It’s the next morning now and, come to think of it, things have not really been going well lately.
I am talking, of course, about the little matter of that dress I commissioned to sew about… oh, two months ago. Never having brought that specific dress up until now, one would rightly make the deduction that I wasn’t particularly concerned with its completion– after all, Cheerilee had paid in advance.
What a stupid woman. But then again, she is a Literature teacher.
Anyhow, I bring up this particular dress because I had planned to convince Sunny to do the work for me and to basically sew the entire thing while I enjoyed the contents of a bottle of Remy Martin. Now I doubt that it would turn out exactly as planned or for that matter, as requested, especially not given her irritating habit of trying to apply computer parts to otherwise tolerable pieces of fashion, but editing somebody else’s work and subsequently taking full credit for it is far easier than actually assembling that bloody kaftan yourself.
And why this all matters now is because Sunny refused to make the dress. Well, she didn’t say that she wouldn’t make but I gathered from the fact that she… now what is the right word for that? Ah, yes, convinced. She convinced me out of her house in such a manner that it would be tremendously unlikely in future that she should ever to talk to me again, let alone collaborate on a project of this magnitude – or lack thereof. It is only a kaftan, do keep that in mind.
Needless to say, I tried to defend myself. A proper lady, after all, simply must rise to any challenge made upon her honour. Even if she is guilty. No, especially if she is guilty.
At the end of the day, if she is proved a thief, and an adulteress at that, what other despicable things might she be guilty of?
Murder, for starts.
Not particularly wanting to try my luck the night prior to this morning at clearing my good name, a morning that I am now I am spending moping scheming meditating over a cup of black coffee in everyone’s favourite Maghrebi restaurant, the Casablanca Café – yes, I know it’s a faux pas to dine twice in two days at the same establishment but I’m sure you can forgive me – anyhow, I slept in a guest bedroom that night. Oh, how far the mighty have fallen, I’m well aware. At least it wasn’t the couch.
Namely as that was still downstairs, floating in the pond along with the garbage bag of Fleur’s makeup.
Having finished off that bottle of Amarula for dinner, I was quite of out the running by the time Sunny arrived home in what I can only presume was the direst of straits and the most baffled of conniptions.
And having drunk two thirds a bottle of cream liqueur made my awakening the next morning far ruder than even Sunny herself had planned it to be. To paint the picture here, she barged in at some ungodly hour, before noon probably, and nigh dragged me out of bed insisting that we have a conversation our relationship that very instant.
Being a little woozy still, I promptly fell out of bed.
Sunny did what she should’ve done from the start – that is, gasp and take a step back and let me pick myself up alone.
That I did and, brushing the dirt off of my lingerie, and shot her a look that, alas, could not kill. If it could, my technical girlfriend would be splattered like a spilled pot of cherry-scented mincemeat across the walls, floor and ceiling of the suite. However, death glares are not currently a skill within my repertoire so Sunny merely took another step back.
My gaze unceasing, because I truly am not a morning person, Sunny took an additional step back and then tripped over the empty Amarula bottle and hit the tiles with a rather hearty thump that was not entirely dissimilar to the sound a garbage bag stuffed with somebody else’s makeup does after you toss it from out a fourth-storey window and into a bed of lilies.
Thump, indeed.
It was then that I was presented with a proverbial fork in the road; a pair of rather bothersome choices, if you will. The first involved glassing somebody because she knew, she obviously knew, and stuffing the corpse in the trunk of a certain police car stashed away behind an abandoned roadside diner. The second, which I took, involved sucking up my pride for once and actually apologizing to my girlfriend.
Good grief, I actually did what Cadance asked for. Well, I apologized to the other girlfriend, but I do suppose such a sentiment must count for something in the greater scheme of things certain people refer to as “Karma”, right?
I knelt down and extended a hand.
Sunny proceeded to take it.
Opportunity proceeded to knock.
Rarity Belle, fashionista extraordinaire, answered.
“I am so sorry, Darling. I really should have put that away. You aren’t injured, are you?”
