//------------------------------//
// 8: A Genuinely Beautiful Book 
// Story: Paper Girl 
// by leeroy_gIBZ 
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What a wonderful spa visit that was, lack of scantily clad teenage girls notwithstanding. Well, save of course for yours truly but I can hardly count myself in that sort of situation. A lady certainly ought to be proud of her appearance, yes, but she certainly need not to overly vain about it. Not to the point of Narcissus, anyhow.

Now I am at home, unfortunately. I can list the places I’d rather be on one hand – if that hand had approximately eight-thousand fingers, that is. The vacuum is blaring, the television is blaring, my sister’s phone call going on its second hour is also blaring. I cannot concentrate even when I am supposed to be relaxed in this place and the looming threat of homicidal big sisters is not one that helps my situation in the slightest.

No, not at all.

In fact, it is more prudent than ever that I acquire a hold of my counterpart. Presuming that she is nearly indistinguishable from myself, given that she effectively is me but born a horse, I’m sure Lightning Dash’s bloodlust could be quite well sated on her flesh instead of my own. Of course, this would necessitate me skipping town for a while but, then again, Lemon did invite me along for her Italian adventure and that excuse is as good as they come.

Once home, for that escapade must actually end some time in the next two months I suppose, then I could easily enough assume my counterpart’s identity and, oh, I don’t really know – simply call to extend my vacation in the human world for a while?

Yes, that sounds like a smashing plan. I think I deserve a little celebration, honestly. Leaning forward in my desk chair, I swiped the bottle of Windhoek off my desk and cracked it open with a nearby penknife. Messy, I am aware, but there was honestly no way in this earth that I was to march downstairs tonight with all the commotion going on. My mother might have the audacity to bother me about my day, after all.

And what a beer that is. Truly, an excellent showing and properly balanced in all relevant regards – not too sweet, not too wheaty, not too bitter and not dark either – perfect. I took another sip and reclined. I can win this. I know I can.

Now if only I had a cigar on hand, then this lonesome evening might not be as unpleasant as I feared it may be…

However, I had forgotten to pilfer any of those in my haste to depart the Flare Manor before any aggrieved girlfriends got at me. So, I did the next best thing. I put on a record, Kamelot tonight, and turned up the player until the orchestral crescendos and the over-the-top darkly fantastical lyrics and strumming electrics managed to muffle out the suburban murmur the rest of the house produced.

Truly, I can win.

It was about then that my phone chimed and it did not, in fact, chime the girlfriend chime. Both Sunny and Twilight I had muted earlier today, lest either of them tried to break my concentration with some or other vicious, and likely truthful, insult or barrage of questioning.

No, it was Lyra. What an… interesting surprise.

Heartstrings, Lyra – 20:14

·      Hey Rares

·      I’m super sorry abt today actually. Spa sounded really fun tbh.

·      But I had to do the rehearsal. You’ll be pretty happy to know we managed to boot Bonnie and not me tho. Viva la Lyra!

·      So yea, can we reschedule that or smthn? Next week?

I suppose a response may be in order. Probably best not to ghost to the person I’m trying to seduce. Playing hard to get only really works with the hopelessly infatuated anyhow – and that sort of person tends to send you three hundred texts from her homemade arm gadgets the second you show a mere hint of infidelity. Really! How outdated.

·      Yours Truly: Of course, Darling! It was really no matter at all.

·      Lyra: Awesome. You wanna get coffee sometime then too? Twilight told me about this neat Arab place. Bit of a drive but she says the tea’s worth it.

·      Yours Truly: Hmm. I can’t say that Twilight has exactly the best taste in restaurants. Perhaps Café du Sade instead, downtown? They do the most wonderful Irish Coffees. How does tomorrow sound then?

·      Lyra: Yea. I can probably fit that in aftr polo practice.

·      Yours Truly: Smashing! Let’s make a date of it!

·      Lyra: Date? wdym

·      Yours Truly: A date, Darling. You know, with romance and the like. I’ll bring the flowers.

·      Lyra: Uhh.

Some minutes past before the next reply. I took another sip of the beer. Tremendous, honestly. I must really figure out how to import this tasty beverage.

I do hope I haven’t said something wrong though. But what could I have said? Lyra is fond of me, clearly, and I feel little different as to her. Neither of us are currently engaged in another relationship and we get along well enough as is, both being musically talented and reasonably cultured individuals. So, what could I have said?

Heartstrings, Lyra – 20:37

·      Lyra: Aren’t you dating Twilight tho?

·      Yours Truly: Of course not, Darling. That’d be cheating if I were. We broke up last week, in fact. Just differing personalities and all. She liked one set of things and I liked another.

·      Lyra: K. Sry to hear that.

·      Yours truly: Well then, since we’ve cleared that up, what say you? Café du Sade, tomorrow, brunch at 10?

·      Lyra: No offense but not if its like a date date. tbh don’t really want any romance for a while after the fight w Bonnie. Kinda need to get my grades up too.

