//------------------------------//
// Cleanse 
// Story: Cleanse 
// by Baal Bunny 
//------------------------------//

"It's a funny word," Pinkie said, draped like a mass of pink moss down the side of the fainting couch Rarity kept in the Boutique's front showroom. Not the most vital piece of equipment, perhaps, but she'd availed herself of it a time or two in the past, she supposed.

At her workbench, Rarity allowed a smile to tug her lips, jabbed the purple thread through the eye of the needle suspended in her magic, and went back to the seam she was stitching. "Oddly enough, Pinkie, I've always been under the impression that you found most words funny."

"True." A slithering sound prickled the fine hairs along the base of Rarity's mane, and she glanced up to make sure Pinkie wasn't doing anything unfortunate; she'd just slumped a little further down onto the floor, though. "But 'cleanse' is extra, special funny," Pinkie continued. "That clickety-clack clatter of consonants at the beginning, then two vowels that sound like one vowel but not the vowel they look like they should sound like, then two more slippery-slick consonants before that last silent 'e' like the caboose on a train."

Rarity nodded absently, her attention on the seam again. "Compare it to 'lens.'" She tapped a hoof against the glasses perched on the end of her snout. "'Cleanse' is nearly twice as long, and yet the only difference in sound is, as you say, a little cough at the beginning."

"Or 'props' and 'propose.'" More slithering led Rarity to look up once more, Pinkie now oozing across the carpet like a chunk of partially melted strawberry ice cream. Chiding herself, Rarity changed her mental image to a large feline sprawled bonelessly in a puddle of sunshine, Pinkie's voice coming out all slow and yawning. "Slide an 'o' in there like a ring over a fetlock, add an 'e' caboose..." A leg—Rarity couldn't tell from this angle if it was fore or hind—rose lazily into the air and waggled. "And what happens? The 's' decides to change its sound!"

A snap of her scissors let Rarity tie the purple thread off, and she reached out with her hornglow for the spool of red thread. "Well, vowels are vexatious. Consider 'choice,' 'choose,' and 'chose' and what happens to their 's' sounds."

Motion swirled in the corner of Rarity's vision: Pinkie suddenly up on all fours, her eyes wide and her tail puffed up behind her like a tumbleweed. "I gotta go," she announced, the words running breathlessly together. She leaped clear across the showroom, and the front door opened and closed so quickly, it only made one clickety-clack clatter of a crash to Rarity's ears.

Several heartbeats went by, but when Pinkie didn't reenter, Rarity sighed and returned to rethreading her needle.

To call Pinkie peculiar conveyed as little useful information as calling water wet—though both phrases did display a lovely alliteration. Lately, however, every time Pinkie came spinning into the Boutique, she seemed like a balloon who'd recently encountered a pin. Perhaps 'deflated' wasn't the best adjective, but she certainly grew quieter, less frenetic, even sedate in her own way.

Not that Rarity was complaining. Pinkie's boisterousness enlivened any situation, of course, but certain situations simply didn't take well to enlivening. And discovering that Pinkie engaged quite engagingly in the little word games Rarity so often played when she talked to herself as she worked, Rarity further discovered that sharing the games made them that much more enjoyable.

Still, when it came to Pinkie, 'celebration' had always been the operative word, not 'cerebration.' Rarity made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Pinkie's behavior, finished threading her needle, and got back to her seam.





The rest of the afternoon crawled by without further incident, but out on her regular constitutional that evening, Rarity caught a glint in the grass at the bottom of the hill where she always stopped to enjoy the first gleam of the moon rising above the Whitetail Woods.

Half stepping and half sliding down the slope, she came upon a simple but lovely golden ring. Not a horn ring, a more thorough examination discovered, but rather a leg ring with a sizing enchantment. A pony would slip the object on over a hoof while tapping it gently to either tighten or loosen it till it fit perfectly about a pastern, fetlock, or shank. Further tapping would than expand the ring again to allow for easy removal.

A standard jeweler's spell, Rarity knew from her work with gemstones and accessories, though she'd never had occasion to cast it herself. Most ponies, in fact, didn't bother with such magic. A well-forged pastern ring shouldn't require extraordinary measures to keep it in place, and, well, judging by the way she'd found this one lying here, she couldn't help but think that the spell hadn't done its job.

