//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: We Sing Cover Songs // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// Not for the first time, Rarity knocked on the door at the back of the bowling alley. The sound elicited sounds from within; shuffling, buzzing, scraping, mumbling, hoofsteps on wooden boards. It was not long before the door handle turned, and Rarity could not help but notice that it was still unlocked. The door opened. On the outside were Rarity and a carpet roll, the latter hovering in the former’s telekinetic grip. On the inside was a beautiful unicorn mare, lithe and athletic, with a creamy tan coat and a luxurious blue mane. She radiated style, from her perfectly kept tail to the little colored glasses that rested on her muzzle. Rarity stared at her for a moment, until she asked: “Can I help you?” “I uh…” Rarity coughed. “I’m looking for Novelty? Is she… in?” Rarity’s eyes traveled over the mare as she spoke, her expression becoming narrow, her tone interrogative. The beautiful mare laughed. But before she could answer, a female voice called from inside the attic, “Yes, I’m here! Rarity can come in.” “Alright,” said the beautiful mare. “Do you two want some privacy?” The voice in the back, presumably Novelty, indicated that they did. In a flash of green, the beautiful mare transformed into a grey pegasus, and unceremoniously flew off, leaving Rarity facing the open attic door, unguarded. It took Rarity a moment to work up her courage. She stepped through. The attic was brighter than it had been on her first visit; every window was open, and many obscuring objects were removed or pushed up against the far wall. The air smelled like pine and solvents, and where the sun cast its rays, floating dust or other particulate matter was visible in the air. Some form of spring cleaning was evidently occurring, though it went beyond the usual dusting and sweeping. The source of the voice was at once visible at the end of the hall: an earth pony mare with a speckled green coat, and a snow-white mane and tail, both kept in practical bobs. Cleaning tools were all around her, and a toolbox by her side. “Novelty?” Rarity checked, and the mare nodded. “Sorry, you’ve looked different every time I’ve seen you.” Novelty nodded again. She did not assume her true form. “Did you um,” she eyed the carpet floating beside Rarity. “Want to talk?” “Yes! But uh.” In response to Novelty’s drifting gaze, Rarity proffered the carpet roll. “I thought, you’re living in an attic. It must be a bit drab. I know changelings don’t normally adorn their dwellings with pony furnishings, but I thought having something to walk on other than the bare floorboards might be nice. You don’t have to accept it if you—” “No, that would be lovely, actually.” Though she could have become a unicorn, Novelty stepped over and took the carpet the earth pony way, letting Rarity settle it onto her shoulders. “I was actually sanding the floor, now. It’s covered in splinters and we were all getting sick of it. A carpet would be much easier. Thank you.” She propped the carpet up in a corner, evidently intending to roll it out later. “You want some water or something? I’d offer you tea, but the landlord says we’re not allowed to have fires up here.” “Water would be lovely.” The two went through the motions of polite society. A table was dragged out for them to sit at, glasses procured, a jug of water found. It was while all this was happening that Rarity said, “Who was the mare by the door?” “Fool’s Gold.” “It didn’t occur to me that changelings could look like that,” Rarity said, in a tone of quiet admission. “I’m surprised you don’t… well. Do it more often. She could certainly catch a stallion without any trouble.” “Lust isn’t love,” Novelty said, with a small shrug. Her kept her eyes on her work. “And before, changelings didn’t build relationships, we stole them. It didn’t matter if the pony impersonated was beautiful or hideous; what mattered is that they were truly cared for.” “Oh,” Rarity cleared her throat. “I’m surprised you didn’t impersonate more children then. What with children being loved by their parents, and such.” “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Novelty said, a sharpness entering her tone. For a time, that pushed the conversation back into silence. But when Novelty finished the work of pleasantry, and two glasses of water sat upon a clean table, Rarity said, firmly: “I’d like to know the answers. To my questions. And if the answers are unpleasant I think it’s better to face that unpleasantness. And I can’t promise I won’t ever be angry with you, but if you’re genuine in your intentions to make this right, I need to know. You understand?” Novelty nodded, and so Rarity said: “Let me start with what I already know. You spied on me, stalked me, lived in my house as an intruder for months, read my diary, spied on my friends, watched me use the restroom, watched me sleep with Thunderlane. You watched me sleep in the literal sense. Like a cat, up all night. You interrogated friends and relatives about me. And you used all this knowledge to impersonate me for several weeks, including to my family and closest companions.” Again, Novelty nodded. And Rarity asked, “Is there more?” Her question did not elicit a clear answer. Novelty wiggled her hooves, looked this way and that, and finally shrugged. “Sortof. I mean, there’s always more. I could go into more detail. But that’s a fair summary.” “Is there more you’re specifically afraid to tell me? Because you think I’d be mad, or because you’re ashamed?” That produced a clear answer; for though Novelty did not speak, the truth was shown in her tightened posture, shown in her downcast eyes. “You need to tell me.” “Nothing else happened, physically,” Novelty said, pushing her glass of water around with a hoof; a nervous tic she had not before displayed. “If you were to put me on trial, that would be a fair summary of all crimes committed. But I can’t… I don’t think any creature could watch a pony for so long without developing opinions about them, feelings for or relating to them, judgments about them and their life. And to me that feels like um… not worse, than the spying itself. But like something that would hurt you more.” “Oh, so you weren’t just gathering data, my life was being cross-examined?” A tight laugh escaped Rarity. “Did you weigh my soul against a feather?” But Novelty did not reply