Ah. Alright then. Be that way.

My hand clenched itself around the phone. For a few seconds, I grasped it but then I realized something: sans Twlight, sans Sunny, and now sans Lyra, nobody was going to buy me a new one if this one ended up shattered after I cast it at a wall. I sighed, and dropped it back down upon the desk.

·      Lyra: Yea. Your really great and all Rares. Super nice and not exactly bad looking either but it really is a “me problem” this time here. Seriously, I’m not looking for any romantic stuff rn even if its w you.

·      Lyra: So like can we just stay friends then? Best friends obviously but not like BEST FRIENDS best friends?

·      Lyra: Thx for understanding. Still up for coffee if you wanna do that. Irish sounds awesome. Didn’t knew they grew coffee there.

I hissed in a breath.

How dare she?

Honestly, the ungratefulness of that one sends shivers through my skin – and not the good shivers either. Such… indecency. Here unto her I extend a hand offering to show all the pleasures the world has to offer, from passionate love to Louboutin heels and from ballroom dances to top shelf bars of every liqueur with its proverbial salt and she dares refuse me? Gah! I have a mind to kill her too!

If she refuses so utterly to be of any use to me whatsoever, damn her then. What difference should it make if her corpse winds up bundled into the trunk of some police cruiser atop that of a moralizing busybody and an immoral busboy then, ah? No. It makes not a hair of difference in the metaphorical salon that is this wretched world then. She is dead to me already – why should she not be dead to the world?

I arose. Still with the beer bottle in hand, I walked over to the record player and tore its plug by the cable from the socket. The guitar solo screeched to a halt. The lip of the bottle met mine.

Now the drink stank. It stank of poor memories and feckless women. I could not drink such swill. With a scream, I tossed it like an alcoholic stick grenade at the skull of a nearby mannequin. Both shattered and the hops stained the carpet beneath like yellow-brown blood.

Good riddance, you ungrateful horsefucker!





I haven’t the faintest when I passed out last night but I am confident that I must have done so later than the usual time I turn in, any midnight… ah… jaunting notwithstanding. I know this because I feel dreadfully tired this morning and murderously bothered to boot – the sun is blasting through the curtains like some science-fiction laser gun and the racket of some inane argument is already caterwauling downstairs. Add in the sounds of construction, oddly enough, and I was rendered awake not exactly upon the right side of the bed.

For a number of seconds, I tossed and turned on the mattress and tried in vain to find an angle; surely there was some nest-like combination of blanket, quilt, and pillow that could sufficiently muffle the noise and the light and, too, the heat. After a few futile minutes, I decided that such a combination was non-existent given the dismally low thread count of the bedclothes and the painfully shrill bickering emanating from below. One of the voices was my mother’s and the other was also a woman’s but not I could place her off hand.

Climbing out of bed, only then did I noticed that I was still clad in yesterday’s outfit: An oversized tracksuit jacket, that dreadful black and neon green rag hanging down to my knees, as well as a pair of jeans that were ripped, not from any cunning design, but from mere age and neglect. Disgusting – it all still faintly stank of cat.

I groaned in disgust. What is my life coming to, honestly? What is it these days that I go around clad in somebody else’s filth and tackiness? Truly, it would be a pitiful thing if were in the business of pitying anything. But I am not. No lady should be at all.

Over to a wardrobe I strode and I selected a new outfit. Knowing a conversation with Sunset was to be in order today – today was, after all, the day of the week reserved for the us Rainboom’s dreadful rehearsals – I picked out something with a fraction more edge to it than my usual collection. Sunset always did like that in an outfit and I am nothing if not dressed for the occasion. One set of coal black riding boots with silver scorpion buckles, one crimson miniskirt, and one white-sequined halter top later and I was back to my usual radiance, shining with an aura more recognizable that that of a solar eclipse. Add a mildly battered patent leather jacket and the appropriate set of suitably spiked and angled jewellery and I was ready to kill.

Metaphorically, hopefully.

Actually – wait. Ah! There we are. A set of fingerless gloves. There, now I can murder with impunity.

Yes, yes. I dabbled in Punk a while back. Sue me. Let’s see if you can carry off a ballgown after your mentally disabled hairdresser mistakes a pixie cut for an undercut and renders you a smidge more butch than you planned on being… ever.

Still, I was a musician. And a damn attractive one at that. I had more rights than anyone else alive to turn heads and if I needed to be dressed like a vampire to do so, then so be it.

And turn heads I did, venturing downstairs to borrow the car and steal a cup of coffee, black of course, and coming face to face with none other than Bon-Bon, the frumpy chocolatier and former pianist of Heavy Metal Ümlat herself. Why exactly she was in my house was a mystery but I suspect the rather bulky harp she was attempting to coerce through the doorway despite my mother’s objections that it would scratch the floorboards may have had something to do with it.

