentlemanly thing to do.  Unfortunately, however, the flow of blood in his body has other intentions, and now every nerve ove his body is firing into his eyes, using that prolonged moment to simply stare... and gawk at the elaborate floral patterns sketchfully stitched into the shoulders and bodice of the princessy-princess gown.  Flash tries to imagine the beautiful absurdity of someone trying to be a bridesmaid in that... or actually getting married in that.  And then his mind wonders what it must be like to simply cross the street in that... to sit on a windowseat and read a book in that... or simply sit at a tea table and talk gossip in that.  To smile, to giggle, to cry, to exist in that.  And before he knows it, his eyes have traveled all over the petticoated extremities of the concept four times over.  It's not even real, and still it's drawn the breath out of him, so that he's reduced to teenage putty, leaning a dumb smile against the palm of one hand as he practically melts into the table and the sketches lying beneath him.

It takes a century for Flash Sentry to come back to reality.  As he does so, he's vaguely aware of Rarity speaking to him... asking him something in a tender, empathetic voice.  Blinking dazedly, he turns to look at her.  "Hmmmm?"

"Flash...?"  She repeats, her eyes warmly melting the endearing formality away, so that all that remains is platonic sincerity.  Her voice is carried on the warm currents of his dreamy breaths at having stared at the sketches so intently and for so long.  "I said... would you like me to make a dress for you?"

The half-empty cup of water lands with a splash between them.

She yelps slightly, leaping back from the moisture.

Flash Sentry is wincing—grimacing—looking and acting as if he had just thrown her a right punch.  "I... I-I... uh..."

"Flash."  She gulps.  "Darling, do calm down."  She throws on a delicate smile.  "What I only meant was—!"

But it's too late.  He's stumbling backwards, bumping into a few dresses and jolting as if they were cacti.  "Gah!  I just... I wasn't trying... I d-don't..."  He seethes, rubbing at his forelimbs and gaping at the pretty contours of the Boutique closing in from all sides, threatening to crush him.  "Sorry.  I'm sorry, Rarity."

"But..."  She reaches a gentle hand out.  "...there's absolutely nothing to be sorry about—"

"I-I gotta go!"  He scuffles about and practically scampers out the door, away from the colors, the fabric, and the softness of it all.  There's a flicker of light, and he's gone.

This leaves Rarity alone—numb and confused and more than a little bit dismayed.