And yet looking around revealed nothing but shadows among the trees, a breeze rustling the branches. She'd seen no ponies on her way through the outskirts of town, either, lights glowing in the houses and the air humming with the quiet murmurs of families at dinner.

So she stopped by Twilight's castle and left the ring with Spike to put in the 'Lost & Found' box before she headed home.





That Saturday saw nearly the entire population of two towns gather at Sweet Apple Acres for McIntosh and Sugar Belle's engagement party. Applejack and Rainbow Dash both drank a good deal of the harder cider, but since they became sentimental rather than bellicose, Rarity found that she didn't have to do anything more strenuous than listen to their increasingly slurred stories as the evening glided as soft as velvet into night.

She'd assumed the role of riding herd on the two, as it were, since she seemed to be the only one of their little group not otherwise occupied. The joyous couple had asked Twilight to don her princess togs and deliver a blessing after the dinner but before the dancing, for instance, and Twilight had leaped headlong into researching the history of earth pony/unicorn unions. Her process also involved a great deal of breathing heavily into a paper bag that Spike provided for her during the first half of the party, so Rarity thought it best not to ask anything more of her this evening.

As for Fluttershy, she'd departed early after wishing the guests of honor the best, but then Rarity had always suspected her of carrying a bit of a torch for McIntosh. She'd doubtless need somepony at whom she could aim a melancholy sigh or two tomorrow; Rarity made a mental note to stop by her cottage after breakfast. Starlight was busy adding her patter to Trixie's pre-prandial magic show, and to be completely honest, Rarity suspected that she would've joined Rainbow and Applejack in their rampant imbibitions rather than keeping a watchful eye over them. And Pinkie Pie...

Pinkie was everywhere. Checking the levels on the punchbowls and checking the selection among the sandwiches; adding a balloon to a table or adding a joke to a conversation; leaping behind the turntables to assist Vinyl Scratch and leaping onto an actual table with her bullhorn to let the guests know supper was ready; introducing the happy couple and introducing Twilight; leading the singing and leading the dancing: her smile and high spirits never flagged for an instant.

The entire soiree proved to be splendid in part and whole in other words, but as Applejack and Dash listed further into their cups, Rarity couldn't help but watch Pinkie's performance with awe. 'Performance' was the only word for it, too, the way she was always on, always there, always knowing exactly what needed to be done to keep the party rolling or swaying or jumping.

In short, Rarity was glad to see, she comported herself in exactly the way Pinkie Pie ought to comport herself.





The next morning proved to be slightly draining, Fluttershy as close to moody as Rarity had ever seen her. Some hours of carefully guided conversation at the spa, however, soon had her back to sorts, but Rarity had to work through lunch to keep a particularly tricky hemline under control.

Fortunately, Pinkie came traipsing in during the early afternoon. Slumping to the floor, she produced a feather-on-a-string-on-a-stick from her mane and proceeded to lay there wiggling the object at Opalescence, the cat sprawled beside her and pawing at the thing in an equally desultory fashion.

"A lovely get-together last night," Rarity said after the usual exchange of greetings.

"Yeah." A smile spread across Pinkie's snout as slowly as a good, thick caramel sauce. "Nothing's better than helping good ponies have a good party." She flopped her head over so her smile was pointing at Rarity. "AJ and Dash get outta line?"

As much as Rarity knew a proper lady never made rude noises with her lips, well, some situations simply called for such things. "The day I can't handle those two." She shook her head. "Still, from some of Rainbow's less-coherent ramblings about Big Mac, I received the distinct impression that Fluttershy might not have been the only one of us to harbor unexpressed feelings."

The feather dipped to touch Opal's nose. The cat blinked, then snatched it with all four paws, wrapping her considerable self around it and wrenching the stick away from Pinkie.

Or rather, away from the spot where Pinkie had flopped an instant before. Because Pinkie was now standing. "Welp-a-rooty!" she said. "Thanks for letting me play with Opal, but I've got more flippety-flopping to do! See you next time!" And the front door literally spun around a vertical axis as Pinkie shot through it.

When it came to rest with the door's outside facing in, Rarity sighed, set down her work, and headed up the street to Chisel's carpentry shop.





With the door refastened correctly, Rarity spent several more hours on the hemline. Various of her little word games tickled and trickled about her lips, and when at last she stopped and stretched and stepped outside for her evening stroll, she found herself wondering how Pinkie would've responded to the assorted alliterations she'd just constructed.

