//------------------------------// // Un-sisters // Story: Everybody Dupes // by Heavy Mole //------------------------------// The chapel room was empty. Rarity could begin to hear hoof steps downstairs muffled beneath the floor boards, and then a clank! that resounded into the high ceiling. A door wheezed shut; then, Sweetie Belle arrived at the access, wearing a loose black turtleneck like the one Free Hoof had on, and laughing at the sight of her sister like a sailor at the approach of dry land. “There you are,” said Rarity, a little surprised at the suddenness of her appearance. “You have no idea what I’ve had to go through to find you.” Sweetie Belle swayed over and gave her a smooch on the right cheek. “Practically from the moment I got off the train it’s been nothing but prison camps and cryptic punchlines and hot air that smells like alcohol and carnival fare,” Rarity complained. “And I still don’t know what you do and I dare say I am afraid to find out.” Another kiss. Sweetie Belle pulled her into a tight embrace. “Do you not take the well-being of your sister seriously?” Rarity said. She wrenched herself in her sister’s hold so that she could meet gazes with her. “I could have been killed out there!” “Killed?” Sweetie Belle replied. “Well, thankfully I’m here to save you! What would you do without me, Rare?” She couldn’t repress a devilish smile. She gave Rarity one more smothering kiss and let go of her in a fit of giggling. Sweetie Belle was tall and wiry, with a mop of full, unruly curls. This by itself was enough to make Rarity alternate between admiration and jealousy of her; but besides this, she managed to be a match for charm with her older sister, despite poor grooming and her father’s indelicately large nose. She had sparring, thoughtful eyes which flouted her sister’s formal airs. Sweetie Belle grabbed her satchel and they went out through the side door to the entrance on the sunbaked hill where Rarity and the guard boy had talked. They stopped as she took a moment to look through her belongings. Finally, she drew a tiny etched key out of one of her pouches and used it to turn the church’s lock, giving the door a tug to be sure it was secure. “Ugh! And I ought to start calling you ‘Sweaty Belle’,” said Rarity, puckering her nose. “You stink!” “You’re going to love it,” Sweetie Belle said, bypassing the remark, and beaming as she spoke. “This is really right up your alley, I think. Black Box is way more cathartic than thespian acting.” “And do I strike you as a feverish lady, hungry for whatever pathos is on offer?” Rarity quipped. “No, no, no” Sweetie Belle replied. “I said ‘catharsis’. With ‘pathos’ you have tension, climax, resolution, denouement—traditional stuff. We try to enhance the encounter that the audience has with its own space. So, in a way, you will be the star of tonight’s show, Rarity. And that’s why you’ll like it.” “Moi?” Rarity replied in mock befuddlement. “Why, Sweetie Belle, I haven’t any notes! I’ve not had time to let the art of experiencing transform the role! I don’t even have an understudy! And in front of all our friends? Well, this will be a thing to see.” Sweetie Belle laughed, but before she could counter, Rarity continued, “I thought we would stop at Carousel to freshen up a bit before meeting Applejack and the others. You don’t need anything at Mom and Dad’s, do you?” “It’s all ready to go,” said Sweetie Belle, smiling. “We had dress rehearsal this morning. At this point it’s just a matter that everyone shows up on time. Nothing to worry about—we’ve got a rhythm.” Rarity returned her smile. She looked her over a moment, and said, “I have to tell you, Sweetie Belle, how impressed I am that you’ve managed to pull all of this together. Your director was just telling me what an excellent job you’ve been doing in your retainer role. Going to that camp was so good for you, I can see it in the way you walk.” Sweetie Belle became cautious. “Just luck, really. We were exploring possible venues for our end of project performance and I thought it would be fun to come to Ponyville. I told Miss Bon that I knew some of the princesses and that they would come to the show—before I confirmed with them, heh.” “Now, now,” said Rarity, raising her hoof, “don’t sell yourself short. It wasn’t ‘just luck’—that’s using your wits and your connections. And I know for a fact that Twilight would love to come and see your troupe perform. She really enjoys the theater, you know, and I believe she thinks quite fondly of you.” Sweetie Belle bit down on her