Lectern’s New and Used Books, with its comfortably casual décor and bustle, came as a distinct relief to Sunset Shimmer. The previous evening’s formal dinner at a black-tie restaurant, accompanied by a probing interrogation, had been respectively a culinary delight and an emotionally trying roller-coaster ride. The affair had ended on a positive note with assurances she had passed the latter with flying colors, followed by a more soothing agenda-free—mostly—conversation over coffee, but Sunset still felt just a little frazzled as she stood in a tiny ground-floor restroom discreetly tucked away in a corner for the convenience of staff and customers.
The over-sink mirror really was too small for the purpose, but it would have to do. She inspected her appearance as best she could, shrugged and tugged to settle the fit of her short-waisted jacket, then fiddled with the slide of the bolo tie currently set with her enchanted pendant. After a last few tweaks she sighed and muttered in a rough imitation of Rarity, “You look fine, darling. Go out there and wow them.” Truth to tell, what inspired her nerves wasn’t the prospect of modeling the outfit her friends had helped the fashionista collect for her semi-formal night out—it was the near certainty of a second grilling, this time from her insatiably curious circle.
Exactly why she’d insisted on meeting here, rather than at her studio apartment or any of her friends’ homes, she wasn’t completely sure. She just felt a vague disinclination to deal with this discussion in a crowded bedroom or living room, however many sleepovers or visits she’d enjoyed in those places. Well, the public nature of the bookstore’s front parlor might help curb the enthusiasm with which she was bombarded by questions, and that was good. Moreover, unlike some of their other hang-outs it was indoors, a definite plus considering the winter cold.
Finally she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned to pull the door open.
As she approached the crowd seated on wing chairs clustered to one side of the fireplace, the first sounds from them she heard clearly were a single sharp clap and Rarity’s delighted voice caroling, “See, girls, what did I tell you? Does she not look divine?” A low babel of approval from the rest, liberally spiced with oohs and ahs, endorsed her conclusions. Scattered customers looked up or over in mild bemusement from their own concerns; the cashier and Lectern himself, by now accustomed to the young women’s antics, barely seemed to notice.
Reluctantly the corners of Sunset’s mouth crooked up. She had to admit, even with a bulging messenger bag hanging over one shoulder and without the carefully applied cosmetics and coiffure provided yesterday afternoon by increasingly twitchy alabaster hands, she did cut a trim figure in the dark-red—almost black—western bolero jacket and tapering trousers set off by matching sash and rose-brass sun-and-moon sash pin. Cream flounce-collared blouse, black and brass bolo tie, shirt studs and cufflinks, and close-fitting patent-leather ankle boots completed the ensemble assembled by the whole group, mobilized on Rarity’s marching orders.
Rarity, of course, took charge as soon as Sunset reached the broad runner that extended out from the hearth and separated the pair of conversation groups flanking it. “Put down that bag, Sunset dear, and give us a turn.” The command was reinforced with a downward-pointing forefinger twirled in a circle.
Getting more into the spirit of it, Sunset unslung the bag and lowered it to one of the small drumlike coffee tables serving the chairs’ occupants, then spread her arms and pivoted slowly in her best imitation of the models she’d glimpsed occasionally on television or streaming video—usually played by Rarity, come to think of it. Her reward was another chorus of appreciation, and she blushed slightly as she completed the slow spin and faced them once more.
Each found a way to comment on her own contribution, Rainbow Dash even insisting Sunset pull up the trousers enough to show the entirely ordinary dress socks coyly hidden beneath. Safely out of the forward-leaning Dash’s line of sight, Rarity rolled her eyes but said nothing, inspiring Sunset to bite her lip against a sudden laugh.
With a certain resignation the focus of attention anticipated a flood of questions on the heels of the brief fashion show, but somewhat to her surprise only Rarity spoke up, in a genteel rendition of her distinctive gossipy lilt. “So, darling, how did it go?”
“The food was great,” Sunset allowed. “The rest, not so much, but at least it got better at the end.” Her weight shifted and her hands fluttered a little at her sides.
“Mm-hm. Well, you stand before us now and seem whole in mind and body, so it cannot have been a total disaster. I’m sure I can speak for all of us—” Rarity blasted the other seated girls impartially with a repressive scowl. “—when I say we are relieved that is the case.” Turning back, she favored Sunset with a searching look, then extended a hand and twiddled its fingers in a shooing motion. “Now that you have been a good sport and graced us with what I simply knew would be a breathtaking spectacle, we shall let you off the hook, but do hurry back!”
Dutifully the amateur model turned on a heel and headed back to the little washroom. Behind her a low hubbub erupted, not quite audible enough to make out. Pinkie Pie whined in disappointment. Rarity overrode the plaintive words a trifle crisply. Applejack weighed in firmly but more gently. Other voices joined in a quiet but rather intense debate.
Abruptly Sunset’s mood lifted, if not all the way then at least a little. Despite a voracious love of gossip, Rarity—backed up by the practical-minded AJ—clearly intended not to allow the questioning to get out of hand. She must not have concealed the tension and apprehension lingering from the night before as well as she thought. Well, maybe this wouldn’t be as unpleasant as she’d expected.