//------------------------------// // Chapter 01 // Story: Raremageddon // by Knight of the Raven //------------------------------// The colors on the fabric shifted again. Dimmed just a little bit more. She didn't know whether it was because the sun dipped lower in the sky—the natural order of things—or because exhaustion took another fee's worth of its toll—the not so natural order of things... although her near future seemed intent on making it so. Rarity sighed. No rest for the brave. And indeed, she'd developed a true wealth of bravery lately; more than she ever thought possible from herself. The returns of Nightmare Moon and then Discord, the surprise assault on Canterlot, the daring rescue of the Crystal Empire... and those were only the 'cream' of a very sour, thoroughly spoiled crop. No, that wasn't even counting the myriad perils that came merely from living in Ponyville. Strangely enough—insultingly enough, perhaps—very few of them had anything to do with the reason why the town had such a poor reputation throughout all of Equestria in the first place: the Everfree Forest. Most troubles came from her fellow ponies, instead. At this rate, setting up both camp and shop in those dreadful woods was going to pass as genuine vacation. Positive thoughts, Rarity, positive thoughts. This customer didn't ask for a dress soaked to the yarn in bitterness. None of them did. A small tingle up her horn and her glasses slid back up her snout. To think that she didn't need them when she first began working... was she naturally farsighted or had all this time spent hunched over her drawing board and sewing machine exacted its own fee on her eyes? She'd never seen her parents with glasses. Neither had Sweetie Belle shown any signs she needed any, for that matter; at least one thing to be thankful for. Rarity closed her eyes. The needle stopped and fell silent. She took a long breath. No, she certainly wasn't 'naturally farsighted.' She wouldn't have bitten more than she could chew if she was. Becoming a hero was what had propelled her works among the most coveted of all Equestria; surely she could—should—have capitalized some more on that same status to pick and choose a wiser pace. She gave an even longer sigh. Positive, Rarity. Positive. Carousel Boutique was now entirely quiet. She savored this silence, after so many hours working that needle. Breathed it in. Silence was good. Her back hurt a little less. Her hooves didn't shake so much now. The headache that seemed so ready to consume her whole pulled back instead; shaking its claw at her the whole time and promising to return tenfold, no doubt. Silence was good. Maybe she could finish this dress today, after all. The needle clattered on and on and on. The colors became more and more muted. Then, the fabric stopped moving with a sharp clack. Rarity jumped. The sound echoed in her head to the beat of her heart. She blinked, shook her head, blinked again. She was looking down at her work now, and found something strange. The colors didn't look so muted anymore. The echoes ended just as she understood, but her heart pounded harder. But giddily, this time—so very giddily. She'd finished the dress. She freed it from the sewing machine with all the care it deserved. Discarded her glasses and gave it the long, critical look it deserved. She mused whether she outdid herself or merely lived up to her standards—exacting ones, as all standards should be. But she couldn't tell; focusing on the details proved difficult, even without the blur that came every time she tilted her head. A whirl of magic and the dress found itself snugly fit to its allotted mannequin. Such nitpicking could wait. This order was as good as she'd promised, and for now that was enough. Especially when there were so many others left to do. It was only one order, true; but one sole gleam was all the more precious when she had no idea how long it'd take before she even saw the light at the end of the tunnel. And that gleam came with a surge of energy—she wanted to dance around the room, just to celebrate one less dress to make! But she resisted the siren song. Orders didn't complete themselves. So she simply walked back to her drawing board instead; with perhaps a little skip to her step, true. The world spun and spun and spun, and vanished. Oh, the moon must be truly magnificent tonight, without a single cloud to hide its silver glow. How could it be any other way, when she could see such a bright night sky outside her window? She had no idea how the drapes had ended up so off-center, though. They were practically horizontal; she'd find it impressive if that didn't ruin such a beautiful sight so readily. One drape at the top and the other at the bottom... and perfectly symmetrical as well, down to their tying ropes. Half-measures did never quite cut it for Opal when it came to her mischief. Hm... There was something off about all of this... She looked around. No, half-measures certainly didn't cut it for Opal; even the furniture had fallen to her games. Whoever had first claimed that pets resembled their owners was right about the both of them, at least. It was only appropriate that her cat had the same exacting standards as she did, now that she thought about it. But being on the wrong side—angle?