The object was still in its case, fortunately. Unfortunately, it was wedged between the floor and the top of the doorway with such a vigour that I scarcely imagine how it got there in the first place save for the cunning – and subtle – removal and subsequent replacement of about a foot cubic of wall. Bon-Bon was trying to put it through a place where it logically could not fit with nothing more than a brutish sense of determination and a void in her mind where her sense of physics and generally decency ought to be.

It was, after all, eleven in the morning. Far too early for this nonsense, in my correct opinion.

Still, an involuntary whistle escaped her lips upon spotting me. She stopped struggling with the instrument’s stand and turned. I blew her a kiss.

“Good morning, all,” I announced, “and what I pleasant surprise to see you here, Darling,” I said, fluttering a hand in Bon-Bon’s direction.

“Ah! Rarity. Thank goodness you’re here! Can you please explain to your mom that you did actually ask me to bring this harp over? Because, like, there’s no way I am putting it back in my truck without your dad to help me lift it. And he’s gone off to work and left me with the unsympathetic parent.”

My mother, standing beside the girl with crossed arms and a foul glare, raised an eyebrow. “Is she right about this?”

I looked at Bon-Bon. She was built like a footballer – the soccer kind, with a certain bandyness to her that I found deeply unappealing. “I suppose it must be,” I said, “in fact, I am well impressed that you got it so far as to jam in the front door of my house.”

Bon-Bon winced. “Yeah. Sorry. But you really did say that you wanted it, right? That you would pay for it?”

A noise somewhere between a gulp and a cough-muffled curse emerged from my mother’s mouth. “Pay for it?” she asked.

Ah, yes. That is right. I had originally promised the girl that I’d take it off her hands for her at no less than full market value. Drat.

“Nonsense!” I insisted, “You must have misheard me.”

“I’m pretty confident you said you’d pay for it. It’s a Serrana 34. It costs three thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars I’d kind of like to have today since, you know, I sure ain’t getting paid by my band anymore because they kicked me from said band just before going on tour in fucking Europe,” Bon-Bon said, smiling like the only other realistic option was to screech like a baboon, “and now I’ve got a car to pay off and no way of meeting the damn payments.”

I looked at my mother. Cookie looked at me. Lining her face was not merely the crow’s feet of middle age but also the stress of an idealistic housewife whose idealism had been crushed right out of her by the alcoholic and gambling-addict baboon she had foolishly chosen to marry. Oh, if only she had married my dreadful father’s brother instead – then I could be somewhere exotic right now, like Bali or Male, sipping a cocktail and not having to negotiate my way out of parting with a painfully large sum of money.

If only I still had access to Twilight’s credit card.

Sidling over to her, I whispered, “You are aware of the bet, right? The one Hondo lost?”

“Yes,” she hissed back, “it was going to be Sweetie’s birthday present! And that’s tomorrow and we haven’t got anything.”

“Don’t fret, Mother, I have a plan.”

I turned back to Bon-Bon. “Alright, Darling. Here is my best and my only offer. Look down at the floorboards, would you? Then do so for the doorframe itself. Tell me what you see?”

Bon-Bon did as requested. And gulped.

“Rather scratched, aren’t they? And you must know how expensive woodworkers are these days. Oh, to replace all this genuine birch panelling would cost a positive fortune. Yet you, Darling,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder and digging my nails deep, “have the sheer audacity to come here and demand money from us. From me. Let me clarify that, since you seem to be a little… thick this morning. You have vandalized my property. I could have you thrown out right now and the harp you have wedged in the doorway would, thusly, be rendered mine.”

“Shit,” Bon-Bon so charmingly muttered, “I am sooooo sorry.”

“As you should be, Darling. It will take at least a good thousand to fix up the mess you’ve created here today, not mention the hours of sleep I lost over the racket you were causing transporting this fucking thing over here in the first place. However, I am a lady and I am generous one at that. Leave now and I shan’t press charges.”

Her eyes went wider than fists. Oh, how I enjoy the gullible. “You-you c-could do that?” she stuttered.

“Yes. I could. But, if you surrender the harp and make like lettuce and leave, I shall not. Now begone.”

And gone she became, scampering back through a gap in the door to her pickup truck and hopping in like the wild dogs of Tartarus were nipping at her heels. The vehicle sped off the slice of sidewalk it had parked upon with a dreadful screech and a cloud of upturned dust. Once that had settled, I turned back to my mother.

“Behold,” I said, gesturing to the harp, “Sweetie’s birthday present.”

Her jaw landed on the floorboards. Oddly enough, it managed to miss all the furrows carved in by the harp.

“And, if you would be so kind as to lend me the car keys, I have a date to keep. With destiny, mind you. Not with any dreadful boys.”

Five minutes later I was on the road. Half an hour later and I had pulled up at the high school, parked the car and had sashayed over to the music room, where my bandmates awaited. Where Twilight awaited my resignation.