Her expression a grimace was somewhere between a frown and an incredibly nervous smile; it looked about as good on her as her clothes usually did, which is to say I dramatically preferred looking at her without it. In hindsight, the whole grimacing thing did a lot of sense, considering what she proceeded to tell me.
Considering what Twilight had told her it made libraries of sense.
Still, Sunny took me hand and I helped her up. Gone was the ferocity of earlier, gone was the anger of a woman scorned, gone was the insistence of talking anything and everything over right now. And in its place was a rather frightened little girl who had just realized that she had shat the proverbial bed, pardon the French.
Blushing the red colour of fire, she rubbed the back of her head – more out of embarrassment at first and then, likely, to make the bump stop hurting.
“Well, Dearie,” she chuckled nervously, “that did not go to plan.”
“Clearly it didn’t,” I agreed, slipping on a dressing gown before sitting down on the bed. “Might I ask, but what was this whole plan?”
Sunny gulped. Her eyes crossed the room, from one nightstand to the other and over the silken sheets, before finally settling on me, draped in a luxuriously soft Egyptian cotton crimson dressing gown.
“I ah… um… well, you see,” she began.
“Terribly sorry, but I can’t honestly say that I do. Oh! This isn’t about last night, is it?”
The change was immediate. Sunny clicked her tongue, nodding sharply. “Yeah. It actually is. Twi-”
“I feared you would come to inquire about that, Darling,” I cut her off. “But honestly, could you please do in future in a more… polite manner? I fear you’ve given me a bruise.”
Sunny stared at me. To further my point, I tapped my nose. And, to my surprise, it had hurt a lot more than I had intended it to. Judging from my reflection in the open wardrobe’s mirror, it fortunately wasn’t broken or bleeding or anything of that dreadful sort but it would certainly leave a bruise.
Beauty is a rarity in this world, after all. And I cannot exactly be beautiful with some gaudy raspberry-red wound atop my nose.
Sunny stopped staring. “Twilight said the same thing. Well, her dad did anyway. Nice guy actually. Really knows his stock market.”
“Again, pardon my apprehensiveness but what the damn does this have to do with that conversation you wished to have?”
“This is that conversation, Rarity.”
“Ah… Go on?”
“You hit her.”
“And you, Darling,” I arose, taking her by the arm, “must’ve fallen a little harder than I thought.”
She tore her arm back. And then, the gall of that dreadful person, she slapped me with it!
It echoed.
Now that really was going to leave a bruise.
Needless to say, I decided to be very dramatic, sniffing back crocodile tears and the like. Then Sunny cut me off.
“I know what I heard! Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“Then stop being the kind of idiot who beats people!”
“You hit her first!”
“And?” I retorted, “Your father hit me. That fucking!swine broke my hand, Sunny.”
To my surprise, she took a step forward. “Don’t call my dad a pig.”
“What else am I supposed to call such a brute? If anything, pig is too good for the likes of him!” I said, rubbing my cheek – partially because it really did sting an awful lot but mostly to emphasise the fact that she hit me just like he did.
“Too good? Ha! Like you’d know about ‘too good’ at all, you… um, you pyscho!” she spat.
“Darling, watch your tone.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
If there’s one thing I know, it would be etiquette and fashion. No, if there are two things I know, it would be etiquette and fashion and knowing how to play fools like a deck of cards. If there are three things I know, this is turning into a Monty Python reference faster than one can’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.
Moving on.
“Very well. I shan’t,” I sighed. “But I shall kindly ask you that we each take a minute to calm down and collect our thoughts. If you would be so kind as to let me freshen up a bit first, I will gladly explain everything and answer all your questions after that, preferably over a cup of good strong tea. It’s either that or we continue having a screaming match in your girlfriend’s bedroom.”
With that, I crossed my arms and raised any eyebrow. Peculiarly, I learned that manoeuvre from no fashion magazine – I learned it from my mother. Her major employ of the technique is to get my father to feed the cat, mow the lawn, or take out the trash.
