“Rarity, it’s—uh . . .” Sunset trailed off and bit her lip as she stared at the open sketchbook balanced on both hands.
“Don’t hold back, darling.” Rarity folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.
“It’s great, really,” her friend hastened to assure her. “I’m just . . . not sure it sends the message I’m looking for.”
“Well, I was thinking to try adapting Equestrian diplomatic garb. However—” The fashionista gave Sunset a trenchant look over her bright red reading glasses, not so much suggesting as daring the other girl to finish the thought.
Sunset sighed. “Ponies don’t normally wear pants.”
“Ponies do not, in fact, normally wear pants—or much of anything else, for that matter.” Rarity waved toward the untidy piles of newspapers and magazines from Sunset’s collection, sent by Princess Twilight through the portal to keep the expatriate in touch with her homeland and to assuage the occasional bout of homesickness. “Why, your princesses prance around in nothing but a few scraps of metal and smiles.”
“There’s a bunch of things wrong with what you just said, but I get where you’re coming from.” Sunset closed the sketchbook and put it down on one of the mounds of borrowed newsprint. “Look, Rarity, I know you’d love to design and make something wonderful and traditional, but I don’t have that kind of budget and you don’t have that kind of time. I was hoping you could help me scrape up something I could afford that wouldn’t embarrass me—or, uh, Cook.” She shot me a sidelong glance, which I returned with artful innocence.
We stood in a side room of the boutique where Rarity worked part time and, in lieu of a higher wage, had access to the design and fabrication facilities available. The owner, Prim Hemline, offered the arrangement to any of her employees with aspirations to follow in her footsteps, a quid pro quo that benefited both her business and the young would-be designers she took under her wing, of whom Rarity definitely was a promising stand-out.
A long-suffering sigh greeted this burst of wet-blanket pragmatism. “Oh, very well. For your sake, Sunset, I shall put aside my efforts at originality in favor of practicality.” She paused to eye her subject, expression pensive, and we waited. “All right, then. Since something new is out of the question, we shall have to rely on the old. Fortunately I am acquainted with every thrift store in the city.”
Sunset cried out, “Thrift stores? What happened to not embarrassing me?”
“Tut tut!” Rarity wagged a finger. “There are thrift stores and thrift stores, darling. Not all are created equal—and I am perhaps overgeneralizing with that label. Would calling them ‘pre-owned clothing stores’ and ‘retro boutiques’ make you more comfortable?”
“If you’re sure,” Sunset allowed in a dubious tone.
“I am.” Rarity gave me an arch look. “Of course, if we are to meet this looming deadline of Mister Cook’s, he shall have to contribute to our success by providing his services as chauffeur.”
It was my turn to sigh, adding an eye-roll for good measure. “Fine, but you have to promise this won’t be a wild-goose chase.”
Sunset’s eyes were wide with consternation, but Rarity gave a cool flick of the fingers. “The day is still young, so I am certain we can fulfill Sunset’s commission before the close of business—if we start immediately. Black tie, you said, Cook?”
“That’s right.” I named the restaurant. I got the impression it was a place she hankered to go, and I hoped this wouldn’t inspire any jealousy. “This will be business, not pleasure, Rarity,” I added firmly. Definitely not pleasure, though I couldn’t say that out loud.
“Yes, yes.” She sounded distressingly distracted as she reached for her coat and faux-fur pillbox-style cap. “Shall we go?”
Thus began our peregrinations across the valley; in retrospect the whole trip took on a breakneck, breathless quality, remembered mostly in flashes. The two girls rode in back, which certainly made me feel like a chauffeur. Rarity gave rapid-fire directions, alternating with phone calls and text messages to her friends, mobilizing the whole group on errands to fetch and gather.
“You did inform Princess Twilight, darling, did you not?”
“Yeah, I wrote to her right after Cook first told me about it.”
“Very good. Do you mind if I send her a quick note? You can read over my shoulder if you like.”
“Uh—won’t it be hard to write in a moving car?”
“Pish-tosh. In a couple of blocks we’ll reach that dreadful intersection where the lights always seem to take an eternity to change. I can dash it off then.”
Hastily snapped photographs apparently began to arrive—accompanied by harried variations of “is this what you’re looking for?” Rarity insisted on reading aloud—inspiring the mistress of all she surveyed to chortle in approval or cluck in displeasure as she tapped out responses.