to this, so she continued more forcefully, “Out with it then.” “You love your parents but you’ve never respected them.” Novelty’s declaration produced a momentary stunned silence across the table, then Rarity blew out a breath. “A swing and a miss, I’m afraid. Elocution lessons and romantic notions about life in Canterlot do not make me any less my parent’s daughter. We were a very happy family.” “I didn’t say you were unhappy,” Novelty said, barely above a whisper. “And your elocution lessons, wanting to move to Canterlot, those are incidental. The more fundamental truth is that your parents raised you to be happy. To be satisfied with what you had, and see the little joys in life. Your father’s special talent relates to hoofball, and he was always a mediocre player. Your mother’s is cooking, and she burns every meal she touches. But they had self-esteem, and loved each other, and would have loved you just as much if you were a middling dressmaker.” Rubbing one hoof over the other, Novelty continued: “And you rejected that. You worked very hard to excel. And when you didn’t live up to the standards you set for yourself, you tortured yourself over it. And your parents hugged you, and told you you were always wonderful, but it didn’t mean anything to you because you knew better. They were the ponies who sheltered you, fed you, protected you, but they didn’t really raise you. You raised yourself. And I think that deep down, it bothers you that they don’t understand that. It sounds nice to say they’d love you just as much if you were mediocre, but it’s equally true to say all your accomplishments mean nothing to them.” “Mmmm.” Rarity drew in a breath through clenched teeth. “That’s not how it happened.” “I don’t want to argue with you,” Novelty said. “It’s your life, and I’m sorry I saw so much of it. But that’s what I wanted to confess. Ponies don’t like being weighed and measured.” “Oh, you don’t want to argue with me?” Rarity asked, her tone turning sharp. “You’re sorry. You want to confess. All fascinating statements. None of which are an admission that you’re wrong.” “I don’t think I am wrong.” Novelty made a small shrug. “It takes a gifted pony many years to learn how to make a dress. It takes a common pony but a moment’s glance to assess if a dress is beautiful or ugly. It’s hard to see something when you’re inside of it. Sometimes things are only obvious from an external perspective.” Rarity struck the table with a hoof and began shouting, “Oh really? Well from my outside perspective, it’s obvious that…” But she cut herself off before she could finish the thought, the effort of restraint visible on her face. “Sorry,” she said, still tight. “I don’t know why you’re sorry. You have every right to be mad.” “Because…” A series of long, slow breaths slowed Rarity’s racing heart, and when they were done, she elicited not to finish that sentence either. “So you spied on me, and over the course of that spying, developed many feelings and opinions about my life. Many of which are not kind to me, and which you feel I would not appreciate. Is that the shape of it?” “Yes.” “Is there anything else?” “No.” “Then I want you to make a dress,” Rarity said. Her voice was tight, and she gesticulated wildly as she spoke, emphasizing every word with an exaggerated flick of a hoof. “The dress that you gave me. The one that is sitting in my study. I looked at it last night, and yes, I do see now how it is derived from my work. But it is still the finest dress I have ever seen and I want to understand how you made it.” “You know how a dress is made, Rarity,” Novelty chuckled, though a faint wavering quality had manifested within her voice. “I learned by watching you. And some basic sewing classes, but nothing special.” “You’ve judged my life and work.” A sharp tap of the table emphasized the words. “I think I have the right to judge your work for myself. I want to watch you make a dress.” “I don’t think this is a good idea.” “I need to see—” “I said no.” Her tone developed a warning edge. “If you ripped off my work, my style, I think the least you owe me is—” “I said no!” Novelty reared up, and her hooves hit the table hard enough to shake it. Her glass toppled over, spilling water across the top. Still shouting, she went on, “I am out of the dressmaking business, you understand? Not happening!” In the wake of the sudden outburst, both of them sat in stunned silence: Rarity leaning back, Novelty panting with her hooves on the table. A mix of expressions played across both of their faces, surprise, alarm, fear, shame, anger, and curiosity, though the order in which those emotions appeared was different between the two. Traditionally, the onus would be on Novelty to speak next; to apologize. But Rarity, ever willing to defy convention, seized the initiative. “Then I’d like you to play me a saxophone solo.” “What?” The seeming non-sequitur caught Novelty off-guard, her expression befuddled. “You play the saxophone, don’t you? As I understand it, you sing cover songs.” Rarity shrugged, her tone suddenly calm, carefully controlled. “Music is a form of art. I feel like watching you play last night helped me understand you. I’d like to see you play again.” “Oh.” Novelty hesitated, but finally said, “Okay. Um. Okay. Just a moment.” In a flash of green, she transformed from a female earth pony into a male griffon, the same one from the show the previous night. Novelty, then a he, retrieved his saxophone from the storeroom and set about readying it to play. Left to his own devices, he played smooth jazz, something peppy and light that Rarity vaguely recalled hearing before, even if she couldn’t place it. “That’s was wonderful,” Rarity said, “Thank you.” But then she added, “Play it as a unicorn.” For half a second, Novelty froze, his eyes wide. “Uh, controlling an instrument with telekinesis is difficult. And the saxophone was really meant to be played by a creature with fingers anyway.” “Then play it as a diamond dog,” Rarity said. “Or a dragon.” Novelty didn’t move, staring at Rarity, still as a statue. “So,” Rarity said, “you turn into a griffon every time you play the saxophone.” She tapped the table twice. “Who do you turn into when you make dresses?” “I don’t make dresses anymore,” Novelty said, his tone bitter. “And it’s time for you to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome. Thank you for the carpet. Get out.” Rarity rose from the table and left.