In an architectural sense, the looming structure had multiple factors distinguishing it from a dungeon.
To begin with, the typical dungeon (and Rarity felt it said something about their lives that there was now such a thing as a typical dungeon) was considerably less vertical. A proper dungeon (and same) would have been sunken deep into the ground. Those hosts who indulged in the usual sense of humor might visibly weaken the mortar on one outer wall, making it look as if a few hours of dedicated hoof-scraping could potentially lead to the removal of a block, creating the chance for escape — and the laboring pony, who had been filled with the glories of Hope, would see their efforts rewarded with a view of cold stone.
(Rarity had also considered that for those prisoners who happened to be earth ponies, that was where the laughter might begin. And for the dungeon builder who had no concept of what the Secret had hidden, the mystery of the prisoner’s escape might never be solved.)
This particular building loomed, which was no small feat when compared to the remainder of Manehattan’s skyline. That Moon was just about completely within the new phase... that made it hard to determine exactly how tall it was, but the extra shadows were definitely assisting with the intimidation factor. The whole thing seemed to be tilting somewhat forward, threatening to spill its contents onto those regarding it as a preliminary stage to the final crushing blow.
Spilling seemed like a real possibility. The structure had slanting bars of absence working their way up in a winding pattern: the two mares observing from the street could get a fairly good look at the first three levels of what it contained, at least from the forward angle. It was a view which allowed Rarity to see a great deal of wood, some small amount of metal, and very little in the way of hope.
(She would spend some time wondering about that half-cutaway style, trying to figure out the purpose behind the design. A few of those theories would be vocalized.)
So taller than a dungeon, more exposed than a dungeon — but the gate served as proof of ancestry.
“Is there a word for that?” Pinkie curiously asked as she adjusted her shoulders against the old cart’s padded hitch. (It was the cart which Rarity had used for her first trade show, and there were times when that had made her swear it was jinxed. It was beaten-down, had axles which turned mostly due not having a brain which would tell them they couldn't, and was three good jolts away from having the lone surviving wheel tumbling down a lonely road.) This was followed by lightly stomping her hooves because even for late autumn, it was a notably chill night, enough to make fur feel like nothing more than an endless series of conductors steadily pulling ice into muscles — and they had dressed (or failed to dress) for Ponyville's warmer schedule. Maintaining some degree of movement helped. “Because I’ve seen that before. On some of the castles we’ve visited. Where it’s all huge and heavy, with spikes on the metal and splinters in the wood, just to keep anypony from trying to climb through gaps which are too small anyway.” Thoughtfully, “Or maybe it’s just to make castles look mean. Like nopony should live there except for the ponies who do. And if they like that kind of gate, then they’re probably not ponies you want to live with anyway.”
When it came to castles, most of Rarity’s knowledge had been delivered through the pages of romance novels. After all, if a mare in distress was going to be rescued, then she clearly needed to have her savior fight towards her through poorly-lit passages (some of which would have been secret, but any good protagonist had an absolute gift for discovering them) while toppling statuary behind them in order to slow pursuit. Statuary was just about mandatory.
With castles, she had very little practical knowledge, and most of that only began to apply when dungeons got involved. But it had given her some of the vocabulary.
“Portcullis, Pinkie.”
The baker nodded as that singular memory filed the term away for later or, given Pinkie, for a lifetime. “Do you know why it’s glowing?”
Rarity took a close look at the sickly yellow light, and then wished she hadn’t. “I would imagine a security spell of some sort.” Which triggered the briefest of frowns. “Which is actually somewhat unusual.”
“To have that kind of spell? But you have one for the Boutique! Just about everypony with a business has a few, especially back home! Not that they always help. I mean, I guess it’s good for keeping the wrong pony from coming through your door, but that doesn’t mean much when an Ursa Minor just picks up the whole house.”
“It is,” Rarity patiently explained, “unusual to have it be visible. One generally wishes a thief’s first knowledge of any defenses to arrive when the workings go off in their snout. Making it apparent that a spell is at work from the outset might provide a hint as to how it might be defeated. Still...”
They both looked up at the looming building again, craning their necks as best they could from their position on the narrow sidewalk. Rarity had already noticed that Manehattan sidewalks tended to be unusually narrow, and wasn’t completely sure why. It was possible that the constant battles for space within the cramped metropolis had reached the point where ponies were fighting for the right to shove each other into the street.
“So this is where we’re supposed to go?” Pinkie asked, voice filled with the light tones of somepony who was really hoping there was still some chance of a mistake.
“Apparently,” Rarity sighed. “As the name on the sign appears to be correct. Along with the fee structure.”
They both looked at the sign again. It had been embedded into the stone on the right side of the gate. Multiple cracks suggested either several dozen failed attempts at removal or a handy target for pointless vengeance. It was just about the first thing anypony would see when approaching the building and as numbers over a certain size tended to possess a degree of gravity, it could be very hard to stop looking at it.
Central Cart Storage
Rates
First five minutes: 20 bits.
Half-hour: 30 bits.
One hour: 40 bits.
Two hours: 50 bits.
Six hours: 80 bits.
Full day: 120 bits.Ask about our weekly and per-moon resident rates.. SOLD OUT.
NO CART REMOVAL FOR ANY REASON WITHOUT RENDERING PAYMENT IN FULL. ABANDONED CARTS WILL BE CONFISCATED. PARKING TO BE DONE IN SPACES ONLY.
Not responsible for damage to carts, possessions, personal stress, injury, or absolutely anything which could potentially happen, up to and including eternal night/day (delete whichever is inappropriate). Stable has no attendants. All security conducted through exclusive workings. No sleeping in carts. Rates are figured from the moment of entrance. All times round up. Payment to be rendered in bits only. No vouchers, foreign currency, or desperate pleas accepted.
“Very well,” Rarity eventually said. “Shall we?”
Hopefully, “Do we have any other choice?”
It was two-thirty in the falsely-named morning, It was Manehattan during the Fashion Moon trade show, it was the address which the Center had provided, and finding a place to store the cart quickly comprised their only chance of getting any real sleep.
But sleep means that dream might...
“No.”
Rarity turned to the box which had been set into the left side of the portcullis’ frame, looked carefully at the glowing green button which had PRESS HERE worked into the glass. After a moment, her horn ignited, and soft blue collected a twig from the curb.
The wood poked the glass. A thin slot set below the button dispensed a small piece of radiantly-green paper (which Rarity's field collected), and the portcullis slowly raised itself. The mares proceeded forward.
Two-thirty in the morning. A few minutes to store the old cart. Seven blocks to reach their hotel (which was oddly lacking in attached stables). Perhaps five hours of rest before Rarity had to be at the Center, and then the buyers would begin to roam the aisles some two hours after that.
Her first time at Fashion Moon. The first chance at making real inroads into Manehattan’s stores. She had to be ready. At her best for appearance, her personality sparkling, ready to listen as near-infinite lies streamed from those who were only pretending towards interest in her designs, desperately trying to sort out the few facets of genuine desire...