Walking through the musty school halls, I was again reminded as to exactly how dreary this place was. Honestly, no public school can possibly impress if it has the deep and eternal misfortune of being located on the American continent. The discipline is non-existent, the culture is blasé at best, and the cultural facilities are woefully underfunded. The so-called music so-called room was truly little more than a souped-up janitorial closet with a few outdated guitars in it.

And speaking of instruments, outdated or otherwise, I realized that, in my haste to leave the house, I had actually forgotten my keytar at home. No matter, I shan’t be playing it today anyhow and I am confident that, once I clear up the small matter of Lightning Dust wanting nothing more than to rip of my arms and bludgeon me to death with the wet ends, Vinyl will be more than willing to provide me with a new keyboard with which to tap upon. Perhaps Bon-Bon will even let me borrow hers?

Steeling my nerves, I took a deep breath. And I was just about to knock on the door too when Applejack wrenched it open and tugged me inside like one might manhandle a rowdy hog.

“Well ain’t it about time you got here, Rarity! We’ve been waiting for an hour half now,” announced the farm girl, before I slapped her hands off me.

“I am a lady, not a swine,” I reminded her.

She raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that gotta do with the price of milk or the time of day?”

I glared at her. Then, for good measure, I glared at the rest of the Rainbooms present – that being Twilight, Sunset, Fluttershy. Presumably, Pinkie was still incarcerated and Rainbow was still recovering from her last skateboarding accident.

Dangerous career skateboarding.

“Precisely more than you think, Darling,” I said.

“You might be a lady but I’d sure still appreciate you turning up on time. We can’t exactly, you know, rehearse with only four bandmates, if hadn’t noticed,” Sunset said from her perch atop the room’s piano.

“Well, I’m afraid you may have to from now on,” I said, “You see, I’m quitting the band.”

Before anyone could voice an opinion, I had then another idea. If I was going to leave, I might as well toss an additional wrench into whatever Sunset’s and Twilight’s plans where. Starting over to where Fluttershy was seated and currently trying to blend in with the peeling wallpaper, I continued, “You see, Fluttershy and I are quitting the band. Terribly sorry to have to break the news like this but, oh well, better it broken now than before your next concert.”

“Wait! We are?” the girl screamed, springing to her feet.

“Yes, Darling, we are.”

“Now hold just a second here,” Applejack said said.

“No, go on,” Twilight ordered, smiling smugly, “By all means, go on.”

“Then I shall. I suppose an explanation is in order, after all,” I sighed and Fluttershy turned the colour of stale milk, “You see, I have been planning to leave for a while. I’m sure you are all well aware that this whole affair was certainly nothing permanent for me. I am destined for greater things.”

“Hey! Things are plenty great here!” Applejack retorted.

“For you, maybe. But for people who weren’t raised in a barn and thus possess actual aspirations past working the same pointless job your parents did while you slowly waste away under the baggage of having to care for three ungrateful brats, a high school pop band doesn’t exactly satisfy. The same can obviously be said for Fluttershy here.”

She balked. “It can?”

“Yes, Darling. Haven’t you been positively swamped by work lately? Those poor desperate kittens cannot possibly manage on their own and now, especially since dear Sugarcoat is, alas, deceased, somebody really ought to pick up that slack.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I guess that’s right. We sort of are short on labour right now. Especially with the budget cuts and all.”

“Yeah, can we hold on a second and ideally go to the point in the conversation where Sugarcoat is supposed to be dead?” Sunset asked.

“I do suppose ‘dead’ is somewhat of a misnomer. In addition to a dreadfully ugly word. But she is missing and, knowing the crime rates in this part of the world,” I shot a glance over at an expectant Twilight, “it seriously unlikely that they’ll ever recover her or her body. A dreadful shame, honestly.”

“Yeah but that still ain’t the way that works. From personal experience, somebody’s gotta be missing for way more than a week before the cops start declaring them dead now,” Applejack added, “Besides, the rest of us girls already do put in hours at the animal shelter. Putting in a few more wouldn’t be that much of a deal, right?”

A chorus of murmurs rolled itself about the room.

“As much I’d like to, I’ve got my hands full with projects as is. Non-Euclidian space isn’t going to invert itself, you know,” said Twilight.

“And I’m kind of obliged to help out Trixie and Wallflower with the gardening club as is. That and the yearbook club needs help editing the articles and I promised the prom committee I’d lend a hand there and the biking club needs a coach and the…” Sunset looked down at her fingers for aid in counting the rest of her inane activities. About a minute later, she was done listing them.

“I see,” frowned Applejack, “and y’all, Rarity? Why can’t you help out and keep both of y’all in the band?”

“Oh, I’d love to, Darling, but I’m terribly afraid I’m allergic to dogs.”

“I saw you play with Spike plenty of times,” Twilight said.

I looked at her. “Ah, I’m sorry, Darling, I thought you’d side with me here on this.”