Our first stop turned out to be an outlet selling new and used western wear and, of all things, horse tack. Rarity climbed the organizational ladder to the shift manager and dickered in abbreviated phrases of sartorial jargon. She knew exactly what she wanted, but apparently it wasn’t anywhere on the floor. Several attempts to fob her off ensued; she shot down each with increasingly barbed clarifications. Too bright. Too feminine. Too masculine. Too decorated. (I winced; she absolutely was right. The fringes and embroidery were tacky even for a sawdust-floored bar, let alone a guidebook-starred establishment.)
“I want. A bolero. Without embroidery. Or fringes. Or anything else.” Rarity rubbed the sides of her head theatrically. “I will handle the fitting and finishing myself, thank you. Surely you have at least a few, well, blank versions in the back that haven’t been . . . customized yet.”
The manager, who plainly had not anticipated such exactitude and determination in a teenager, temporized. “I’d have to look.”
“I would be happy to accompany you,” Rarity insisted. “It would save ever so much time and trouble.”
Sunset finally spoke up. “Please. The faster we can do this, the sooner we can pay and be on our way.”
After some grumbling about company rules, the manager finally led us to some plain racks in the bare-concrete stockroom and dock, which Rarity fell upon eagerly. Her arms moved with the rhythmic steadiness of camshafts, sliding aside hanger after hanger. Mumbled imprecations occasionally strayed into distinctly unladylike territory, until she let out a cry of “ah-ha!”
After that she moved more slowly, giving each jacket a closer look. At last, with an air of triumph, she plucked one from the multitude and held it up. “This one.”
“That one?” the manager seemed to have some trouble getting out the words. “But—”
Rarity airily waved aside the incipient objection. “Yes, I see most of the dark ones are black or blue, and other colors tend to be brighter, but I assure you, this deep ruby is perfect for our purposes. Sunset, come here.” When the command was obeyed with alacrity, she held up the bolero against the other girl’s torso. “There, you see? It goes well with her hair and skin, but it is dark enough to carry sufficient formality.” Indeed, if the light had been much dimmer, the red tint would have disappeared entirely, leaving what would appear a rich, warm black.
Her other forefinger rose to tap an alabaster temple. “I have all my friends’ measurements memorized, and with a little work this will fit her like a glove.” The same forefinger fell again to tick a dangling tag, spinning it lazily. “And—why, look! Such an excellent price.”
The manager handled the check-out process personally, the better to hasten us out the door, I assumed. Once we were walking across the parking lot I remarked, “That was a lucky break.”
“Indeed it was.” Rarity’s voice was considerably more subdued than it had been. “I was beginning to entertain doubts, but this little gem saved the day at the last minute. There were only a few like it, and just one in the correct size. Looking at the tag, I noticed several stickers, one over another, and the final price really was quite good, which I was pleased to see for the sake of Sunset’s poor abused budget. I would guess it was a dye error or an experimental color that failed to sell in adequate numbers, and either way eventually was relegated to the back.”
“That was amazing, Rarity.” Sunset, by contrast, seemed buoyed. “How did you know?”
Rarity was silent for a moment before admitting, “I didn’t. I knew what I was looking for, because I have a very clear idea what I want to see you in for this, and that store seemed a likely place to find the style of jacket I had in mind. It was the color—or rather, the shade—I wasn’t sure I could find. If need be I would have settled for black, but it just wouldn’t be quite the same.”
I held my peace, but it did occur to me these girls seemed to enjoy an extraordinary amount of serendipity.
Despite the name “black tie”, the jacket is the actual centerpiece of semi-formal dress—at least for men and for the recent trend in similar women’s fashion—so it certainly made sense to ensure that was in hand before all else. Rarity had her priorities straight, even if we did end up needing to backtrack at some point.
Ordinarily I tried to follow the anti-surveillance driving techniques that had been drilled into me, but with Rarity directing us hither and yon, I figured our travels would seem effectively random to any hypothetical shadows. I did keep a conscientious eye on the traffic around us, though. It wasn’t likely, but then, as my instructors made very clear, too many people had made the sometimes literally fatal mistake of thinking just that . . . and being wrong.
One by one we met each of the others, bundled up and waiting at curbside or somewhere on a retail parking lot. Rarity picked up the items they’d collected and Sunset paid them back. Voluble but hurried thanks and hugs were exchanged before we were off again with barely a moment to breathe.
Rainbow Dash held out the small sack of black dress socks. “These are okay, right?”
“As long as they’re the right size, they’re fine, darling,” Rarity assured the other girl as she accepted the bag and peeked within.