A four-day show, and that would make it the longest one she’d ever attended. Four days where the Boutique would be collecting no income as the contents of her saddlebags bled out from the fiscal wounds inflicted by the city. Four days of partially surviving on whatever was supposed to pass for publicly-available food within the convention center, which certainly wouldn’t be the gourmet grasses served to the most prestigious designers and buyers. Four days in which she would mostly be living on Hope.
But it was a chance she’d had to take. She’d been working towards it for years. She was ready —
I have to be ready.
— and if nothing else... she was doing it with a friend.
But that was, in itself, something of a mystery. Pinkie was there, Pinkie had insisted on coming at the very last minute... and Rarity didn’t know why.
The structure was mostly hollow, and the majority of what little interior existed had been made from ramps.
The slant of those ramps was a rather unpleasant one. The chosen degree of angle meant no hoofstep was fully casual: some degree of effort had to go into every movement, with hooves carefully planted upon landing to avoid slippage. Each step made Rarity fully aware of a certain muscle which seemed to stretch along the back of each leg. She had never given any thought to that muscle before, had in fact possessed no concept of its existence, and now had its presence steadily humming along in the back of her brain.
The far sides of each ramp were occupied by carts. There were styles which Rarity had never seen before: wheels which had some sort of metal protective grates over the spokes, metallic paint, little flairs of design which did absolutely nothing to assist in the function of a cart, but did a lot to show that the owner could pay for little flairs of design. There was one specimen which seemed to have a sort of flattened wing elevated across the back end, something so narrow as to be barely capable of serving as a failed glider for a twentieth-scale toy. It was highly polished, it was clearly the focal point of the design, and Rarity had no idea what it was doing there.
Dozens of stored carts, and that number was gradually ascending towards the hundreds. All parked, and the majority of that had been done rather poorly. Lines had been painted into the spaces between them, mostly to show just how badly the hauling pony had failed in the placement.
The ramp (which arrows indicated was for upwards-moving traffic only) comprised nearly the whole of the interior surface. There were a few support columns, and thin walls set the border at the ramp’s side edges — but those barely came up to Rarity’s sternum, and seemed to mostly be present as a way to keep the most inaccurate ponies from trying to park on air. The small barriers, along with the occasional spaces where they ran out completely, gave her a view of the other ramp. Theirs was going up, and there was another going down.
Devices lit the way. Every last one glowed with a shade closer to yellow than white, and the majority flickered as the mares passed beneath them.
The stone was cold beneath their hooves as they climbed, Pinkie steadily pulling the old cart along the ramp’s center. The center had seemed advised. A career of dealing with mares who insisted their bodies best fit into a dress three sizes smaller than they were had given Rarity a fairly acute sense of spacial awareness, and so she’d quickly figured out that the ramp would allow two standard carts to pass each other — if one hauler didn’t object to having the other use the protruding portion of axle as a temporary road. And as the ongoing violation of the borders provided by some of the other lines proved, not all of the carts were a standard size.
Up and up. Every so often, their ramp approached an outer wall, briefly leveled before twisting to go back the other way, once again ascending. Pinkie was hauling the cart, and Rarity... had her saddlebags and the piece of glowing paper. Nothing more.
“Perhaps we should switch places. Or I could assist. There is a second hitch —“
Pinkie gently smiled. “Who’s the earth pony here?” A brief pause. “Okay, technically, neither of us —“ (Which made Rarity fully face her friend, making sure that gentle smile didn’t twist into pain) “— but I’m still stronger than you are, Rarity. I can haul this for a while. Besides, it’s empty now. That makes it a lot easier. It’s funny, but you don’t really think about fabric having weight — well, I don’t, because I just wear things once in a while and then everything’s sort of evenly distributed. But when you get it all together in a cart, with the gems you put into them and the catalogs you had printed out and every other part of the booth, it gets heavy. But at least we didn’t have to pull it all the way from Ponyville! Or even from the train.”
Rarity ruefully nodded. They had arrived in Manehattan using the gatehouse closest to the Center, and part of the reason they’d arrived so late was because escorts capable of teleporting two ponies plus the sheer mass of the then-full cart weren’t easy to come by. The original plan had been to take the train (and lose that many more days of Boutique activity), but a mission had struck two hours before departure and by the time it had ended...
Being given access to the escort network was the palace’s way of offering apologies. Rarity had accepted, and the wait for their near-instant ride to become available hadn’t been the worst possible thing, But with delays added to the time zone change, it had put them in the city mere hours before the show began, leaving Rarity scrambling to reach the Center, setting up her booth in the last moments she had to do so.
Plus there had been the hassle of finding the Center. It was said that Manehattan never truly slept, and Rarity didn’t really understand why that distinction was supposed to be special: there were portions of Ponyville which only knew their best life under Moon, and she supposed that was true for every settled zone. It certainly applied to Canterlot, where the palace had its Lunar shift and multiple businesses remained open to serve those who worked those Moon-lit hours.
But if the city itself didn’t sleep, the residents still had a time when the majority were in bed. And for those who remained on the narrow sidewalks, the default response to two mares asking for directions was to lower their heads a little more and trot all the faster.
Manehattan was supposed to have the most impressive skyline of any ground-based settlement in Equestria, with some of the buildings vaulting as much as twenty stories towards the distant blue or, at this hour, black. (Pegasus constructs were often based on spreading out as much as possible, but unicorns and earth ponies generally saw little appeal in taking on the vertical.) Based on what Rarity was now beginning to identify as the typical local walk, she wasn’t sure the residents had ever seen it.
"And you did all the work in the convention hall," Pinkie reminded her. "Once that nice guard let us in. You had to unfold everything, hang up the displays, get the tables ready, and all I could do was watch because I don't know how the booth goes together. So I was feeling bad because I couldn't really help you, and... it was weird, wasn't it? Going past all those booths with the cloths draped over them? Like it had all been put to bed for the night, like fashion was sleeping and we had to move on the edge of our hooves or we'd wake it up."
Rarity nodded. There had been a certain temptation to raise a few fabric edges and peek — but that was why there was a security guard, and that friendly face had patiently watched them until they'd left the hall.
"Is it all like that? For everypony who attends? They all get a booth?"
"No. The hall is..." years, so many years and they put me in "...for those who have yet to become nationally recognized. The most popular designers have rooms set aside, scattered throughout the Center. Some have smaller halls to themselves, and there are those who —" a windstorm passed through her memory, and she resisted the urge to kick "— prefer to be outside. They say that you can tell exactly how much somepony has risen by the number of square body lengths allocated for their spectators — and through the narrowing of an aisle, the degree to which they have fallen." (Which made her take a suspicious look at the ramp again, just in case.) "But this is my first year in attendance, Pinkie. A booth is what I would expect to receive. And I do have four days to convince the buyers regarding the future merit of a larger space."
Assuming I can stay four days.