And right now, there was some very unwelcome trash in this room, yes indeed. To no surprise, the trick works on women too. Sunny folded like I’d stack those cards into a house and then blown it down with a single, wolfish breath.
In fact, Sunny deflated like a punctured zeppelin. However, she did not go blustering out the room as all the hot air escaped her. She merely sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Go take a shower. I’ll be waiting on the porch. And you can make your own tea.”
She slouched out the room after saying that.
And then, while letting the shower’s hot water run over me and wash away the stink of the tobacco and the car park and the alcohol and letting it numb away the inklings of one heck of a headache, I realized something: If anything, Sunny Flare is a bigger hypocrite than even I am.
After all, she is dating Fleur dis Lis. Or, at least, she thinks she is. After that whore finds out about our little affair, I’m fairly confident that Sunny will be tossed to the proverbial curb, just as she tried to do to me. I know now what you’ll say, namely as I’m talking to myself in a café right now – and you’ll bring up the fact that I’m cheating on my own actual girlfriend too. And I know that, I was there.
It was immensely enjoyable. If only it had been a little more sustainable than three days.
However, what colours Sunny in the wrong here is that has the stupidity to be genuinely angry about the affair. I could care less if Twilight took Sunset Shimmer and the whole football team behind my back and I only say that because I’d miffed that she didn’t invite me to this fantastical orgy too.
Caring about what your so-called significant so-called other does when unaccompanied is the one part of being ladylike that I abhor. I abhor it like a vacuum. I abhor it like nature itself abhors a vacuum – for whatever reason the environment personified would abhor one of those. Personally, I just do it because cleaning is beneath me.
So yes, I realized that. Then I realized something else, as I towelled myself off. Looking out the window, I spotted that the path leading through the manor’s grounds and out its premises is on the opposite side of the house itself to the porch. Admittedly, that would mean a hike through the three-day-old remains of a truly memorable party but that would also mean that I could just not talk to Sunny at all today and get my thoughts properly in order.
Something that sounded very tempting right now.
Of course, she would find out. But I then could have that encounter at my own leisure and not while hungover and with my only piece of defence being informing the person to whom I’m currently trying to endear myself that she’s a cheating slut.
Needless to say, my bag – a carry-on I’d appropriated from Fleur’s wardrobe and stuffed with the nicer stuff in said wardrobe – was packed within minutes, the rumpled nature of those dresses within be damned, I was making an escape.
Unfortunately, my Uber driver was none other than Discord himself.
To abbreviate a rather long and tiresome story – he insisted on telling me one about another of the women unfortunate enough to be his passengers who thought she woke up in some sort of post-apocalyptic hellscape populated by murderous cannibals and ex-girlfriends in equal regard – I eventually managed to arrive at the café and, before I could realize how stupid of an idea it was to go here instead of going home, I had ordered myself a cup of coffee.
To my surprise, it was on the house. I suppose that is where generosity gets one after all.
That coffee I drank. It was alright.
Then, because I was thirsty and rather tired, I ordered another.
What a mistake that was, because that cup of Arabica was not on the house. Only then did I realize that Twilight’s purse was empty. As was mine. And, as a matter of fact, my credit card has been overdrawn for the past three months.
Pardon my French but fuck me with a cactus, this really is bad. If I wasn’t sitting on a stool liable to tip over at any moment, I’d have considered fainting.
But I did not faint. Instead here I am sitting, realizing that I may have, in fact, finally bitten off a little more than could I chew.
It wasn’t the grand theft auto, it wasn’t the murder, it wasn’t even the affair or the assault that proceeded it. I was going to wind up in police custody because I’d drank one cup too many of black coffee.
There was a policeman, the same one as yesterday’s, seated by the door. Unlike most of his breed, he appeared to be fairly athletic and, like most of his breed, had his eyes locked on me. Well, he more so had his eyes locked on my rear end than anything else; curse these stools; but the point remained. Dining and subsequently dashing was no option whatsoever.
Sighing, I took another sip. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
Then my phone chimed.
It chimed the chime I have come to dread.