Closing the door, she turned, and the glint this time caught her attention immediately. The sun, not quite set yet, was shining low through Ponyville, and just exactly at eye level, something glittered from inside an azalea bush beside Trailing Arbutus's Garden Supply Emporium across the street.

With a blink, Rarity trotted over. She had to blink some more when she saw another ring, this time wedged in among the leaves and flowers. She took it gingerly in her magic, all the while checking up and down the empty street, and couldn't help gaping to find that this ring also had a sizing enchantment on it. If she hadn't known better, in fact, she would've sworn that—

That this was the very same ring.

Quickly unfurrowing her brow—no need to invite wrinkles, after all—she made her way across town to the castle, a lovely evening seeping over the sky like ink over a fresh, unmarked page.

"Huh," Spike said. Leading her down a hall, he squinted at the ring. "Nopony came to pick up the other one, I don't think..." He pushed a door open and called, "Hey, Twilight! Did anypony claim that gold ring from last week?"

Twilight didn't look up from the books spread over the table between her and Starlight. "What gold ring from last week?" she asked.

"The one in the 'Lost & Found.'" Spike pulled a box from a lower shelf and flipped open the lid. "With the resizing spell."

That roused them both. "Resizing spell?" Twilight's eyes widened. "Those can be tricky."

"I'll say." Starlight set down the book she'd been leafing through. "Especially with a ring. I mean, you miss one parametric variable in the casting process, the thing could tighten so much when commanded, it'd snap your hoof clean off!" She leaned forward. "Can I take a look at it?"

Rummaging through the box with one hand, Spike held the ring up with the other. "Here's the one Rarity just brought in, but the first one she found..." He raised his head as the wavering mint-green of Starlight's magic plucked the second ring from his claws. "You sure nopony came to claim it?"

"Wait." Twilight's gaze followed the ring floating across to settle on the table in front of Starlight, then she turned to Rarity. "You found them both, Rarity?"

Rarity nodded. "And for the record, sizing enchantments employ a cascading failsafe regimen. Miscasting a parametric variable vitiates the magic and dissipates the entire spell."

Twilight blinked at her, and Rarity polished a hoof against her chest. It didn't hurt to remind her every once in a while that she also was a unicorn...

A snort from Spike drew her attention to him kneeling in front of the box, the floor all around covered with an assortment of objects: a rubber ball, a notebook, several glasses cases, some random papers and toys. "That's everything." He picked the box up, flipped it over, and shook it. "The first ring's gone."

"But—" Rarity tried to organize her thoughts. "Wouldn't that mean that somepony took the ring from your 'Lost & Found' without your knowledge? And wouldn't it further mean that said pony then lost said ring only for me to find it once again?"

Spike just shrugged.

Across the room, Starlight whistled. "I've gotta admit: this is a nicely put together spell." The ring drifted over to Twilight's side of the table. "And I don't detect any metaphorical trip wires that could trigger it to go haywire or anything."

"What?" A chill shot down Rarity's spine, and she took an involuntary step back. "You think it's some sort of ghastly trap?"

"No!" Twilight's magic snatched the ring and brought it up to where she could squint at it. "I mean, yes, it's possible, but ponies don't do things like that." She scowled at Starlight. "Most ponies wouldn't ever consider it."

Starlight coughed into her hoof in such a way that the words "Cozy Glow" emerged more or less clearly.

Twilight's scowl deepened, but so did a sudden reddish color about her cheeks. "I said 'most ponies.'"

A grin spread over Starlight's face. "Well, then, it's a good thing I'm not most ponies, either, isn't it?" She waved the hoof she'd coughed into. "'Cause now we know the ring's safe, and our faith in ponykind has once again been restored."

Rarity shuddered. In her best Shadow Spade fashion, she'd begun sketching a preliminary—and slightly disturbing—theory about the ring's provenance en route to the castle, but with Starlight's suspicions simmering in her head, she decided that one more test wouldn't hurt. "For my part," she announced in case the ring's owner might be somewhere within earshot, "I find the matter to be entirely unfathomable. I shall happily leave the ring here with you." She turned for the library door. "But if I come across it a third time, I might just decide to keep it."