She took a breath, slowly shifted her tail until some portion of it entered the far edge of her vision. None of the curls seemed to be fraying.
"Which would, of course," Rarity added, "need to include making enough sales to pay for such an increase. Space is at something of a premium in this city."
"That pony doesn't seem to care," Pinkie decided, and inclined her head to the left.
Rarity immediately turned to look in that direction, for they hadn't seen a single pony during their time in the structure. Coming across another living entity, a total stranger in an unfamiliar city, might seen as something which represented a certain amount of risk. It also potentially indicated somepony who was about to retrieve their cart, and that was an event which equated Strange with Savior —
— there was nopony there. Simply a cart, one which was clearly brand-new, where the roads had yet to strip the lightest degree of gleam away from near-shimmering wheels. It was obviously a rather expensive specimen, and it was just as obviously parked across the center line between two spaces.
The gap on each side wasn't quite large enough for another cart. Under one of the other hooves, they were just about wide enough for a pony to stand and face the thing.
"Didn't," Pinkie tense-clarified. "Because they parked that way. Why would somepony do that?"
"Given that the cart is new," Rarity tightly replied, "I imagine the intent was to create a buffer zone on each side. Protecting it from any incidental damage which might be inflicted by having another park their own cart too closely to theirs."
Or seen another way, sufficient space to turn tail, bring up the back hooves and —
"We should report that," Pinkie decided. "Because whoever parked the cart is just being unfair. There's half a space on each side! One half plus one half equals the two of us going to the hotel!"
"There are no attendants," Rarity reminded her friend. "The sign said so."
"But there ought to be! It isn't fair, Rarity, not when we've already gone up four levels and there haven't been any spaces!"
"This city," Rarity sighed, "is not known for being fair. Onwards, Pinkie. There are more levels to go. Surely a space will become available."
The next three turns did their best to give Rarity the lie.
She didn't feel responsible for the falsehood. There was additional structure to go and additionally, their intermittent view of the downslope had shown that still more carts were parked on that surface. It seemed to double their chances.
"I was wondering about the prices," Pinkie said as they passed something painted to look as if it had woven from silver and copper, where hauling it over any surface rougher than ice would render it into the composition of dings and dents. "For storage. Who would pay to put their cart somewhere for five minutes?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Rarity admitted. "If somepony was just picking up an item from a shop, it would be easier to leave their cart in the street and gallop inside."
"And a hundred and twenty bits for a day? That's just crazy, Rarity —" and there was a little gasp. "Four days! We're here for four days! Did you even budget for that? It's bits only, no vouchers, and that's so many —"
"— I have the money." And not enough of it. She'd heard so much about Manehattan, because a number of her regulars had visited the settled zone, and of course Rarity was subscribed to a number of magazines. It had given her access to stories, and every last one of them eventually worked back to the same themes. The city was cramped. The city often seemed to have very little regard for those who lived there, and possessed considerably less caring about visitors. And the city was expensive.
She'd withdrawn bits from her bank account, believed she had enough, and certainly the hotel was covered: she'd received that rate in advance. But now that parking had to be figured in...
No shopping. Not that she would have had that much time away from her booth anyway. Keep all meals at the minimum expense, which means no visiting any of the restaurants I researched...
Her mind continued to shuffle through the reevaluation of necessary expenses, discarding items and activities here and there. She forced herself to stop when she realized she'd just added a nighttime visit to the city's largest park for the sole purpose of seeing whether the grass was any good.
"It's rather worse for those who live here," she added. "It's not as bad as Trotter's Falls was for prices, Pinkie — but that settled zone offered rather more in the way of living space. In Manehattan, tiny apartments rent at the cost of houses. Any small house comes at the cost of a mansion, and if one can afford a mansion, then one can presumably pay for anything else. All costs are increased — but salaries have not. I know a pony who received an internship at a prestigious Manehattan business, something where a year in that position would guarantee her the job of her choice anywhere on the continent. And she was unable to take it, because interns draw no salary. To live in this city while earning no income, something she would have had no chance to earn elsewhere with a position which demanded at least sixty hours per week... impossible. Many of those who collect salaries have enough difficulties. Those on the lower rungs, who clean and cook and perform the labors which allow a city to exist at all... it is so difficult for them to stay in the city, because their earnings barely permit survival. There are storage units outside the city, because the living spaces are so small as to exile one's possessions — and a number of ponies tried to live there."
Pinkie blinked.
"Really?"
"They said the rent was cheaper and as far as toiletries went, there was a river. Of course, the owners of the storage buildings objected. But population was flowing out of the city..." Rarity shrugged. "I believe there is now talk of creating several small secondary settled zones around Manehattan itself. So that ponies can live there, and work in the city. But the exodus would decrease the local tax base, which meant the last election had that departure as an issue. How the departures could be stopped, so that those who remained would not be made to haul more of the burden."
"How did the candidates deal with it?" It was genuine curiosity, for Pinkie had a real (and surprising) interest in politics, and had submitted her name onto the ballot for Ponyville's mayoralty in every election but the most recent. This included all the years in which she'd been too young to legally hold the position, but that was hardly going to stop Pinkie. Most of the Bearers suspected she participated for three reasons: the party held to announce her candidacy, the party-scheduling opportunities created by going door-to-door while supposedly canvasing for votes, and the really big party which was used to announce she was dropping out again.
"The mayor of the time announced her intention to build multiple toll gates between any such settlements and the city," Rarity sighed. "Also that she would not authorize any funds towards building the actual roads, because that was the problem of the new settlements. But if anypony wished to live outside Manehattan and work within it, they could pay for the honor. And one opposition candidate publicly announced his belief that if ponies did not wish to labor in low-salary occupations, then they should have had the common sense to manifest marks for wealth. And of course, they were welcome to depart from their current jobs and seek better-paying ones at any time."
Pinkie thought about that for a few seconds.
"Most campaign staffs are volunteers," she eventually said, adjusting her shoulders again before resuming her trot. "Unpaid."
"True."
"How many of them walked out on him?"
"Very few," Rarity admitted. "As volunteers tend to be those who share their candidate's beliefs while failing to see how those beliefs could ever personally affect them. However, he did find a number of other ponies following his second suggestion through quitting their jobs. Which would include those asked to serve his restaurant table, the ponies who cleaned his house, just about all who had to ring up his purchases... there were any number of vacancies created, at least for as long as he required that labor to be done for him. And upon seeing that, he must have visualized the eventual effect on his ballot totals, because there are rather more poor casting votes than rich. So he added a new plank to his platform..." And waited.
"I'm going to say," Pinkie thoughtfully considered (because there were also times when she had surprising insight), "that it was 'Only ponies who earn more than the ones who quit should be allowed to vote'."
"Very good!"
"But voting is age and citizenship! It would take the Day and Night Courts together to change that! A mayor could never do it, and for somepony who was just running..."
"Well, it did get a certain portion of the city's fiscal elite to donate towards his cause," Rarity told her friend. "As they hadn't really thought about that part, and apparently hadn't paid anypony enough to think of it for them."