It chimed the girlfriend chime.
Sunny’s figured out my deception, hasn’t she? She blew up my phone the last time I skipped breakfast too – when I killed Sugarcoat – so it really ought to be no surprise that she’d do it this time when I commit an act she actually finds out about.
Against my better judgement, I checked it.
My sigh of relief was a hurricane when I saw that it came from an unknown number. I need of something to do anyway, I checked it.
Hello Rarity, this is Twilight Sparkle speaking/texting. We really need to talk.
Drat. And here I thought I’d won a million dollars in the Canadian National Lottery again.
Truly, I am out of my depth here. Really, I must convince Sunset Shimmer to introduce me to my more… equine self. Surely, surely, the Other Rarity must know what to do in a situation such as this. Considering that she’s about half a decade my senior and dramatically more successful in regards to be a fashionista extraordinaire, surely the she must have an answer to my plight.
I ignored the text and flicked my phone to the contacts list. But no, I wasn’t going to call Sunset right now. Talking to her about that requires a more stable constitution and far less frazzled state of mind. No, I called my father.
“Goooooood Morning. This is Hondo Flanks, sports journalist for the Canterlot Bugle.”
“Daddy!” I nearly shouted, “I made a mistake again!”
“Anyway, sorry to inform you but the game’s on. Call back either at half time or at full time, whatever comes first.”
Motherfucker! He’s not answering.
Literally, that motherfucker.
He’s watching the bloody basketball game, isn’t he? He’s planning another of his dreadfully insipid columns instead of helping me clear my name again, that feckless oaf.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to break another phone by casting it at the wall, not when I didn’t have a convenient significant other willing to replace it at a moment’s notice.
Still, I had to do something. I could call my mother. But that would likely result in her interrogating me about my newfound injuries – injuries to which the only explanation I currently have on hand is the truth, that being my mistress slapped me for finding out that she was just that, my mistress. No doubt my mother would be entirely unamused to find that one out – not when she still thinks that I’m some boy-crazy naïve little girl still playing dress up in her high heels and makeup. That shock to her system does not need to come today. Preferably, it need never come.
I could call a friend.
But I haven’t the faintest idea who I could call that would actually get me out of this, no questions asked.
I took another breath. I downed the remains of my coffee. The cup clacked a crack into the saucer.
Taking a risk, because they’ve tended to pay off lately, I called the unknown number and hoped for the best.
“Hello,” a vaguely familiar voice answered, “This is Night Light speaking. To whom am I talking to, exactly?”
Well, at least it is not an aggravatingly deceptive voicemail.
“Ah, yes. Good day, Sir.”
Wait. Night Light is about as fond of me as I am of Fleur dis Lis and I possess not a single doubt he’s been more than informed of my antics up until this point – those involving his children anyhow.
“I’m… Lyra Heartstrings, one of Twilight’s friends from school. I heard she lost her phone and I could reach her on this number.”
“You could, hypothetically. How did you find this number again, exactly? My daughter doesn’t tend to give it out like candy on Halloween, Miss Heartstrings.”
“Yes. About that. Well, you see… I ah… found her phone. She’d left it in the music room, probably after one of her band’s rehearsals. Like, she told me the password a while back and I thought I’d better tell her before school starts again that I uh, you know, found it.”
“Alright then. Thank you. I’ll pass the message onto her. Nice meeting you, Miss Heartstrings, but I’m afraid I’ve got a paper to work on.”
“Oh! Before you go, Sir? Why doesn’t she just come over and fetch it? I mean, I’m having a coffee at the Casablanca Café with a few friends right now and we actually kind of need to talk about some stuff anyway so that’d be pretty convenient.”
“What kind of stuff, exactly?”
Good grief, is this a bumbling science professor I’m talking to or is this some kind of elaborate sting operation by the local police force?
No, I shouldn’t complement those swine. This is far too believable for one of their plots. Besides, my parents do the same thing whenever somebody calls the landline – which Sunset infuriatingly does because she’s a talking horse from a world where technology just about stopped with the invention of hair curlers.