“I made sure to get the exact size you put in your text message. I checked three times before I bought them! But they’re just—”
“Rainbow Dash, have you ever worn black tie? As in semi-formal dress—gown, tuxedo, that sort of thing?”
“Do school dances count?”
“No.” A dramatic sigh accompanied this. “Trust me, darling. There shouldn’t be any problem with the fit, and really most people should not even see them. You did exactly what we needed, and did it well, and you have our thanks.” The words could have sounded dismissive, but in Rarity’s inimitable style, they were anything but.
As we parted ways, Rainbow Dash returning to whatever routine we’d interrupted and the rest of us heading back to the car, I asked in an undertone, “You gave her the simplest job, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Cook, yes I did.” Rarity’s voice was equally low; she started to shake her head, then aborted the possibly still visible movement. “I love her dearly, but Rainbow Dash has, let us say, the fashion sense of a rock. However, I can give her cut and dried instructions and rest assured she will carry them out accurately. As an athlete she knows very well how important it can be for a widely separated team member to do exactly that, or a play simply will not come together properly. I don’t understand sports as well as she does, but even I know that sort of thing can cost a team the game, and we are playing to win.”
“One pair of boots, coming up!” Pinkie Pie bounced in place as she presented a rather sizable box. Printed on it was a photograph of the black patent-leather ankle boots contained within, sleek and sharp-toed, close-fitting with a slightly higher heel than I generally associated with the style. Elastic panels running down on each side made them easier to put on and take off.
“Where on earth did you find those?” Rarity stared at the box. She had the fingers of one gloved hand spread across her upper chest, just below her collarbones, in a classic gesture of astonishment.
“Well, you said you wanted dress shoes for Sunset, but she likes boots more, so I thought those would be better if I could find any that were dressy enough. And I did!”
“But—” Sunset was eyeing the box in alarm. “Pinkie, how much did they cost?”
“Only . . .” Pinkie dug around in her pockets, then thrust a crumpled receipt at her friends. “. . . this much! It was a real bargain ’cause the store’s going out of business. The owner’s retiring and nobody wanted to take it over. He seemed real happy and told me all about how he was going to travel all over the world and—”
“Thank you, Pinkie,” Rarity interrupted. I couldn’t blame her. Pinkie, like all her friends, was a sterling young lady, but she could keep up the chatter for hours if she wasn’t diverted. “I will be honest and say I had not even considered this, but you are absolutely correct that Sunset prefers boots, and these are very handsome.”
Inevitably we were covered in celebratory confetti.
Rarity positively squealed. “Oh, Fluttershy, I knew I could count on you! This blouse is amazing. However did you find it?”
“You did say you wanted something off-white that would look good with Sunset’s skin tone,” Fluttershy almost whispered. “I had to check three different vintage shops, and I actually had to talk to some of the clerks.”
“Your sacrifice is very much appreciated, darling.” Rarity elbowed the girl standing beside her. “Isn’t it, Sunset?”
“Uh—yeah! Yeah, Fluttershy, this is great. It’s really pretty, and it’ll go great with the rest.”
“Are you sure?” The question was all but inaudible.
“See for yourself, my dear!” Rarity dashed back to the car and returned with the jacket, hastily shuffling the two garments to approximate the effect, then holding them against Sunset. “There. What do you think?”
Fluttershy clasped her hands under her chin and nodded with a bashful smile. “It’s wonderful.”
“Thanks, Fluttershy. You’re a life-saver,” Sunset said with greater assurance as she handed over the appropriate cash. It hadn’t been cheap, but as long as they could keep the costs down elsewhere, her finances shouldn’t suffer too much. I’d offered to help, but more out of politeness than anything else; in general Sunset insisted on paying her own way as much as she could. She occasionally might accept assistance from her inner circle, but not from anyone else. Truth to tell, I had to approve of that independent spirit, as long as she didn’t carry it too far.
“Hocus-pocus!” Twilight Sparkle held up a velveted jewelry box in each hand. “Shirt studs.” One box was raised a little higher. “Cufflinks.” The first lowered and the other rose. “They aren’t fancy, but you said Sunset doesn’t want to sink a lot of money into this, right?”
“Precisely.” Rarity nodded as she reached for the cufflinks box. Twilight stood on tiptoe and craned her neck as the box opened to display the satin-finish weathered-brass links bedded therein. “These will do nicely, Twilight. I presume the studs match?”