Twilight glared back. “Why’d I ever do that?”

“Because you two are, you know… girlfriends?” Sunset asked.

“We are not!” both of us declared.

“Since when?” Sunset pried.

“That’s doesn’t matter,” Twilight lied. “But she’s right. Spaniels are hypoallergenic and I do think it’s a good idea for Rarity, if she wants to, which she does, to leave the band. I can easily program a robot to play keytar until we her replacement and if Fluttershy wants to go too, well, programming a robot to wave around a tambourine isn’t the hardest thing in the world either.”

Sunset folded her arms and stood up, looking more confused than somebody whose police car just went missing must look. “Why are you supporting them here?”

“Why can’t I?” Twilight retorted.

Sunset opened her mouth. Before she could think of anything to say, Twilight continued. “I’m my own person and I’m entitled to an opinion. If Rarity doesn’t want to be here, I don’t see why we should make her stay. And if Fluttershy feels obliged to help out more, I’d say she should. After all, I think that conservation is a little more important than bland and uninspired popular music we produce which, come to think of it, doesn’t really seem to be that popular at all nowadays. She and I can still be friends, anyway. Its not like anyone’s moving country or anything.”

Huh. I take it back. Twilight growing a backbone isn’t entirely a detriment to my existence. Then again, if she never attempted to stand up for herself, I wouldn’t be in this particular mess in the first place.

“Why thank you, Dar-Twilight,” I said.

“It’s the least I can do,” she replied.

Our guitarist, lead singer, and token aristocratic unicorn wizard from another plane of existence put her face in her hands. “Fine,” she growled. “Go ahead and leave.”

“And leave we shall, Darlings. As enjoyable this partnership has been, all things, good or otherwise, must end sooner or later I suppose. Don’t feel the need to fret, I’m positive we’ll still see you all in school and around the town. No need this little breakup should stop us being friends. We’ve gone through worse.”

From beneath those adorably kitsch spectacles of hers, Twilight raised an eyebrow.

“If you wish to remain friends, that is. I can certainly see how our departure might ruffle a few feathers,” I said, taking Fluttershy’s arm and leading her out of the room before anyone, namely her, could protest any further.

Once a sufficient way out of earshot – us being seated in another unlocked classroom a few rooms down the halls, I released her. By now, she was shaking and one of her eyes had developed the most unattractive twitch. From my handbag – today that was an Ed Hardy model with a rather daring sequined skull on it – I handed the girl my handkerchief. Promptly she thanked me and dabbed at her eyes with it.

“You ought to be a little more grateful than that, Darling.”

“I thanked you already,” Fluttershy mumbled.

“Oh, not about the handkerchief at all, Fluttershy. I mean all the free time you now have on your hands.”

She sniffled a bit. “But I liked being in the band.”

“Did you honestly?”

“Well… sort of. Hanging out with the girls was fun, I guess. But the music could get a bit loud.”

“Precisely.”

Let that be a lesson to you, Fluttershy, you gorgeous pink-haired mope. Do not disrupt my plans. I wanted to go to the spa with somebody and you made that quite impossible. As such, I have proverbially nuked you career and carved a rift between you and your closest friends. A lesson indeed, ah?

“And I do suppose I can come to Brazil now after all,” Fluttershy went on, “Now that Sunset’s not wanting to make me stay here forever.”

“Exactly, Darling. Think of the opportunities. Of all the doors opened unto you now. Why! You could go anywhere. Imagine, the world is your oyster now.”

“But I’m allergic to shellfish. And I’m a vegan,” she replied.

“Then let it be… your ah… whatever vegans eat. Let it be that. And do enjoy it, will you? Sunset will no doubt be furious with me and I certainly do not want my support for you and your aspirations to be in vain now. Neither should you.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I guess. I mean, we’re still tracking down all the cats that escaped yesterday. Oh, the poor dears must be so scared. Being lost and all alone in this nasty world. Doesn’t that just make your heart cry, Rarity?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“And what happened to Sugarcoat too! Are you sure that she’s dead?”

Well, I do hope so. Having a witness to my various misdeeds would not exactly be ideal.

“I cannot say that I am,” I lied, “but, I honestly fear that may be the case. She’s a resourceful girl, if nothing else. I’m sure that, if she could figure out a way to get out of, oh, wherever she is, she must’ve done it by now.”

Again, Fluttershy nodded, her candyfloss pink hair curling down around her golden yellow shoulders. She dabbed at those heavily-lashed eyes of hers with a tartan handkerchief gently held by the slenderest and daintiest of fingers. Her nails shone and her face sparkled. In this noonday light seeping through the half-drawn curtains, all of her sparkled. How charming she was.

What a shame though her persuasions leaned so indubitably to the masculine side of the population. How bothersome indeed.

Still, I thought as I took her face in my hands, oh how silken her skin was, one kiss couldn’t hurt that much. Not when I was planning to fake my own death come next week anyhow.