“Miss. Are you still there?” Night Light asked.
“Ah, yeah. Sorry. Bon-Bon wanted to ask me something.”
He sighed deeply. He sighed the sigh of tired man, of a somebody who really didn’t feel like being where he was right now.
“Sir, are… are you okay over there?”
“I’m fine. Just a migraine. That’s what happens if you spend all night with your eyes pressed against a telescope. I’ll check up with Twily and maybe let you in a minute or two.”
“Thank you ever so much, Sir!” I replied, attempted to imitate Lyra’s chipper attitude for what was hopefully the last time in a long time.
Then I waited.
The cop passed gas.
I waited some more.
The waitress, a different and less frumpy one, came by and offered more coffee and maybe some baklava, if she’d be so inclined. Obviously, I accepted. I was quite peckish, having stood up Sunny over last night’s dinner and all.
The coffee arrived and still I waited.
Only then did a certain and vaguely memorable Mercedes pull up outside the Casablanca Café and, from its passenger side, a certain and definitely memorable girlfriend emerged. Finally, Twilight was here. I was beginning to fear that this was just a sting operation after all.
“Rarity?” she asked, upon spotting me.
“Ah. Good morning, Darling. What a surprise to see you here.”
“Uh. Yeah? I could same the same for you, Rarity.”
“Well, what can I say, I am a citizen of the world. Besides, the tea here is simply to die for. Anyhow, I cannot keep you standing. Come along, sit down. I’m sure you’ve had quite the weekend and I’d love to hear all about it.”
Twilight took a seat on the stool across from me.
“You’re drinking coffee,” she noted.
“Ah. Yes. I am. Sunny let me try some of her tea. She’s left though.”
Twilight blinked. “You came here with Sunny Flare? That’s odd, I ran into her last night.”
“Ah. What a coincidence.”
“Dad figured Fleur had stood her up for dinner so he invited her to our table. Strange thing was that Fleur’s in Montreal right now. She told me she was going last time we played snooker actually.”
“Good grief, does everyone play snooker in this town but me?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
A shake of her head. Her adorable little head. Oh, how I am going to miss that between my legs. “No,” said Twilight, “just me, her, Moondancer, and Sugarcoat. Well, Sugarcoat missed today’s game.”
“Oh my, I hope the poor dear isn’t hurt.”
“Why would you think that? She might just be studying.”
“She’s punctual, Darling. Never misses a text. That and I know she’s passionate about the game.”
“She was thinking of quitting, actually.”
“Well, you see, we had discussed it quite a while ago. I’m sure that must’ve, well, changed.”
Twilight narrowed her eyes. Her marvellously bright eyes. Oh, how I am going to miss those undressing me from across the room. “Yeah. Something must’ve have changed.”
Time passed silently for a while. Awkward, I know, but I was dangerously close to shooting myself in the foot already with this conversation. Caution might be advised.
“Well, Darling, what bring you here?” I asked, clasping my hands atop the hardwood table.
“Lyra, believe it or not. She said she’d found my phone. She said she was here, actually. She called my dad to let him know. From the way he explained it, she sounded pretty nervous about something.”
“Ah. So,” come on Rarity, an excuse would be nice right now, “So, she did. How bizarre.”
“Have you seen her around, maybe?” Twilight asked, looking about the restaurant for a green girl in riding boots who was probably halfway across the city rehearsing/bickering in preparation for her Italian tour just as we speak.
“I cannot say that I have, no. But, since you’re here, why don’t we continue that conversation we were having earlier? In Shining Armor’s car, that one. I feel that we might have ended it on the proverbial wrong foot, so to speak.”
“Yeah.” Twilight mumbled, “that’s one way to say it.”
“I am honestly rather sorry for the way I’ve been acting, Darling. All things considered; I have been treating you abhorrently.”
Twilight’s hand went to her neck where, beneath her blouse and coat, I assume the bruise I gave her still sat.
“It’s nothing,” she lied. “But… yeah. We do need to talk now.”