"So what did he do after he lost?"
"I'm not sure one could say he truly lost," Rarity shrugged. "As he didn't actually stay in the race long enough to reach the actual voting. As for his current activities, I suppose we'll know when the police catch up to him and ask what he did with the campaign funds."
Pinkie giggled, and that got them up the next incline. But the slope was still working against them. Working against Rarity, who didn't have an earth pony's strength or endurance. And they had been climbing for...
...thirty bits. It was possible to view it that way. We have been searching for at least thirty bits. Or it could have been forty by now...
I want to sleep.
Sleeping in a settled zone which supposedly never did. A city which never had a chance to dream...
"It's called topology," Pinkie eventually announced.
"Your pardon?" Because Rarity was still staring at it.
"It's sort of the science of stretching and folding things," the baker explained. "Like how you can squeeze and tuck and sort of twist something to make it look different, but whatever you're trying to change takes up the same volume and never loses any weight. Twilight told me once. So for this cart, no matter what you did to it, even if you broke it into itty-bitty pieces, all the little fragments piled together would equal one cart."
The designer was no longer looking at the cart. The image which Pinkie's words had created was much more enticing.
"And no matter how badly somepony parked a cart this size, they wouldn't be able to make it take up more than three spaces. Which kind of means pointing it straight up the slope. Or down."
Rarity's nod was a rather distracted one.
"So having it take up four," Pinkie concluded, "should be impossible."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
The silence was only external. Rarity's imagination currently contained quite a bit of sound.
"But there you go," Pinkie sighed, nodding towards the jet-black cart. "It's impossible for it to take up four spaces. And that's still exactly what it's doing — Rarity?"
Which just barely triggered a rather distant "Yes?"
"Your corona's getting kind of bright. And — spiky around the edges."
The designer blinked.
"...oh."
She managed to dim it somewhat. But the borders —
"Coronas get spikes," Pinkie softly reminded her, "when a unicorn is mad. And I know you're mad about having been in here so long, Rarity. I know you're tired, and you just want to sleep —"
I don't want to
I'm afraid to
"— but that's still a lot of spikes." Gently, "What were you thinking?"
I don't want to tell —
— and it made her a hypocrite.
How many times had she said it to Twilight? That the librarian had to tell them what was in her head, bringing the dark thoughts into the light was the only way to deal with them at all, and not trusting in her friends enough to speak about the deepest worries, festering terrors... that was what led to disasters.
Twilight spoke about such things more than she once had. But there were times when she still held back, because that fear of saying the one wrong thing might always be there. A belief in words which held their own kind of magic. That there existed a sentence which had the power to split the group forever.
...and when it comes to believing that...
There were words which made customers vanish. A phrase which had seen Rarity banned from an event (although by that point, the actual shunning had just been a formality). A single vicious paragraph which had nearly split her own family, and she was still trying to figure out what kind of relationship she could have with her mother now, with the hidden beliefs having been spat forth in syllables which dripped with acid...
One statement. One expression of belief, whether true or false. One. Because every family had things they didn't say to each other in the name of keeping the family intact, and friendships were just another kind of family. You kept your silence because you wanted to keep your friends.
But to not speak was to let words fester. For the acid to burn from the inside, until a single moment of rage allowed everything to come pouring forth.
...it won't hurt. She isn't here. And if she was, or if Pinkie told her...
"...it was a fantasy," Rarity softly answered. "A rather detailed one, something so strong as to manifest through my field, as my corona has been ignited for some time." She glanced at the little slip of paper, still floating on her right. "Did you notice that this glow is slowly fading? I am no researcher, but when one spends sufficient time in Twilight's company, one inevitably acquires certain concepts. Whether one wishes to or not. I believe that when we reach the exit gate, we will find a device which determines the number of thaums remaining in the glow and, by subtracting that from what was put into the original working, will determine how long the cart was parked here. Quite ingenious, actually —"
"— you're distracting yourself," interrupted the one among them who understood emotions better than anypony. "And you know it."
The blue eyes (a sharper blue than Pinkie's, a shade which felt somewhat harsher) slowly closed.
"A fantasy," Rarity repeated. "I was... destroying the cart. Spells which rendered it as no more than splinters. Simply lifting it within my field and squeezing. A variety of effects, all spectacular, and... none of which I am actually capable of performing, for it would take a field strength much higher than mine to exact a single vision."
"And that's why you had the spikes?" Pinkie gently asked. "Because in the fantasy, you were taking out your anger on the cart?"
It wasn't a question of whether Pinkie knew the truth. It was enough that she suspected Rarity hadn't told all of it. Because it was true that they were all still trying to work out what the limits of the baker's magic were: nopony was entirely sure of all the means by which that power might express itself, and that very much included Pinkie herself. But when it came to recognizing that a friend still might have a little more to say... well, that was just Pinkie.
"No." It was amazing, how difficult a simple word could be to say. "The fantasies were pleasant enough in their way. A harmless outlet. The anger came from realizing that I cannot enact a single one of them, would never be able to do so, and..."
She would understand, if Pinkie told her. If Pinkie thought it was necessary to tell her at all.
She has to understand...
"...it is — something that comes with being Twilight's friend," Rarity quietly finished. "I have my selfish side, do I not? Something I trust that all of you will call to my attention when it arises, before it does damage. And there is a certain aspect to selfishness, Pinkie: the desire to have that which one cannot possess. I think of everything she is capable of, everything she could do before she changed, and... I understand Trixie a little better now, I think. That one might at least dream of finding some way to become an equal. Simple, Tartarus-freed jealousy —"
"— she feels the same way about you."
Rarity's eyes shot open, and one false lash landed on top of the cart.
"What? Pinkie, she always tries to tell me how my field dexterity is superior to her own, that my learning capacity has not been reached, but the fact remains that my strength is fixed, fixed forever, field dexterity may be slowly improved and so she has nothing to be jealous of —"
"Not magic," Pinkie softly countered. "Words. Applejack might grumble about it, but... you're our best liar, Rarity, you always have been, and no matter what Applejack says, there's been times when we've needed lies. And even when you're just talking... words are easiest for you. You might not always say the right thing, but you always say something. Twilight feels like she just — locks up sometimes. That there's so many words, they all kind of get in each other's way. Stuck in her throat, and then she can't say anything at all when she feels like she most needs to, and — that doesn't happen to you, not very much. So she's jealous of that. But she doesn't know how to tell you, because she thought you'd just laugh a little and talk about all the things she can do which you can't, and that would make how she felt seem less important. So she just told me that it was okay to let you know, if something like this ever came up. So I did."
She wanted to sit down, because it was the sort of statement where sitting seemed to be required. But the incline had remained steady, they were nowhere near the brief level portions allotted to the turns, and sitting felt as if it would have been the trigger action for a very long slide.
"She dreams of being able to talk like you," the baker continued. "Dreams where she doesn't need magic at all. Just words. And every word is always the right one —"
"— so the opposite of my dreams," Rarity said.