"Okay, Rarity!" she heard Twilight call. "Thanks for dropping it off!" Then, more quietly as the library door swung shut, "Maybe we should go over the castle's security cantrips."

"Ya think?" Starlight's dry-as-goat-cheese voice made Rarity smile, and she trotted down the hall toward the front door.





The next week took Rarity to Manehattan for two days and Canterlot for one, a maelstrom of meetings and a rumbling of railway cars, crises as coarse as crinoline and solutions as sweet as satin. Upon her return Thursday morning, she settled into the Boutique for a day of sketching out the ideas that always came to her when traveling and waited for Pinkie to appear.

She didn't.

Venturing forth for lunch, however, brought Rarity into contact with Pinkie several times: a quick 'welcome back' hug as Pinkie was scrambling off to Sugar Cube Corner for little Persimmon's cute-ceañera; a mention in the song Pinkie was singing at the head of the parade she led past Timothy Hay's cafe just as Rarity was paying her bill; and she popped up briefly to wave pom-poms and shout "Yay, Dash!" when Rarity stopped at Applejack's cart in the market square to catch up on local events including Rainbow's latest triumph with the Wonderbolts.

Pinkie was, in other words, her usual bright and burgeoning whirlwind of whimsy.

And yet, during the afternoon, that whirlwind didn't come wafting into the Boutique. Nor did Rarity come across any strategically located rings while she followed the usual path of her evening amble.

But Rarity had learned to practice patience. Still, she carefully made mental note of all her alliterations so she could share them when the time came.





That Friday, then, the first Friday after the new moon, saw the girls gather for their monthly picnic behind Fluttershy's cottage. It twinged at Rarity a bit that the six of them had become so busy of late that they had to schedule their get-togethers like this, but she knew they all preferred it to the alternative of not meeting at all...

The sky shone, of course, as did the company, and in those moments when the conversation flagged, one of Pinkie's sweet non-sequiturs—"D'you think zucchinis mind always being at the end of the line when the vegetables stand in alphabetical order?" or "Wanna try tying cherry stems into knots with your tongue?"—got them all laughing and chatting again.

"I'm continually astonished," Rarity said to Pinkie the next afternoon: she sat at her workbench again, but this time, Pinkie had taken most of the sofa cushions from around the entire Boutique and piled them into a ramp between the fainting couch and the showroom's floor. She would climb up over the back on the couch, stretch out on it, then roll herself down the ramp onto the floor before climbing back up and rolling down again. "You always know how to keep things lively."

"It's a gift," Pinkie said, taking another roll. "And I love the word 'gift' 'cause it's got three completely different kinds of consonants inside."

"'Gift.'" Rarity finished another pocket, their word game becoming once more, she was certain, more than just a game. "'Pumpkins' is my favorite for a variety of consonants. And the gourds themselves, of course. So large and round and golden."

Somehow, Pinkie managed to freeze for the length of an indrawn breath halfway down the ramp of cushions, but she did then continue her tumble to the bottom. "But as you pointed out a time or two ago, we don't wanna leave the vowels out. I mean, look at 'about' and 'already.'" But instead of clambering over the back of the couch again, she instead sprang for the door. "And look at the time! Some of us hafta go, go, go!"

"'Go,'" Rarity said without looking up. "A slightly nervous swallowing sound followed by an 'o' like a ring over a fetlock."

But Pinkie was gone so quickly, Rarity thought perhaps the door hadn't even opened before it was slamming shut. Words other than 'gift' and 'go' echoed in that slam, words Pinkie had also just emphasized—'about' 'time' 'already'—and Rarity very nearly leaped up and stormed out into the street in Pinkie's wake.





She didn't, though the afternoon's remaining hours were perhaps the longest Rarity could recall. She couldn't, not if her theory was even remotely correct and the matter was anywhere near as delicate as it seemed. Her routine, after all, played a large part in all these goings-on, so she sat sewing and stitching till the usual moment of her usual hour.

And this time when she opened the front door to step into the gathering dusk, the ring was sitting quietly and neatly on the stoop.

Flaring her horn, she stuffed the ring into her saddlebag and cantered—not galloped; a lady seldom galloped, after all—across town to Sugar Cube Corner. She stopped outside to take a deep, cleansing breath, smiled at the thought of the word that had started this whole chain of events, and pushed her way inside.