“Well, whatever about then, Darling? If our little episode a fortnight back isn’t the issue, what is?”
Her lips pursed. Her lusciously full lips. Oh, how I would miss having those pressed against my own. She sucked in a breath. “Why do you have my handbag, for starters?”
Err.
“Ah. Yes. That. This. This charming Gucci handbag in the shape of a watermelon half. This handbag,” I said, placing it upon the table beside the empty coffee cup.
“Yeah. That handbag. My bag.”
“The bag I recommended for you, Darling. It brings out your eyes wonderfully. And your marvellous eyes really do deserve to be highlighted behind those… awfully clunky spectacles.”
Twilight took of her glasses and stared at them as best she could. One lens she wiped the dust off of with the tip of her coat. “I thought you liked my glasses?” she said, confused, hurt.
“I do, Darling. They… ah… frame your face rather well. But you see, your eyes are far more special than any piece of apparel could ever be. Far more special to me, at least,” I explained.
That’s bullshit and I know it. I would slit your throat where we sit right now for a pair of Swarovski crystal earrings, Twilight.
Still, the lie worked. She blushed, faintly. “Thanks, Rarity. I guess you always do know what to say.”
“Indeed, Darling. A lady always does. Now, about this bag?”
“My bag.”
“Yes, your bag. You see, Lyra was here. She was here and she ran into yours truly, who had just finished her breakfast with Sunny. We were discussing a collaboration on a dress, us sharing a passion for the art it was inevitable. Hence my little comment about the tea earlier, some of which I really do advise you order. It is positively delicious and it does wonders for stress and tension, Darling. Perhaps you ought to get your father a cup as well.”
She nodded. “I’ll make a note of that.”
“Excellent. So, anyhow, I ran into Lyra who had just polished off her call with your father. And we made a little small talk, as friends tend to do, about our respective bands and whatnot but then she gets the call. Apparently, she needs to rehearse with said band and both Vinyl and Lemon are prepared to tear her head off like praying mantis might if she doesn’t turn up this instant!”
“That doesn’t really like the Lemon I know. And isn’t Vinyl mute?”
“Well, Lyra was probably exaggerating a just little. But you know how Sunset gets when we’re late, right Darling?”
A tentative nod. Technically, I was correct. Sunset has a cadenza every time I’m tardy. The fact that Twilight also happens to usually be with me because we usually happen to be… ah… enjoying each-other’s company beforehand is irrelevant. She is perpetually angry with yours truly, unfortunately. But she wouldn’t dare point a single word at Twilight, not when she reminds Sunset so painfully of a certain princess and not when she nearly burst into tears the last time that fiery-haired she-demon attempted to do so.
“Anyhow,” I continued with a smile, “Lyra rushed off to go and placate her raving bandmates and, since she trusts me, she left your things here and left that whole explanation of why I’m here and she isn’t up to me lest she be later than she already was.”
A minute or so passed. The cop departed. Twilight ordered herself some tea. I ordered another Americano and then I returned to her wordlessly her bag, her phone and purse within it.
Then Twilight spoke. And what she said, with a perfectly straight face – narrow lips, intense eyes, stiffened-up head – shook me to the very core of my soul.
If I have a soul, the jury is still out on that one.
“Nice try, Rarity.”
I did what any self-respecting lady would do in my position; that being choke a little on my coffee.
Twilight continued, “But I’m smarter than that.”
“Ah. Pardon?”
She sat up a little, her face glowing with equal parts pride and the barely-restrained anger of betrayal. “I’m Twilight Sparkle. I have a degree. I’m smart enough to know when you’re lying to me.”
Honestly, you think you’re that smart? You seriously aren’t. I’ve been playing you for months, you pretty little moron.
“Darling, ladies do not lie.”
“Then, logically, you are not anything close to a lady. Because that story you just told me was complete nonsense. In fact, I am offended that you thought I was a stupid enough to fall for that!”
A whisper was heard from behind the counter. One waitress pulled over another, frumpier waitress. “Check it out, Aisha. The lesbians are fighting,” she whispered loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.