And did sit down, as her hindquarters collapsed under the weight of horror. Words she hadn't meant to say, words which had just slipped, and so the dreams were once again justified...
Pinkie looked at her. Angled the slightly chubby body, tried to bring pink fur that much closer to white. The cart got in the way.
"What have you been dreaming about?"
The ramp ahead. Every space filled. Nowhere to go but forward.
"It started after Dragon Mountain," and now every syllable had to be forced. "There are... variations. Location, time, those in attendance. But the theme is always the same. That there is a situation where I must speak for us all, where I am the only one who can speak. Perhaps I have but seconds, or there might be the chance for a lecture of sorts. But I cannot speak. Not in words which the other party wished to hear."
and the red dragon swipes out its claws, and the changelings close in, and silver without sparkles surrounds our forms, and we
"I say nothing, or the wrong thing, and... it all ends. It ends because of me."
Pinkie seemed to be receding in her vision now. Becoming more distant with every second —
"— Rarity?"
A very weak "...yes?"
"You're sliding backwards."
Hind legs jerked, scrambled, just barely managed to straighten in time.
"Lovely." (The sarcasm brought no more true relief than the fantasies had.) "I would twist in an attempt to see what the dirt of the ramp —" because of course there would be dirt "— has done to my grooming, but I am not Lyra and will simply have to wait for the first passerby to insult me on the way to our hotel. Assuming we ever manage to reach the hotel, that we do not leave here and proceed directly to the Center —"
"— we should keep moving," Pinkie interrupted.
The softer blue eyes were focused on Rarity's features. Watching with open concern. But the words hadn't spoken about the dream, hadn't tried to ease any degree of pain, that was what Pinkie did and...
...there was something deep in those eyes.
Something pained.
"Pinkie?"
"There's an empty spot somewhere up ahead," Pinkie said. "There has to be, right? There's always something to find, as long as you keep looking. So let's look."
And if only physically, they tried to move on.
It took three more bends before speech resumed. The bends, where a level surface briefly asserted itself, had the odd effect of making Rarity that much more aware of that one strained muscle. A muscle which appeared in all four legs. All four legs...
"Bipeds," Rarity decided.
Pinkie glanced at her. (The baker was moving somewhat more slowly now. Part of that was matching Rarity's dropping pace, and a little more came from a simple fact: earth pony strength and endurance, while considerably higher than that of a unicorn, were hardly endless.) "Bipeds?"
"Have no idea how easy they have it," Rarity muttered.
"...oh."
So they were talking again. But the topics were somewhat random, because words had been said, and the earlier discussion seemed to be following them. Swirling around the mares, forming a barrier even as their force shoved them up the ramp.
Words had been said...
"I've been wondering about the gaps," Pinkie eventually said. "All those streaks of blank space, winding around the building. I don't understand that. This is a stable, right? Even if it's a really big one. And stables are solid, because you want to protect whatever's inside! Like your cart. Or all the stuff ponies put in stables and then complain about because they can't get their cart in. But this lets the cold come inside, and wind, and rain and snow and everything else. So why are there so many gaps in the walls?"
"I have three theories about that."
"So that means one of them is probably right. What are they?"
"The primary would be an attempt to save on construction costs. If there is less wall to build, then there is less wall to pay for. Given the price of everything in this city, the building permits alone might have negated any chance at a full structure."
"Okay..."
"Or it might be an ill-considered decision to allow a panoramic view of the city. We are rather high up by now. I imagine Sun brings a rather unique perspective on everything around us. Something which only a pegasus would normally have the chance to appreciate. There would be nothing wrong with such a view, Pinkie: it is simply an excess of opportunity."
"All right, but they could have just used glass —"
"However, the single most likely possibility is that in the event of somepony simply becoming weary of the search to the point of wishing to stop, departure points are always available."
"...we're twelve floors up."
"Your point?"
"That would be twelve floors down."
"I did not say what would be departed."
Those who spent time around Twilight tended to gain an education in magic, and Rarity supposed that actually desiring one went a long way towards enhancing the experience: there was a certain joy to seeing her friend speaking from the heart of talent and when the formulas became thick in the air, there was also a certain migraine. Passing hours with Fluttershy, however, changed the subject to animal behavior. How not to startle. When to back away. How they were harmless, really, unless they were sick, strange things could happen when they were sick, but you should never ever make them feel cornered...
Rarity was trying not to pull back. But nothing Fluttershy had said could make her like the things. They could be lovely pets, they could be clean-furred and calm and have their whiskers twitching in search of nothing more than a treat, but they still had those horrible hairless tails and eyes which reflected so strangely in the yellow light, eyes which didn't like her...
"It's just a rat."
"I don't like rats."
"Rats got you out of that cell."
"Yes," Rarity too-calmly said. "They did. At Fluttershy's direction. Something which required having them swarm across my coat. Which meant scurrying up my legs. All four. And as they were trying to chew through the straps on my restraint, you might imagine that a number were on my neck and head. I am thankful towards those rats, Pinkie. I am also still having nightmares about the ones who nearly went into my ears."
The rat could not understand her words, and even Fluttershy occasionally found difficulty with translating pony terms into something her charges could truly comprehend. It was merely looking up at the sound, concerned because its place of relative security under the cart now seemed to be somewhat less protected. Rearing to stand on its hind paws represented nothing more than getting a better look at the source, and the gnawing teeth were simply made more visible by that movement. That was all.
Two of Rarity's tail curls came apart.
"Nightmares?"
"Several," Rarity tensely said. "It's looking at me, Pinkie. It is looking at —"
"— hasn't Luna been —"
"— now and then. But there are more dreams than mine. She only has so much time for me, and... with the rats, she has encouraged me to spend more time at the cottage. To see those who are somewhat more tame, and remember that a friend stands ready to discourage any who might be wild."
Not that Fluttershy was in Manehattan with them.
"To face your fears," Pinkie offered. "She's said that to me a few times."
"Yes. Well, I am not certain Luna understands that facing one's fears can mean experiencing that much more fear. And with other dreams..."
She dropped the subject. Why would she do that?
Why is she here?
"She visited one of the other nightmares," Rarity carefully tried. "The one where I said the wrong thing, or nothing at all, and so destroyed everything. And she did not tell me to face my fears, or provide advice gained from centuries of life." Watching those softer blue eyes, with occasional checks of the mane. "She simply said... that if I ever found a way of resolving that particular theme in my nightscape, I was to let her know immediately. Because when it came to that kind of dream, she very much wished to stop having it."
And Pinkie said nothing. Her eyes were bright, fur and mane retained their hues... but she was silent.
"I imagine the scale is somewhat different," Rarity made herself continue. "My words are wrong, and we die. Hers are ill-chosen, and nations fall. But we have that fear in common, and it is something I had not considered. We have so much in common, more than I had ever suspected —"
It emerged as a whisper.
"— I have nightmares."