A few early evening diners sat here and there, but Rarity had eyes only for Mrs. Cake at the front counter. They exchanged pleasantries, and to Rarity's eventual question, Mrs. Cake replied, "Oh, Pinkie's upstairs in her room, I think."

With a thank-you, Rarity headed for the stairs, knocked on the appropriate door, and sat down in the hallway.

Scuffling from within answered her, but nothing more.

"Pinkie?" she called, giving another knock.

More scuffling, then the door creaked open, Pinkie peering out wearing a large black mustache. "No, no," Pinkie said, sounding like a yak who'd eaten too much pudding. "Pinkie not in right now. You leave message, Yorick see she get it."

Fixing her half-lidded gaze on Pinkie's face, Rarity activated her horn and drew the ring from her bag.

Pinkie's eyes shot open, her jaw and mustache both dropping—though only the latter actually hit the floor. "Not here!" she whispered urgently. Rearing back, she planted both front hooves on the ring and shoved it back into Rarity's pack. "What's that you say, Rarity?" she then asked loudly. "You'd like me to come and keep you company at the Boutique while you do some boring old sewing or something? Why, sure, Rarity, I'll be happy to help! Pinkie Pie's always happy to help her friends get through their days with her joking and her joshing and her jocularity!"

For an instant, Rarity kept her partial glare on Pinkie, but she couldn't hold out against those big, blue eyes and that quivering lower lip. "Fine," she said with as much of a hiss as she could manage when the word she'd chosen lacked an 's.' "Oh, Pinkie Pie!" she continued all falsely bright and chipper. "Thank you so much! A pony always knows she can count on you!"





Marching back to the Boutique, Rarity kept a smile as phony as Pinkie's former mustache stretched over her snout. Pinkie for her part chattered and danced and waved to any ponies they happened to meet until Rarity opened the front door and Pinkie was scrambling through. Rarity followed, turned to click the door closed behind them—

And things became very quiet very quickly.

Rarity closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the showroom with Pinkie standing in it. So instead, she addressed the wall. "'Props,' you said. And 'propose.' And the 'o' sliding in like a ring over a fetlock. And when I began talking about 'choice,' you leaped up and ran, doing the same when I spoke of unexpressed feelings."

Still not turning, Rarity reached her magic into her bag and let the ring drift upward. "You made your choice, left this prop for a proposal in a spot when you knew I'd see it glinting in the first light of the rising moon, then left it in much closer proximity as a way of expressing your feelings."

"It's not like that," Pinkie said, though if Rarity hadn't known it was her speaking, she never would've guessed to whom that quiet, trembling voice belonged. "Yes, you're smart and pretty and wonderful and great, Rarity, but I don't wanna date you or marry you or anything."

The clamp of dread that had been tightening in Rarity's chest at the thought of having to break the heart of one of her dearest friends loosened so suddenly, she almost staggered forward into the door. Spinning, she stared wide-eyed, her theory flaring up like a sore tooth. "But the—!" She waved the ring up and down. "And the way you—!" She flailed a hoof at the ramp of cushions she hadn't yet dismantled. "And the things you said!"

"I know, I know, I know!" Clasping her forehooves to her chest, Pinkie fell onto her knees. "I zigged when I should've zagged, wigged when I should've wagged, messed and fussed, got all mussed and confused and couldn't figure out how to fix what I'd fuddled, mend what I'd muddled, staunch or stop or—"

"All right!" Rarity tried her best not to shout, but she was fairly certain that 'shout' was the only applicable word for what she'd just done. Taking a breath, she removed her saddlebags, set the ring gently on top of them, and attempted to go on in a more measured tone. "If this wasn't you confessing your deep, abiding, and long-hidden passion for—" She took several more even deeper breaths and finally got herself, she thought, within sight of being under control. "Perhaps," she said then, "you could simply tell me what this has all been about."

Pinkie was shaking, but she slumped back to sit on the floor without bursting into tears the way Rarity had half feared she would. "It's about me being on fire all the time," Pinkie murmured, facing away so her unfocused gaze fell on a part of the floor several paces to Rarity's right. "And how I'd really, really, really like to have someplace somewhere with somepony where I don't hafta be all laughing and singing and exploding."

It took Rarity a moment to find some words. "But you don't have to be that way with us, Pinkie. We all love you just the way you are."