Both Twilight and I shot the pair of eavesdropping Moroccans a glare that, if looks could kill, would. Then Twilight turned her glare to me, rummaged in her skirt pocket for a wad of notes, slapped enough of them plus a generous tip on the table and grabbed with one hand me and the other hand her bag.
“I think you’re right. We should have this conversation in a car,” Twilight said, tugging me to my feet. She was surprisingly strong – it must be all that snooker because it certainly isn’t the astrophysics,
“Isn’t your father in the car?” I hissed.
“He’ll get out,” Twilight promised and, just as promised, the two of us were seated in the car’s back seats not a minute later.
Alas, Twilight was no less furious.
I hope I don’t have to kill her.
There are so few properly attractive women in this world, it’d be a shame to deplete that precious supply more than the advent of fast food and social media already has.
“Now that we have some piece and quiet, let me continue.”
“And why ever would I do that?” I replied.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll press charges for,” and she began to count on her fingers,” let’s see: assault, theft, larceny and credit fraud. And, while I’m at it, am I missing anything?”
Yes.
But I didn’t say that. Like Twilight apparently is, I’m also sharper than I look. And dressed in a charming pinstripe skirt suit, I daresay that I look very sharp indeed. Murderously so.
“Very well,” I conceded, “like all great detectives you obviously want to tell the villain how you foiled them. So, have at it.”
Twilight smiled. “Gladly. Your first mistake was telling me you have Antisocial Personality Disorder. My knowledge of psychology not exactly being the best, I confused it with schizotypal personality disorder, or asociality for short. Hence why I didn’t suspect anything until I got to a medical dictionary.”
“Fair enough. That was rather foolish on my part, in hindsight.”
“Incredibly!” Twilight said, her eyes flashing with delight as she entered lecture mode. And this time I couldn’t simply tune her out, not with the threat of an arrest hanging over my head. “So, after figuring that out, a lot of other stuff started to make sense. Like why you hate Sunset so much.”
“Twilight, Darling, I don’t hate Sunset Shimmer.”
Her eyes stopped flashing. “One. I’m not your darling. Not anymore. Two, you absolutely do. And it makes sense as well. After all, why wouldn’t you dislike somebody who can actually change for the better and redeem themselves while you’re stuck like you are?”
“And I see you’ve discovered that my condition has no proven treatments.”
“That’s where reading medical research journals gets you! But more importantly, that’s also why you struggle to finish any projects and can’t actually play the piano that well despite having played it for eight years.”
“Nothing wrong with three cords and the truth, Dar-ah-Twilight.”
“Yeah, don’t start with that. Furthermore, it explains why you hit me better than any amount of workload-induced stress ever could. Because, again, you don’t really care about any of your work. You just care about having a good time and you managed to string me along for ten months pretending to love me.”
“I will concede that I may… have been somewhat deceptive.”
“S-s-somewhat?” Twilight’s eye twitched. She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. “I idolized you ever since we met and you broke my heart, you bitch!”
I take it back. I’d kill you for a swig of lager with a cigarette butt floating in it, no diamond earrings required.
“Well, that one really is your fault, Twilight. I can’t control the flow of love now. In fact, as you so kindly explained, I actually have markedly little to do with the act at all.”
“Yes. You don’t.”
“So, are you going to explain a mental condition to somebody who knows far more about it than you do, or are you going gloat about how you can now tell how I was lying?”
Twilight glared at me. “Fine. I knew you were lying, firstly because ‘Lyra’ mentioned that she found my phone, not my handbag. Secondly, I cancelled my credit card after my bag was stolen. Because you took it after you ran home.”
“Yes, that is how theft works.”
Wait. Wait just one second. She genuinely thinks I went home? That means… Sunny knows I’m cheating. Twilight doesn’t. Furthermore, she has no idea about the stolen car either.
Things might just not be as horrible as I presumed them to be.