lip. “I’m kind of nervous about it, to be honest. Princess Cadance is also going to be there.” “Cadance, too? Well, haven’t you been busy!” She perceived a distance that entered Sweetie at these words, and changed her tone. “Listen. I want you to look at me. We are having a moment, you and I.” Sweetie Belle looked at her. “It is perfectly natural for you to be feeling ‘nerves’. I have had the privilege of meeting Princess Cadance on a number of occasions, and I can report that I have met few ponies of such fine discernment, even under pressure. And I may say the same for Twilight, of course. To have these two mares as part of a small audience for your theatrical debut here—why, I’m not only envious, thinking back on my early days in fashion design—my eyes are as green as the Everfree Forest!” The conversation broke off as Sweetie Belle collided with another pedestrian—she had become so preoccupied with her sister’s performance that she had forgot to pay attention to where she was walking. She reeled back, as much in surprise as by force, and hit the ground with considerable momentum. Both the passerby—a hearty old stallion with a serene squint—and Rarity, offered to help her up; but Sweetie declined the invitation on both counts. “Dinged you there,” said the stranger. “Sorry ‘bout that. You okay?” Sweetie Belle nodded and flashed her assailant a toothy grin. “Chipped teeth?” “No Ma’am,” he replied. “Bloody nose?” she asked with a sniffle. “Looks fine to me,” said the old buck. “You’re ready for the ball, Miss.” Sweetie Belle propped herself up, and answered him in a sharp tone, “You’re paying, right?” The stallion blinked at her. “Paying? For what? You’re not planning on pressing charges, now?” Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes and gave him a knock on the shoulder. “For the ball you just invited me to, you dope.” “Oh, well now!” he chuckled. “I’m not sure a modest fellow like me could afford your likes.” “True, true. I am a rather expensive date,” said Sweetie Belle, feigning an inspection of one of her hooves. “But listen. I’m not totally heartless. Just see me again when you have more money, and we can work out an installment plan.” “An installment plan… Well, if I’m involved, you may have to take that proposal up with my beneficiaries.” He and Sweetie Belle laughed together; then, remembering his manners, he paid his respects to Rarity. “How do you do,” she replied witheringly. “Very well, thank you.” “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir,” Rarity continued. “For all you know the young lady may really be going to a ball of her own, and feel perfectly willing to attend looking like a dirty mushroom, thanks to your carelessness and indifferent praise.” Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “It’s Sweet Apple Acres. We’re just going to lunch with friends. And I’m sure they wouldn’t hold it against me if I showed up in a big bowl of mushroom salad.” “Perhaps not,” Rarity replied, still addressing herself to the elder pony, “but this will be more than just a get-together—it is a special picnic prepared just for you, dear, in honor of your theater event in town tonight. Don’t you want to look nice for your big moment?” “Huh, that so? Where at?” the stallion broke in. “Ponyville Gravitationist,” said Sweetie Belle, pointing back up the street. “You don’t want to miss this, I would say. I’m with a company under the famous Bon Temps—haven’t heard of her?—well, she rarely makes appearances outside of Rolling Oats. Seating is limited due to capacity restrictions but if you come around six thirty I’ll make sure you can get in.” She gave him an elbow, and added, “I won’t tell the fire marshal. I promise.” “There’s also a silent cleansing at four, if you’d like to attend that,” said Rarity. The old stallion tottered his head toward the town clock. “Heh, we’ll see. I’m sure anything either of you lovely ladies decided to star in could pack the house. You watch your step, now,” he said, ambling on his way. As Sweetie Belle waved him goodbye, Rarity sighed at her. “For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me you’re taken in by an old flatterer.” “It’s called ‘using my wits’. Remember? That ‘old flatterer’ might be a patron of the arts.” “Sconced in these ancient alleys of Ponyville, you think?” “We grew up in these ancient alleys, and we’re artists.” “Not yet, dear. You have an aspiration, which is partly reflected in how you dress and how you think of yourself. It’s true for me, too.” “Just because my outfit is a bit dusty doesn’t