"Really." It wasn't a question, and the look Pinkie turned toward her, so sharp and narrow-eyed, made Rarity want to take a step back. "And what if I gave that same advice to you?"

"Me?" In all the years that Rarity had known Pinkie—ever since a little flyaway filly had come cartwheeling into Miss Organdy's class not long after Rarity had gotten her cutie mark and informed them all that she'd come to Ponyville to fulfill her destiny—she'd never before heard such a growl in Pinkie's voice. "But...I am just the way I am, darling. I always have been."

Somehow, Pinkie's eyes got even narrower, her mane flattening into a frozen waterfall around her shoulders. "I've met your parents, Rarity. They don't talk the way you do. They don't think the way you do, and they don't act the way you do. You, this place, everything you've built around yourself." She waved a hoof. "It's all a mask, as much of a mask as the one I wear." A smile sliced across her snout like a paper cut. "But you don't have to be that way with us, Rarity. We all love you just the way you are."

Her throat tightening, Rarity could only stare.

Then Pinkie's eyes squeezed shut, her hair puffed into something closer to her usual briary tangle, and every bit of her belligerence drained away so visibly, Rarity almost expected to see a dark stain spreading into the carpet around her. "What I mean to say is that you know what it's like putting on a mask every day just like me. And as much as I love the girls and know they love me, I...I can't be the me that they love all the time. I need a place where I can step out of the regular me, shake away the wrinkles, maybe make an alteration or two, then slip it back on before bursting into flames again."

Letting the last bits of her theory blow away to dust, Rarity had to nod. "Cleanse," she said. "It's a funny word."

"It is." Pinkie's ears perked. "I can't do it alone, Rarity. I'd end up sour as my sister Limestone if I tried, and nopony wants that. So I was hoping..." She leaned forward and touched a hoof to the ring. "Would you accept this token of my esteem cleaning?"

The snort that Rarity let loose was entirely unladylike and entirely appropriate. "I shall need something sturdier than that to protect me from such atrocious puns."

"But look!" With a smack, Pinkie sent the ring springing up from the top of Rarity's saddlebags like a tiddlywink. "It's magically adjustable!" She caught the ring on a forehoof and began tapping it with the other, the ring expanding till it slipped over her pastern and halfway down her shank. "It comes on and off so easily, it's better'n any mask! So when I need to be all weird and quiet and thinky, I can come in, you can adjust the ring into place, and I can adjust my brain into place."

Not certain she wanted to ask the question but knowing she'd regret it if she didn't, Rarity cleared her throat gently. "And we need the ring to do that...why exactly?"

Pinkie's face clouded up again. "'Cause you're so regular and official, I wanted this to be all regular and official! But I couldn't figure out how to give you the ring without explaining ev'rything first, and I couldn't figure out how to explain ev'rything without giving you the ring! It all got so crunched-up and complicated in my head, I just kept putting it off and putting it off till you told me I had to choose! And then I panicked and left the ring where you'd find it and had to break into Twilight's castle twice to get it back and—"

Rarity was about to leap forward and wrap a hug around Pinkie's shivering shoulders when Pinkie brightened up as quickly as the sun coming out after a summer shower. "But I should've known you'd understand and be okay with it." Setting her hoof on top of the bag, Pinkie tapped the ring; it slid all the way off, and she drew her leg back against her chest. "You, uhh, you do understand and are okay with it, right?"

"Pinkie?" With a flourish, Rarity stepped into the ring, crooked her leg, and tapped till the ring tightened about her pastern. "I shall treasure it always. Especially since 'treasure' provides another example of that odd-sounding 'ea' we noted previously in 'cleanse.'"

Rather than shooting up to the ceiling, Pinkie slowly straightened. "Like 'meant' but not 'mean.'"

With a roll of her eyes, Rarity picked up her panniers and started for her workbench. "Don't get me started about 'meant'! 'Bent,' 'sent,' 'went,' 'extent.'" She hung up her bag. "Where does 'meant' get the nerve to go around flaunting that extra 'a' smack dab in the middle of everything?"

A soft sigh made her look back to see Pinkie propped against the wall as stiff as a two by four, her eyes closed and the corners of her mouth curled up just the tiniest bit. "It comes from 'peace' and 'cease,'" she said. "But 'meant' just hasta be different, doesn't she?"

"She does." Rarity picked up the suit coat she'd been working on. "She ever so certainly does."