(At the edge of Rarity's vision, the rat made a decision, scrambled for one of the inner gaps and ran along the lower edge, heading for safety. It didn't seem important.)
"Ever since the castle." Barely audible, tones muted when fur was not. "Since Trotter's Falls. I have nightmares, and Luna comes to them when she can, but... it's something where facing fears doesn't work. Because the fear is in the real world, it might happen one day, and when it does... that's the real nightmare, Rarity. It's something Luna doesn't have an answer for, any more than she can fix things for you."
Since the castle. Since she learned what she was...
Something new in the world. A question asked for the first time in history, and so no ready answers could be found.
"About being —" and this time, her gaze moved to Pinkie's ears.
It shamed her, and did so immediately. But there was a certain pattern of twitches which manifested when eavesdroppers might be about, and any discussion of —
"— no. It's not about being a hybrid." With the ghost of a smile, "I've always been weird, Rarity: it's not like I didn't know. After the shock wore off, after Applejack pulled me back... most of what finding out did was explain the why, and just about all of the how. It even made some things... go away. Because there's that part of you which envies Twilight, which gets jealous, and I understand that because I'm deaf, Rarity, deaf and mute, and that's how I'm going to be for the rest of my life. How you feel about Twilight, watching her... that's how I felt about Applejack. For years. Because there was music I could never hear, words I'll never sing, and there she was. She could do all of it. And she was my friend, my oldest friend in Ponyville, she tried to teach me and when that didn't work, she just didn't do much in front of me because she didn't want to hurt me... but knowing that's why she tried not to do much, that still hurt, Rarity. And... I was jealous. Because Applejack was normal and I wasn't."
"But you did hear." It was almost a protest. "When we were chasing them, when she screamed..."
"It took a scream," Pinkie quietly pointed out. "The loudest scream imaginable, just for me to hear a single note. But I did hear it, Rarity. It was..."
The blue eyes hadn't truly changed. They were still the same, somewhere under the welling moisture.
"...it was beautiful. I'd waited my whole life to hear that, I'd tried, I'd strained, I prayed to everything there was, and I never heard it until she screamed. It was one second, a second which nearly knocked Applejack out because of how loud it was and for me... it was one second where I was — almost normal. But that's all it was, all it could ever be. One second. And when I go to Canterlot, when I visit her..."
She was shivering now, and doing so from so much more than the chill of a too-cold autumn night. It made Rarity's next move into something which came from instinct, and the tears were absorbed by a purple mane.
"...I haven't asked her to do anything, where I can hear it." Pinkie whispered. "I'm afraid to. Because I could spend the rest of my life chasing that feeling, and I can't. Because I'm me, and I have to accept that. That feeling normal for one second, if it's all you want to feel, makes every other moment feel wrong. And that's still not the nightmare, Rarity, that I might try for it anyway. It's..."
She stopped. And Rarity searched for words, the words which would make everything better, but they were in a strange city, each was all the other had and the words wouldn't come —
"— there is nothing you can say," Rarity told her friend, "which will make me stop caring about you."
Pink fur was ruffled by the chill breeze. The thick-curled tail twitched. And Pinkie backed up slightly on the ramp, tilted her body left, resumed pulling the cart, something which made Rarity jump back because she had to get out of the way before she was hit, but also because the words had been the wrong ones, somehow wrong and Pinkie was walking away from her, everything receding...
"Pinkie!" And in that moment of nightmare incarnate, she knew even that would only harm —
"It's level up ahead," the baker softly said. "Maybe we should finish this where neither us can slide. And I haven't really looked at the view. I think we should do that too. Okay?"
There were lights twinkling above them, while others shone steadily below. A tapestry of life, where every speck of illumination represented either the dream of stars or what Rarity was expecting to be fully exorbitant rent.
They had both hooked their forelegs over the edge of the gap. Looking out over the city, allowing the cold to saturate their lungs. Breath fogged as it emerged, briefly warmed the fur around their snouts.
"It's about —" and the hesitation from Pinkie, a near-perfect memory momentarily struggling to retrieve a name, could only mean one thing. Or rather, one pony. "— Quiet. Something he said. It started with him."
It was getting easier for all of them. (Regularly reviewing written notes helped.) It was possible that some of the hesitation came from the last lingering thaums of that insidious talent. Or it might have been that even for Pinkie, there were those she simply didn't wish to remember.
"So not the search," Rarity asked. The palace was still looking for the former Lord, and it was hard to believe that the hunt might not go on for a lifetime. "And not the chance that he might seek revenge."
"He won't." There was a patient sort of confidence in those words. "It's not the sort of pony he is. Coordinator would have, but..." The pink head briefly dipped.
Not our fault. Not her fault. Nopony's fault but his own.
But it was still a death, and that had weight.
"Do you remember Quiet introducing us? At the party?"
The answering nod required a few seconds. "Most of it, I think." The crowd's collective shock upon hearing Applejack's title occupied the majority of retained impressions, especially as Rarity hadn't been any more ready for it than they.
"'The Healing Of Harmony'," Pinkie carefully quoted. "That's how he introduced me. You were the Gift, but... I was Healing. And Applejack said it to me, in the cell. That without me, we couldn't heal. Because the missions are scary, Rarity. We can giggle at the ghostly when we're out there, but... when we get home, the ghostly comes back, and it's harder to think of the giggles. We do scary stuff all the time, we learn horrible things, and... it stays with us. Quiet made me think about that. How it's not just seeing how silly things are while they're happening." The smile was quick, but sincere. "Honestly, mixed-up ponies? There's a thousand jokes right there! I just haven't been making any because there isn't much of an audience. And besides —" the smile got wider "— isn't it picking on a minority? But as part of that minority, I might be allowed to make fun of it! Me. When nopony else can, or can without getting yelled at. The rules are kind of silly there."
Rarity waited, because knowing about words also meant knowing something about silence.
"So this is my nightmare," Pinkie quietly told her, staring out at the lights which emerged from different kinds of magic. "There's been a mission. Something bad, something where we're all hurting. It doesn't really matter what the mission was, and that doesn't make it into the dream most of the time anyway. But we're usually near the maze. Discord's maze, or the place we were when it all came back down. You remember?"
I don't want to —
"Yes."
"Most of the nightmares are there, even when he isn't," the baker softly went on. "Because of the colors, I think. Because that's where you were all dimmed. Whatever the mission was, it was so bad that you're fading, everypony is fading. Every color, everywhere. Even Sun is turning grey, and I know, I just know that if it keeps going, it's all going to be the same shade. It'll all just — blend together. And once it's all the same, everything everywhere... I'll never find any of you again. I'll just be —"
This shiver had nothing to do with the cold.
"— alone."
Autophobia.
Rarity adjusted her position, pressed white fur against pink, and so the trembling passed through her as well.