Twilight nodded and held out the other box in both hands; Rarity took it without even looking inside. “Was it very difficult finding something suitable?”
“No, I just did some Web searching, then called around to a few stores in the area. I was looking for a design with a sun motif, but that didn’t seem to be as easy to find locally in the right price range, so instead I decided to keep it simple.”
“Yes, that probably was best, or at least safest.” Rarity gave the other girl a bracing nod of affirmation. “Sunset and her budget thank you.”
Sunset couldn’t help a spurt of laughter. “Yeah, Twi, thanks. They look fine, and it was the right call to go for something basic and affordable. Besides, Rarity has something up her sleeve for the whole sun thing, so we should be covered there.”
“Oh?” Twilight’s eyes lit with curiosity, but she pouted when Rarity shook a finger and tsked.
“This is for Sunset, darling, but perhaps we can persuade her to model the finished product sometime afterward.”
Last but not least, Applejack handed over a braided black bolo tie with simple aged-brass aiguillettes and slide, the latter set with a polished round cultured-stone cabochon. “Ain’t sure whatcha got in mind fer somethin’ like this, sugar cube, but Ah knew jus’ where ta find it. Nobody’s used it since m’ pa passed.”
“It’s fine, darling, and the price certainly is right. I can get the tools to separate the ornament from the setting and put Sunset’s geode in its place—temporarily, of course. That will take a little delicate surgery, but when the evening is over, it can return to its normal home on its chain, and the setting will be available for future use.”
The farm girl tipped her hat back with a thumb and peered at the slide, held up as Rarity twiddled a demonstrative finger at it. “That’ll be a right ticklish job, Rarity. You sure ’bout this? From yer text message, there ain’t a lotta time ta do that an’ ever’thing else, so if it don’t work out, there may not be a second chance.”
Rarity bit her lip briefly. “Then I shall have to be careful, that’s all. The geodes do seem to . . . adapt to whatever setting we ask of them, so perhaps it won’t be as difficult as one might expect.”
Sunset put in solemnly, “Thank you, AJ. It means a lot that you’re giving me something from your family.”
“Pshaw.” Applejack waved a dismissive hand. “Pa’d be pleased ta see it git some use. It’s almost new, but like a lotta other stuff it got put away ’cause nobody really wanted ta deal with it all. Now . . . now mebbe it’s time we went through some of Ma and Pa’s things and found good homes for ’em.”
On our way back from Sweet Apple Acres on the other side of the valley, Rarity suddenly blurted, “Outerwear! Sunset darling, all you have are that disreputable bomber jacket and hoodies. Those are hardly suitable wraps for this.” Another string of demands led us to a crammed little hole in the wall, presumably not one of those Fluttershy had investigated.
Rarity beelined for the coats, and within a few minutes discovered an antique military greatcoat of suitable size. Its slate blue, a legacy of its foreign naval-academy origins, wasn’t ideal for Sunset’s warmer colors, but the jaw-dropping price made up for that. As we approached the bored book-reading cashier with our prize, Rarity whispered, “Say nothing. Obviously neither the seller nor anyone in this establishment saw this for what it is. Otherwise there would be another zero at the end of the price.”
Outside, Rarity clutched the booty and vented a triumphant snicker. Sunset shook her head in amusement. “Are we gonna need anything to go with that?”
Rarity sobered and thought a moment. “Ideally, yes, but we have stretched your budget too far already. Your knit scarf and earmuffs will have to do, and I don’t want a cap to spoil the hairstyle I have in mind for you.”
When we got back to the car, a certain journal was buzzing and vibrating on the back seat. As soon as Sunset got herself inside and buckled, she snatched up the book and flipped through it until purplish light did odd things to her amber complexion. “Oh, hey! Twi was able to find what you were looking for, Rare! She just finished sketching it here, and she says she’ll send it with the next package of papers.”
When at last we returned to home base, Rarity all but fell onto one of the work stools and leaned against the wall, legs extended straight out and eyes closed. The back of a hand rose to her forehead. “My goodness that was quite a trip—but did I or did I not promise to provide everything needed?”
“Except,” I pointed out, “the trousers.”
Rarity’s eyes popped open and she sat bolt upright, then covered her face with both hands. “I knew there was something nagging at me!”