“Darling,” I whispered to her.

“Ye-yeah?” she mumbled, utterly lost.

“Do not fret. We can manage. People as utterly gorgeous as you and I simply cannot fail in this world.”

She started. I cut her off with the kiss. Soft, quick, a hint of tongue. Taste of blood orange. And, before she could do anything but blink and think about fainting, I stood up, collected my things, and left the room. Behind me the door was shut to block out the sounds of her pounding heart.

Then I left the school, planning quite simply to head home, fix myself a martini, and call Sunset that evening to discuss my plans to invite over my equine counterpart for a brief holiday. Perhaps, if the mood struck me, I might even finish that kaftan and, if a very different mood struck me – one I have never personally experienced before, that being remorse – I might even get hold of Sunny and explain unto her why I had to so quickly disappear yesterday morning.

And once that all had been completed, I do suppose a message to a certain Miss Lemon Zest might also be in order. After all, I am technically a pianist and she technically is in need of one. I’m certain that I can sort of the Other Rarity before she and her friends head off for Rome come next month.

And no doubt Lyra would be a little more open to a relationship if I just so happened to be one of those marvellous magnificent unicorns she so desperately, and disturbingly, admired.

Alas those plans were delayed slightly upon my arrival at my borrowed car. No, it had not been keyed or otherwise defaced. Unless you count the placement of a certain Sunset Shimmer upon its hood to be any sort of besmirching of it at all. Considering that it was a silver four-wheel drive Toyota Hilux with multiple bumper stickers on it, I do not count her as that in any sense of the word. If she weren’t a jackass, pardon the French, she’d be rather fetching.

However, she did not look pleased at all, let alone fetching. The sledgehammer whose head she was clapping against her palm was proof enough of that and her vicious glare was only the icing on that proverbial cake.

“Rarity Belle,” she hissed, “What have you done now?”

I placed a hand over my heart and feigned ignorance. “Me? Whatever did I do, yes! I haven’t the faintest what I did if the appropriate response if climb upon my car and threaten to smash it to dust!”

“Oh, this?” she said, raising the hammer, “MC here is just for intimidation purposes, honestly.”

“Well consider me intimidated!”

“Well consider that not really a proper answer to my question.”

“Which was again, Darling?” I asked, rummaging in my bag for my taser. One never could be too careful around her sort.

“We can start with why Twilight suddenly hates you.”

“I suppose we could, yes,” I replied – where was that little bug-zapper, ah? Surely it must be in here somewhere.

“Okay. Spill. What did you do this time?”

“Just a second, Darling, I need to fetch something.” Come on! I didn’t lose it, did I?

“Looking for this?” Sunset said, producing the taser, my taser, from a pocket of her jacket, “Judging by your expression, I’m guess you are. Probably should’ve emptied that bag before giving it back.”

I sighed. “You have that brute of a hammer. I felt obliged to respond in kind, Darling.”

“Sure. Sure, you did. Yeah.”

“Yes, indeed. Now why Twilight hates me? Why not simply ask her, exactly? No need to involve me in this now.”

“You see, I did. And she didn’t explain so I figured it must’ve been really bad, whatever you did. All she really told me was about the bag and that your stuff was in it.”

Sunset narrowed her eyes. I wonder if she’s realized that I can see up her skirt from this angle yet? Her grip tightened on the hammer’s handle and her face transfigured itself into a murderous frown.

“I know you, Rarity. I know what you’re capable of. So, let me repeat this one last time. What did you do?”

“We had a fight, that’s all. I’m it’ll warm your icy little heart to know that I lost quite soundly. A truce was reached and, in it, I agreed to leave her alone. In her understanding of the world, that meant quitting the band and changing classes. Opportunity knocked and I decided to stick up for Fluttershy on the way out. Does that all answer your question or would you appreciate a play-by-play of the whole event with yours truly acting the voices?”

“No, that works just fine. I’m glad she finally figured out that you were no good, Rarity. Because it sure took her a while. And I believed in you too. I thought, if I could change, so could you. Except, you never changed. If anything, you just got worse.”

“And you evidence to this is where, exactly?”

“Let me see, shall I? You’re a pathological liar and a kleptomaniac, for starters. You also think manners and composure are a replacement for an actual working conscience and, oh yeah, you cheated on Twilight with Sunny Flare. Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose. Then whatever was the point of trying to extort an answer out of me if you already knew it? And how do you know the last part?”

Sunset hopped off the bonnet of the car. She walked the few steps over to where I stood. For a brief moment, I felt deeply worried that she was going to beat me with the sledgehammer. But then she tossed that aside and, quite neatly, poked me in the chest, just below my neck.

“She posted it on Instagram. But anyway, I wanted you to admit it, that you did wrong. I wanted you to tell me why you’d do that.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Clearly. I don’t.”