—of cat's paws didn't rob this dress on the mannequin of any quality. On the contrary, it looked positively gorgeous, basking in the moonlight as it was... Rarity's eyes snapped open with a very distinct clack. She jumped back to her hooves. Ignored the shrill mreoooow! and the sharp claws digging into her coat as Opal was thrown off her haunch and landed... not important. She grasped around the door with her magic and, two toppled pictures and one ripped-off shelf later, finally found the switch. Light came back with the crackle of a thunderbolt. That switch was going to need replacing now, but she could worry about that later. Later, when she'd finished her orders. She scanned the room. What had she set out to do, again? Tuxedos five and eight were ready and so were dresses number seven, nine and ten, apparently. Opal was hanging from the top of the left drapes by the skin of her teeth... skin of her claws... keratin of her claws? Not important! She hadn't landed on any of the mannequins and that meant her orders were tear-free. And that was a good thing, because there would have been a free fur hat thrown in for whichever customer had their clothes damaged. She trotted about. What was she doing beforehand? Not getting headaches, that was for sure—she didn't have time for headaches. Or for getting dizzy, for that matter. Just one or two seconds spent leaning on that sturdy-looking blur should chase this pesky dizziness away. What was this blur, anyway? Hm. She squinted. There was something yellowish on it. And flat. It looked familiar... a sheet of paper, perhaps? Ah, probably her drawing board. Rarity blinked. Slowly. She was certain the motion echoed in her mind, somehow. She was on the stool by the next blink. She glared daggers at every inch in front of her until she found her pencil. Trapped under her scissors. What in the world had possessed her to put them there? She didn't have time for this! One burst of energy up her horn and the stupid things flew out of sight. Mrrreeeooooww! Everything inside her went cold. She snapped her head towards the screech. Opal stared balefully back at her—thankfully with both eyes—less than one foot away from the scissors sunk deep into the wall. She then stormed out of the room, hissing and spitting all the while. Rarity released her breath. Whatever warmth was left in her body seeped out with her sigh. She let her head fall onto the drawing board. It didn't even hurt, because that was very, very small fry compared to her pounding headache. "One good night's sleep," she said softly. "It will solve everything." It didn't solve anything. Rarity splashed some more water onto her face. This morning had started so well, too. Inspiration had struck. Her pencil had danced on the paper like a débutante with the stallion of her dreams on their first ball, then the design had just flown off the paper into a wondrous whole to the tune of her magic. She'd taken her richest burgundy for the dress; a full roll of velvet she'd purchased on a whim ages ago, so smitten had she been with its softness and vibrant shade. It had shamefully, shamefully gathered dust for months on end in a dark corner of her stocking room as she mused and wondered whether she'd made a mistake, but no more! Today was its time to shine. The cloth draped over the right shoulder, of course; "there's a right shoulder, and that's the right shoulder!" as the fashion designers said—this year, at any rate. It circled sleevelessly above the right foreleg and under the left one back to the withers. A lovely golden sash around the barrel, wing holes just beneath that, then the dress simply hugged the figure until the floor. Without restricting movement whatsoever, of course; this was a pegasus we were talking about here. The tail had all the room it could ask for as well, but not one inch more. No more monstrosities with trains so high they could look the pony behind you in the eye! Stars, what had she been thinking before the Gala? It was a miracle she didn't wake up in cold sweat over these dresses. And she'd made them for her best friends to boot! A night best left forgotten in every way, indeed. She couldn't help but be reminded of the pegasi of yore every time she looked at her creation. Just picturing it on a beautiful mare carried her away centuries into the past, during the glory days of ancient cities such as Trot, Rhodeos and Knossorse. No, it simply couldn't be denied; this dress was her best work of the year, a ravishing marvel that would set fire to all the runways of the fashion world... Oh, how she yearned to wear it herself. But even she couldn't make it shine as bright as it could. As much as she loved her wonderful coat, she felt—knew—that it'd take something livelier to exalt such splendor. A light, soft shade of blue, perhaps? She wasn't sure her hair was suitable either, gorgeous as it was. She couldn't put the tip of her hoof on which color would be best, however. She wasn't even certain that only one would do, come to think of it. But such musing could wait; this dress wasn't for her anyway. So she'd gone to her breakfast with a light heart and a lighter step—or had it been the other way round? She'd smiled at the sunrise as she finished her meal, and had been certain it'd smiled back. Then she'd strolled back into her bedroom only to realize the horrible truth. Nopony had made such an order. Ah, no, there was a red dress somewhere in her orders, and quite permissive on the specific shade and which fabric to use at that—from a mare who didn't ask for patched-over wing holes. Inspiration had struck hard indeed; right into her face, and then it'd tripped her up for good measure. She dried her face. Her cheeks were wet again instants later. She wiped the corners of her eyes with the towel. The wetness came back. Fatigue. It was the fatigue. Long days and short nights always made her eyes sting and quick to water. It wasn't anything else. She sighed. "Oh, who am I kidding?" The sting bit harder when she looked up. The sickly, exhausted mess that was her reflection stared back at her from the mirror. The mirror... Rarity closed her eyes and lowered her head in defeat.