Sunset put her fists on her hips. “Who was it making a big deal that ponies don’t wear pants?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” The voice startled everyone, and once again Rarity’s back straightened. Sunset and I pivoted to see Prim Hemline standing in the doorway with arms crossed. It struck me her trademark flamboyant pantsuit was not entirely unlike the outfit Rarity had spent the day assembling for Sunset. “Rarity, do you plan to be here long? If so, don’t forget to set the alarm before you go.” She eyed everyone dubiously, especially me. I smiled back winningly, but for some reason she seemed immune to my boyish charm.
“Yes Ma’am,” Rarity told her with automatic deference, but the young face still looked dramatically troubled.
“Is there a problem, Rarity?” The sharp features clouded, though with concern or irritation wasn’t clear.
“I—well, yes, but not with the shop.” Another sigh floated across the room. “I’ve—we’ve spent the day chasing all over town trying to put together an ensemble for Sunset here, but Mister Cook reminded me I missed an item, and time is running out!”
Dark elegant brows rose. “Details, Miss Rarity, details.”
Rarity blinked but dutifully explained the circumstances, emphasizing Sunset’s limited resources and the consequences thereof. After she ran down, Hemline stood for a moment, head tilted, and frowned thoughtfully. “All right, show me what you have.”
Our consultant shot to her feet and scurried around the room, laying out everything we’d collected in approved fashion on one of the worktables. Hemline examined the whole arrangement. “You do realize you are slightly underdressing the poor girl.”
“Yes, I know, but that can’t be helped if we are to minimize Sunset’s outlay,” Rarity told her in an only slightly unsteady tone. “And the time investment. I thought to balance unconventionality, playing on her audacious personality, with a trim, sober effect.”
“Hmph. And yes, I see you are missing the lower part of the set. You had in mind a tapered dress trouser, I take it, and not a long skirt?” I hid a grin, recognizing the fashion-industry quirk of using the singular where most would use the plurale tantum.
“Yes, although . . . now that I think on it, how shall I match the jacket color?” Again Rarity’s face sagged.
“Ah.” Without another word Hemline disappeared back through the door. All three of us looked at each other, but there was a distinct thud from elsewhere in the shop that didn’t sound like a door closing, so we waited uneasily. After a few more minutes—and noises—she returned with several hangers hooked on her forearm, each draped with a pair of dark red slacks. “Try one of these.”
We all stared. They were, if not a perfect match, then very close. Rarity darted forward, spread fingers curved like claws, and grabbed the hangers in a double handful. She gathered them in one hand and with swift, unerring movements contact-juggled them one at a time to the other hand. About midway through she stopped and lifted the remaining pairs for a closer look. “I think—yes, this should do.” Deftly she left the pair in question lying on the table, lower legs dangling over the edge, then bunched the others together and offered them back. “How—?”
“I recognized the dye lot.” A smile tugged at one side of Hemline’s mouth as she reclaimed the laden hangers. “Not a resounding success, but a piece of luck for you. I shall offer a discount, in view of Ms. Shimmer’s need and the fact these have been gathering a little dust, among other factors. There also is a bolt from the same lot, from which you can cut a piece, gratis, for . . . a sash, I think, rather than a full cummerbund.”
Sunset reserved her thanks until after confirming the final price was not a bank-breaker, but once she did, she was effusive enough. My brows knitted; I didn’t recall Rarity having mentioned her full name, which raised some interesting questions I might need to look into later.
The boutique’s owner departed after accepting the thanks—and the cash—with becoming dignity, leaving us to our own devices in the workroom. Rarity puttered about, humming cheerfully and hanging up our prizes in one of the open locker-like numbered compartments lining one wall. She hung one of the dummies with a medallion bearing a familiar trio of lozenges, used a marking pencil to put the locker number on the latter, then called over Sunset for measuring just to be sure. The dummy was adjusted to match, and Rarity stood back, checking it against Sunset standing beside it. “There we go. Obviously, darling, I shall have to call you in for final fitting, but I should be able to do most of the work without bothering you unduly.”
“Oh, Rarity, thank you so much.” Sunset stepped forward to squeeze the other girl in a grateful hug. “I don’t know what I woulda done without you. How much will the alterations cost?”
The embrace was returned with evident sincerity. “Oh, now, Sunset, there is no way I could charge a friend, especially in a situation like this! After all, one of the reasons we sought out existing garments is to reduce the time required, so I shan’t be run ragged by the work, I assure you.”
Sunset stepped back. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“I am.” Rarity’s face firmed in a resolute expression. “I promise, whatever that evening holds in store, you will be able to put your better foot forward for it.”