It then occurred to me that I could still probably spin this conversation into getting what I wanted. That being an excuse to get my alternate self to come to this world so I could give her to Lightning Dust like one throws table scraps to a rabid dog that they’ve perpetually got chained in the backyard of their mind. Not the best metaphor, I know, but it gets the job done. Rabid indeed.

I sighed. “Very well. I suppose I owe you that much after the numerous scrapes you’ve helped me through.”

“I’m not in the habit of asking for payment because I’m a good person and all but yeah, you do actually, yeah. So, start explaining, please.”

“You try living in a world where, no matter what you do, you are always in somebody else’s shadow. No matter how intelligent you are, millions are smarter. No matter how rich you are, millions are wealthier. No matter how beautiful you are, millions are still more popular than you will ever be. You feel powerless. You feel useless. You feel like there is always somebody better than you.”

“Go on,” Sunset commanded.

Not ladylike in the slightest to take orders, I am well aware, but a little faux pas is infinitely preferable to getting tasered. If only Sugarcoat realized that and kept her mouth shut, ah? I sighed again for good measure, then went on, “And because you can never be the best, you give up on trying to be decent at all. You’re just some poser in a swanky outfit. Of course, you act out from time to time then. At the end of the day, you rationalize, it doesn’t matter. You’re mediocre. Somebody has invariably committed worse, so why should anyone care about what you do?”

“Keep talking.”

“That’s why I’m like this, Sunset. That’s why I am,” and Chanel forgive me for uttering this, “a failure of person. I never had any support growing up, not when everything around me was so happy to settle for average and so I gave up on trying to be the hero. I was content being the villain because I knew that there’d always be somebody more villainous than me. At worst, I’d just be the town newspaper’s headline for a week and then I’d be old news. That’s why I do what I do. Why shouldn’t I?” I explained, “So no, I don’t think you’ll care. Nobody else does. And you, the Queen of Canterlot High, the Saviour of the Universe, the Darling of the World, certainly won’t. Because you know that I am right.”

Sunset stopped starting to do whatever she was going to do. I don’t know whether that was beneficial or not. I do sincerely hope she believed the lie though – after all, I’m like this because of a legitimate medical condition, not because of some inane tragic backstory or poor parental support and crippling insecurity or whatever.

But then Sunset’s stern façade broke. To my surprise, she drew me into a hug. A real one too, with plenty of bone crushing and back patting and just a little sniffling.

“Rarity,” she said, “Of course I know that feels like. Of course, I care. That happened to me!”

Hook, line, and sinker. I win.

“Then, whatever do suggest I do? How did you change.”

“It’s really simple, Rarity,” Sunset smiled, “I found a Friend.”

“A friend?”

“A Friend. Not just somebody you get along well with but somebody who’ll catch you when you fall. Somebody who’ll pick you up and make you improve. Somebody who cares.”

“Ah,” I feigned awe, “and who was that for you? Princess Twilight?”

“Of course. She helped to pick my life up. To save the world. To reconcile with my version of Celestia, who did sort of happen to be my mother, the princess, and the principal all rolled into one. And I’ll be grateful forever because she did that.”

“How inspiring that must be.”

“It is.”

“But I cannot simply conjure the proverbial kick in the pants required right now. I don’t have anyone like that. All of got is you girls and we both know that can’t last, Sunset… What do I do?”

Putting her hand on her chin and starting to pace back and forth a little, Sunset began to think, hard. I could nearly see the steam billowing from her ears and the gears grinding in her brain was positively audible. And, unlike most other people who attempt thought, Sunset was actually intelligent enough to get somewhere with it. I just hope she arrives at the same conclusions that I arrived at a few days ago.

“Princess Twilight,” she said.

Pardon my French but bollocks. Wrong pony.

“She’ll know what to do. I’ll send her a message,” Sunset said.

“Wait. Why don’t I do that? I know how the book works and whatnot. And it is my life we’re talking about here. I want to improve and, now that you’ve shown me the first step of how to do that, let me. Let me send her the message and explain everything, okay?”

Sunset nodded, pausing her pace. “Are you sure about that?”

“We’ve met, Darling. Before you and she did, I believe. I’m more than confident that she’d be willing to extend a hand, or a hoof, for an old friend in need. And I also confident I can explain my life story better than you can.”

“Alright. You’ve convinced me,” the girl replied, turning on her heels and picking up the hammer.

Once for effect, she slapped it against her open hand. “I’m trusting you for this. Screw this up, get anyone hurt, or lie to me and I’m not going to be forgiving. And neither will MC here.”

“I understand. This is not my first rodeo, Darling. But lets both hope that it’ll be my last, ah?”

Instead of replying, Sunset crossed the parking lot over to where her motorbike was parked. After strapping the sledgehammer to its side, she clicked open a compartment and removed from it an antique and illuminated journal. That she returned to hand to me. The book felt heavy in my hands, like its history had an actual weight to it.