"And I know I have to do something," Pinkie whispered. "So I try to say something funny. Do something that'll make you all laugh. But nothing works. Nopony will look at me. Your ears droop, or flatten against your heads so you won't have to listen. Or you're looking right at me, but the jokes don't mean anything, you don't understand anything I'm doing, and you just keep getting dimmer and dimmer, the grey washes over the whole world and it hits everything except me. Because if I faded too, at least I'd be with you. I wouldn't know, but... we'd all be lost together. But the grey won't take me. It just leaves me alone, because that way I have to remember and..."
She stopped again, looked out across the city. And Rarity knew.
"The same nightmare," the designer softly said. "That words fail us, that everything we do goes wrong, and we'll be the ones who end it. Different means of manifestation, but... at the core, the same."
Pinkie nodded.
"It's funny," the baker decided. "Not funny ha-ha. Funny-weird. That we're all so different, but we still have things we share, even when we wouldn't expect it. We share a nightmare. And I didn't know what to say, when you told me. I didn't know how to make you feel better, what might make you laugh. So then I was living my nightmare, and you were living yours, and..."
She sighed. The little cloud dispersed into the huge sky.
"We're alike," Pinkie concluded. "You and I. Exactly alike, for this one thing. And that's funny."
The heavier body pressed against the smaller one, which welcomed it.
They stayed like that for a while.
"Has Luna seen your nightmare? That exact one? I realize what you said earlier, but there could have been others..."
"Yes. She said... she understands. That all of us have our fears, and they're things which come from how we see our roles. That she's walked through those fears before. But she said all we can do is face them in the real world, and try to remember that we haven't failed. That if we remember what waking is like... maybe we won't be afraid to dream."
All of us.
Five more sets of nightmares. What was Twilight dreaming of? Rainbow? Spike? And Fluttershy's fears, that could take moons to narrow down. With Applejack, all she theoretically had to do was ask, but the farmer could always refuse to answer and (justifiably) considered such attempts to turn Honesty against her as the height of rudeness.
"Why did you come to Manehattan, Pinkie?"
A single word, and a completely sincere one. "Bagels."
"...bagels."
"The bakery's closed for renovation, so I had some time off. And with you going to Manehattan, I thought I'd check out their bagels. Did you know they were invented here? Which is kind of weird, because I'm pretty sure donuts came first, and a bagel is just a donut made out of bread. Dense bread. So that shouldn't have taken too long to think of. But there's something about the hole, because you know that perfect crisp bit you get on the edges of toast when it's done just right? With the hole in the bagel, that part goes all the way around! And through. So I wanted to look at that, how it works when it's made by the originals. And I was sort of thinking that if you sliced a bagel up like a loaf of bread before you baked, you could have the crisps just about all over! But then I started thinking that you could take that too far and wind up with this hard stuff. Too much crisp. And maybe you could sprinkle garlic powder and sesame seeds on that and call it a snack. But then I thought I was being stupid, so I should just go back to basic bagels again."
"...bagels," Rarity said during the brief interlude created by Pinkie's next breath, because it seemed to bear repeating.
"Yeah! And you were going to be in a strange city by yourself for four whole days, so I thought you might need somepony you could talk to. Especially if sales were slow, because sometimes you get really tense when that happens. And if you could complain to me, you wouldn't take it out on the buyers. So I thought this was the best place to be, because you might really need a laugh."
Rarity giggled.
"You're presuming we make it through four days." A joke of her own, and that it was a dark one didn't make it any less funny.
Quickly, "It's not like you're on a streak! You've only been banned from — one show? Two? How many is it? I remember what you've told me about, but I don't know how much you've told me —"
"Any second." Rarity managed a light shrug, and allowed the rest of her personal jest to emerge. "At any second, there could be a flash of fire, and ponies fleeing my booth because they have no idea what it represents. And then the escort arrives, takes us to the gatehouse because we're needed, we're all needed and they can't do it without us, my booth sits empty and buyers gossip about the one who couldn't even be bothered to stay long enough to finish her failure. A mission can come at any moment, Pinkie, and... it's made me somewhat reluctant to book trade shows. The palace would refund my lost bits. But nothing replaces the time."
Among the seven, Pinkie was the closest thing to an empath. The one who best understood emotional thought, who could put herself in the perspective of those for whom feeling drove the mind's cart. It meant she understood more than most suspected. It could also find her voicing the question which nopony else would.
"Do you hate being a Bearer?"
Rarity turned just enough to look directly at her, blue on blue. Felt her own ears go up and back, her tail moving to press against her left flank, and quietly withdraw from the gap. Pulling back until all four hooves (which still felt like too many) were on level ground and after a moment, Pinkie followed her.
This time, Rarity sat down voluntarily, and her friend followed suit. Both of them regarded the empty cart.
"There have been times," Rarity slowly said, "when I have wondered about what I have missed. If the Closed sign goes up on the Boutique's door one minute before the perfect customer arrives. The one whose connections would spread the word of my designs to the highest levels. The one who sighs and trots away, never to return. Less time for sketching, manufacture, dreaming, Pinkie: less time for dreams, and more for nightmares. On the darkest of nights, I wonder... if it were not for Twilight and all that came after, if I had remained free to follow the call of my mark at all times... where would I be? Might there be Boutiques in multiple settled zones? Perhaps I would live in Canterlot, or even Manehattan. My designs on the covers of the trade magazines, the largest room in the Center. I think about that, and... it gives me something upon which I can place blame. I have not achieved my dreams because I am a Bearer. Surely that is where the fault lies..."
There were times when Rarity had seen each Element as a coin. Something with an opposing face. For her part, she was Generosity, and so she also understood selfishness. Twilight, as Magic, so often longed for the control offered by a fully mundane life.
"It's not an answer."
Pinkie knew laughter, and so could be very serious indeed.
"For lonely hours and shadowed days," Rarity answered. "But not in every moment. When I am at my lowest... yes. There have been times when I've hated it, Pinkie. But... creating dresses is a secondary consideration to having a world where they can be worn, and living bodies to don them. So on the whole, one could argue that saving the world is —" the smile was a thin one, and no less true for that "— advancing my long-term prospects. I am not abandoning my friends, and I do not regret counting all of you as being among them. But the fact that I am spending so much time on a new road does not prevent me from wondering what might have been found on the old one. Allow me that much."
They were snuggling against each other. Rarity wasn't sure when or how that had happened.
"Do you feel better? For telling me?"
"Yes. Yourself?"
"A little."
Or how to make it stop.
"...bagels?"
"I like bagels."
Or whether it should.
The stable had been full all the way up, and now it was trying to repeat the feat on the way down.
"What happens if we just try to leave?" Pinkie asked, and winced a little as she did so: even with the padding, the hitch created a rather awkward kind of pressure on the downhill.
"I would imagine an exit gate," Rarity said. "And something which collects bits."
"But we wouldn't have parked the cart! We'd be paying for something which didn't happen!"
"We spent time within the structure and we would be removing the cart from it," Rarity sighed. "I suspect the owners collect a fair amount from that alone." She glanced at the fully (and poorly) occupied spaces to the left. "Did you know that they say Manehattan is so dense in shops and homes, that only the largest purchases require carts? That in theory, ponies can simply gain whatever they need within five square blocks and carry it home through multiple trips?"