“Don’t get smart with me, okay?” Twilight continued, “So, third thing now, that credit card was cancelled. But I get an alert than somebody’s been trying to use anyway. And would you look at this,” Twilight said, showing me the contents of her purse. There, alone save for a Magic: The Gathering playing card and a crumpled-up receipt, was her credit card. She grinned at me and it was a smug grin.
“Well played, Twilight.”
“Exactly. Your fourth mistake was trying to get around my dad by impersonating Lyra. Noticing that the call came from your number, I called her myself. It turns out she is actually rehearsing right now and has been for the past two hours. Who could imagine?”
“Oh.”
“Then it was pretty obvious to me that the rest of that story was obviously a lie. You stole my bag and my phone. You spent $500 dollars on buying who-knows-what two days ago. You are a liar, a thief, and the worst girlfriend I’ve ever had.”
“Darling-”
“I’m Twilight Sparkle to you now.”
“If you insist.”
“Oh, I definitely do.”
“Twilight Sparkle, I’m the only girlfriend I ever had.”
“Wrong! I dated Moondancer back in fifth grade.”
“Oh my, you really have thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“And you know what? I’ll forgive you too.”
What?
What the everdiscordant shit indeed? I’ve ruined her life and she’s just going to forgive me for it?
Maybe there is something to this Magic of Friendship, after all?
“That’s right. You can close your mouth now,” said Twilight. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
“And that would be?”
“You’ll get out of my life. If you do that, I won’t press charges. I won’t tell anyone else what you did. In fact, I’ll let you keep everything you tricked me into buying for you. It’ll all remind of you anyway if I bothered to take it back.”
Honestly, I’d expected a half-naked dance through the school halls dressed in a combination of an acid-pink Reebok tracksuit and barbeque sauce by this point in the conversation. But I do suppose that’ll be more Pinkie Pie’s area of expertise than Twilight’s.
I sighed.
“Its either that or I make you get out by telling my brother everything you did. Your choice, Rarity. Choose wisely.”
And like it was any choice at all, she made that offer. Of all her attributes, a lady’s reputation is her most important. With that, all doors become unlocked to her. She needn’t be savvy nor stunningly beautiful if she is viewed like a princess is and, right now, my reputation couldn’t stand another hit.
The mask had cracked enough already.
“Very well, Twilight Sparkle. I suppose this is goodbye then.”
“Not just yet,” she grabbed my hand again. “Let me explain. By getting out of my life before you cause any more damage, I want you gone. That means you leave the band, you change classes, and you never, ever, talk to me again after this conversation.”
Now that sounds like forgiveness to me.
Come to think of it, knowing my condition as well as I do, if that now sounds like forgiveness, it obviously can’t be. Well played, Twilight. Perhaps you are more ladylike than I thought.
“Any other requests, your highness?” I asked.
“Just one,” she smiled, as sweet as the stench of stale cherries, “Tell me what happened to my brother’s car?”
Something hit the pit of my stomach. It might’ve been my heart. If I weren’t already marble white, I would’ve grown a great deal more shades paler. I forced a breath into my lungs.
Then I remembered something: Beauty is a rarity in this world. And I owe this stupid, traitorous, dishonest world just enough to preserve what beauty there is left within its crushing confines. By that, I mean myself. Beauty is, after all, a Rarity.
And that Rarity is me.
“Twilight. I’m sorry to say this.”
“So, you literally aren’t.”
“No, I genuinely am this time. I did… not go straight home. Somebody stole that car. I don’t know who though. I just a glimpse of them before his partner pressed a gun to my head while he hotwired the car. By the time I he released me, it was running. The pair of thugs jumped in and sped off. I have no idea where they took it. I was so scared; I didn’t dare go back in the restaurant. Surely, you must understand that. I was honestly in no state to talk to Cadance like that. I could barely walk. Once I calmed down, I took a taxi home. There, I made an anonymous phone call reporting Shining Armor’s patrol car as missing.”
Twilight stared at me.
I stared back, with tears in my eyes.
“Fine. Now, get out. Now,” she ordered.
For once, I took that order.
Once I calmed down, I took a taxi home. There, I decided to make a few phone calls…