I felt almost flattered to play my part in it again. Before this last week, my life was getting ever so dull. I almost enjoyed risking my life to fight magical demons and cybernetic morons. Almost.

“Take good care of it. Please.”

“I shall. No point in harming such a beautiful book.”

“It could be a school textbook and I’d say the exact same thing,” Sunset said, arms crossed.

“How glad you’ll be to know that I have no intent of treating it like one on then, Darling. So thank you kindly but, if that is all, I really must get going,” I replied.

“Alright then. I’ll guess I’ll see you… when I see you.”

“I should suspect that we’ll again once school starts, if not before that. I’m confident that our dear friend the Princess will jump at the excuse to pay us a visit again.”

A few minutes later, the journal tucked safely within my handbag, I realized something. Lightning Dust was, in fact, in town.

No, I greatly doubt that she was in town because of her dearly departed – come to think of it, she probably is unaware Shamrock Kicks is even deceased. However, that may change. If it does, I really ought to dispose of that car and the evidence within it sooner rather than later; while I still possess a chance to do so.

Admittedly, it was quite the drive. However, my mother’s car can move quite quickly when one puts the pedal to the metal and it, to my relief, still had in its radio the mixtape Octavia had given me some years back. Understandable, given that she only listens to the classic rock station and my dear sister owns a pair of earphones – those I’d bought her to save me the pain of being continually exposed to Kpop.

As the 4x4 growled down the highway, I flicked on the radio. First to play was some of her band’s earlier work, back when they were more noise and unbridled enthusiasm than actual musical talent. Still, if they are getting good enough to possess actual brand recognition amongst their target market, myself included, I suppose a recording of their first few demos might go for a fair bit someday. Hopefully. I’m not in the business of spectating anyhow – that’s more Sunny’s region of the world than mine and may it her region of the world stay.

Just as the second song began to repeat for the first time, the abandoned diner reared into view on the horizon, the afternoon sun behind it shadowing the decaying building in a vaguely-menacing skull with its pair of shattered windows for eyes and door ajar for mouth. I pulled the Toyota alongside it and got out.

Peeking around the corner of the old establishment, I spotted the car.

Good! I was getting a bit worried there that Shining Armor may have tracked it down and repossessed it. But that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Perhaps that nonsense Sugarcoat was spewing about these things having tracking devices was just that – nonsense to prove her contrived point, whatever it was I have forgotten.

I started over to it. The stinking miasma encircling it was quite far from blood orange scented lip gloss. Quite far indeed. Still, this had to be done. The wind had the courtesy to change then and so I sucked in a breath of fresher air and held it before proceeding to the driver’s seat itself. On the way I could’ve sworn that the trunk was ajar slightly.

But that would be ridiculous. Shamrock is dead and Sugarcoat should be too if the way she dinged her skull on the car’s bumper was anything to go by. It must be my nerves playing up, or a trick of the light, or maybe my own forgetfulness – I don’t recall actually locking the car, come to think of it.

Yes, a simple mistake. I slammed the trunk shut, picked up a nearby stone and entered the car. There, still just as I had left them, were the keys in the ignition. I gave them a turn and the cruiser growled to life like rabid dog poked awake with a unicorn horn. The rock was placed firmly on the accelerator and I jumped back just in time to watch the vehicle roar off the cliffside and into the ravine below with the most wondrous of crunches.

I propped a gander over the edge once the dust, and my heart, and had settled. There, some hundred yards below, was the totalled ruin of the police cruiser. Panels were beat, glass was shattered, and a single wheel rolled uselessly in the air as gasoline slowly leaked from the upturned undercarriage of the dead car.

Doing what I could only do given that sight, I reached into my bag and retrieved a lighter. Only once I’d flicked to life a wavering red-gold flame did I realize that a lone Zippo probably wasn’t going to cut it. Not alone anyway. There was very little fuel left in the car and, well, the fire might need a hand.

I peered around the deserted space. What I saw was just rocks and sand, graffitied walls and peeling posters from an election decades past. None of it seemed to be particularly flammable or particularly practical to obtain. Then my gaze just so happened to drift down to my handbag – and the journal within.

Princess Twilight wouldn’t mind, right? Besides, Rarity Belle, Human Edition, would likely be deceased quite soon. There was no risk to a little vandalism. Not of the earliest pages anyhow.

Out I tugged a handful of inane correspondence and to the proverbial torch I put it. The flames embraced the gilded edges of the paper as it was the passionate of lovers. Soon I held at my fingertips a crackling torch of a fire. How charmingly it floated down, almost lazily downwards drifting back and forth on idle wind currents, to the blackened steel below.

It bit the gas tank with a bang.

Dust settled again. I brushed it off my face and outfit and headed back for my mother’s car. It was done. Disposed of was the evidence and mine was the victory.

The perfect crime, I daresay. All that’s left now is to steal an identity and cement my winnings with an impervious alibi. After all, beauty is a Rarity in this world – and there can only be one of her.