"So why own a cart at all?" Pinkie's query felt reasonable. "You could just take deliveries on the big stuff."
Rarity thought about that.
"To prove you can afford to store one? And deliveries might be somewhat suspect. After all, those carts need to park. In the street. And I am now beginning to wonder what happens when ponies who move with their heads down encounter an obstacle they hadn't seen —"
"— wait!"
Pinkie's ears had just gone straight up. The curly tail moved up, then down, and finally slashed diagonal right.
"That," Rarity quickly said, "does not indicate somepony listening."
"No! It's somepony moving! And they're close! Rarity, I think somepony might be recovering their cart! We've been in here so long, maybe ponies are getting ready for the earliest part of the Solar shift! If we hurry, we might be at the space when it opens up...!"
She could have asked how many hours they'd been in the structure. Whether there was time for any beneficial amount of sleep at all. But it would have wasted too many seconds.
"Do you know where they are?"
"Below us! Hurry!"
It could be argued that they didn't really notice the rattle of the blue cart's wheels as it went around the corner in front of them, nor did they really get more than the most fleeting glimpse of the stallion's red tail. All they truly saw was the space.
"Quickly!" Rarity hissed, already hearing the phantom echoes of a thousand approaching hooves. "While it's still available!"
Pinkie frantically nodded, and what strength remained was channeled into a gallop, rushing down the slope, increased momentum going into a cart-tilting turn as she hurtled towards the vacancy —
— it could be argued that she was moving at the proper speed to stop in time and in fact, if she had been able to enter the space, there were sufficient body lengths available to safely halt before impacting the partial wall. However, ceasing all movement before hitting the glowing curve of sickly yellow which had just flashed into existence turned out to be impossible.
"OW!" Because there had been barely enough time for Pinkie to turn her head, and that was what saved her from a broken snout — but having the side go into the new shield wasn't much better and a split-second later, all the mass of the cart rammed into her hitched shoulders.
There was a cracking sound and much to Rarity's instant relief, it came from the hitch, with a distinct echo from the front axle.
"OW! What — why is there a —"
But the answer was already writing itself in the air, glowing letters burning a trail of purest rage into Rarity's heart.
This Space Is Reserved For Per-Moon Rentals. Do Not Attempt To Use This Space Without A Resident Tag.
And, after a pause which was exactly long enough for the plotting of three deaths:
Daily Spaces Are Located On The Upper Levels.
Rarity looked at those words. And then she kept looking at them, because numbers weren't the only things which had their own gravity.
"Are you all right?"
"...yeah. I'm just going to be really really sore later."
"Pinkie..." There was an odd hollowness to her voice, something she almost welcomed. "You were keeping count, I'm sure. How tall is this structure? In terms of ramp bends. We can call each of those one floor."
"Fifteen."
"Ah. Good. I thought that was the case. And in descending to reach this space, which floor are we currently occupying?"
The hollow notes seemed to be spreading. "The twelfth."
"So upper floors," Rarity logically considered, which was a fine thing to do before committing to a murder, "would indicate thirteen through fifteen. Because it is reasonable to expect that those who pay for per-moon rentals would be given the best spots, working up from the base, and therefore dailies would be above that. I can hardly perceive a situation where a long-term customer would need to climb this high unless all spots below them were taken. Filled from the base to this height, with residents alone..."
"You're assuming," Pinkie offered, now struggling back to her hooves.
"Which part?"
"That the top three floors are available at all." The words were oddly bitter. "Maybe there's like five spaces at the very end, and that's the dailies. The owners collect bits from ponies going around and around, waiting for a space to open, and everypony is just hoping for one of five carts to move. And then you give up, and you pay to get out, and you still have to park your cart..."
Rarity took a slow breath, then trotted forward and nudged Pinkie up.
"Did you see anything which would indicate which spaces were daily rentals? Even a different hue of paint on the lines marking them?"
"No. Did you feel any places which didn't have enchantments?"
"...no. But I was not actively attempting to sense anything."
They both considered their options.
"We could use one of the gaps to transfer to the up ramp," Rarity noted. "See where the flash-shield spells run out. That would let us know what we have to work with, as far as potential availability goes. And then we could... wait. For somepony to retrieve their cart."
"Or we could pay to leave," Pinkie added. "Find another stable. But then it would all start again, and there's only so many bits we should spend, Rarity: so many we can spend. And I heard something crack, I know I did. The cart may not go that far anyway."
The designer nodded.
"Or..." Rarity proposed.
They were trotting towards the Center, with Sun just beginning its arc. There had been barely enough time to stop at the hotel and verify their reservations before cleaning up (because those who had escaped from dungeons had earned the right to be clean), along with finding out just how much the honor bar was attempting to extort for wake-up juice.
"I'm still not sure that was a good idea," Pinkie eventually stated as she carefully shifted to the right, doing so just in time to avoid a head-lowered unicorn who really wasn't thinking about where their horn might be going. "It mean, it was fun! But a lot of things feel like fun when you're doing them. And then they don't after you stop. So maybe this is one of those."
"The cart," Rarity definitively declared, "is parked. So the matter is resolved. At any rate, the other options under serious discussion were to either simply abandon it or attempt to discover how much could have been jammed through the lowest gap. This was better."
"We parked in four spaces," Pinkie reminded her.
"Yes. Well, that was simple topology. The cart's volume, regardless of form, remained consistent. And so once disassembled via field and kicks, the pieces were scattered across four spaces. And as we pay for the parking and not the amount of area occupied — something I will be happy to remind the owners of, possibly via civil court summons..."
"I think we could have gotten it down to three spaces."
Rarity considered that. "And allow the pony who worked the original miracle any path of debris-free access? I think not."
"But what if we can't get it back together? Remembering the right order doesn't mean we can assemble it again, not safely. We could wind up with no brakes! Or less brakes. Or multiple breaks on top of the ones it already had..."
"It is my cart," Rarity shrugged. "If necessary, I will find a way of gaining a new one. Frankly, it was overdue. And as a last resort, I will simply mail everything home and bill that to the stable. So I believe we have just enough time for breakfast —"
"— are you going to be okay?"
It was a sincere question, and a serious one. Pinkie knew a lot about being serious.
Rarity smiled.
"Not every day," she honestly answered, because she had taken her own lessons from Applejack and so understood when not to lie. "There will be dark thoughts in bad times, Pinkie: there always are. But on the whole... yes. With some reminders, and a few well-timed laughs. Yourself?"
With a smile, "I think the dreams might be better."
They trotted along for a while, with the Center, and one more chance at a possible future, looming larger in Rarity's sight.
"It's still way too much to pay for parking, though," Pinkie decided.
"True," Rarity agreed. "But even with the potential cost of a new cart figured in, it was rather cheap for therapy. So. Shall we stop for a bagel?"