mean I don’t care about what I do,” Sweetie Belle fired back at her. “You wanna know where all this sweat comes from?” she said, stretching the collar on her sweater. “Demanding rehearsals in a hot chapel. Moving equipment. Arranging pews—” “I didn’t say that you don’t care about what you do, dear.” “But you meant it.” They started walking again. They turned down a path through some tall bushes to shortcut the main plaza in Ponyville Square. “You were just telling me how nervous you are that Princess Cadance is going to be attending your show tonight,” said Rarity, after some time had passed. “That’s all. I didn’t intend to upset your artistic sensibility. She won’t be at the lunch, then?” “She’ll be there,” said Sweetie Belle. “It will be her, Twilight, Rainbow Dash, and the Apples. Very casual, I expect.” They carried on a short way in the confidence of the bower. “I know it is pressure for you,” said Rarity. “I just want you to be steady on your hooves, and to know that your big sister does not doubt for a moment that you are ready for… whatever it is you are going to do tonight. I suppose I didn’t have anyone like that when I was starting out. Well, Mom and Dad, maybe.” Sweetie Belle made no reply. “Sore subject?” “YEE!” cried the other, catching her hoof on a small root in the path as she was pondering, again, and taking another spill. This time, she flung her shoulder bag and spewed its contents in all directions—including the church key, which arced through the afternoon branch light, straight to where her sister stood staring at it like an incoming projectile. Rarity let out a squeak—whereupon, in the brief window of her surprise, the key landed and lodged itself in the back of her throat, where it might have choked her, if she hadn’t the wherewithal to swallow it with executive instinct. She recovered herself and made over to where Sweetie Belle had fallen, where her help was once more turned away. Sweetie brushed herself off and started corralling her belongings from the dirt. “I promise I won’t make a habit of this,” she said, working at a quick pace. “Well, what is it? Give me a hoof, will you? I thought you wanted time to ‘freshen up’.” “I was just thinking,” Rarity replied, as calmly as she could manage, “that we might need to stop back in town… That maybe we might need to see the chapel administrators before we are on our way. They are in town, right? Part of an historic committee, or some such thing?” “Maybe we might… What? Why?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Oh dear. Because, well, I might have their key! In my tummy. That little white one you had in your bag, I think. It flew out of your satchel, and it came toward me, and I had to do something. I thought it would be a good idea to go see them and get a spare, before your show begins. Then we can freshen up.” She turned cheerily in the direction of town, and waited for her sister to follow her. “You ate the key to the building I’m in charge of,” came Sweetie Belle’s voice behind her. “It would seem so.” “The building which is the venue for the performance I’ve spent weeks putting together.” Rarity turned and began to massage her throat. “Um… Well, when you put it that way, yes. But we may still have a perfect afternoon!” “Oh, really?” Sweetie Belle snapped. “Does it involve smashing more of my dreams against your forehead like an empty cider ale can?” Rarity felt the tingle of sweat around her hat again, like she had during her exchange with Miss Bon. “Oh… I take it there isn’t a spare key, then?” “Heavens, no,” Sweetie Belle replied, mocking her, “it’s an eighty-year-old door, dear.” “Be nice, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said quietly. “I came a long way to see you.” “Fine. I’m sorry. It’s not like you swallowed it on purpose, I guess.” “Never mind it all,” Rarity went on. “Now, chin up. We just need to come up with a plan. We’ve been through far worse, haven’t we?” “Easy,” Sweetie Belle said, heading in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres. “We can ask one of the princesses to unlock the bolt. Their magic should be more than strong enough for that. Think so?” Rarity hesitated to follow her. “Yes, well, um… Hmm… No, I don’t think it will be necessary for us to go through with all of that.” “What do you mean ‘with all of that’?” asked Sweetie Belle. “What I mean, my love—and I do hate to put this sort of spin on things, but I think you’ll understand once you’re further advanced in your career—what I mean to say is that, mares who are in established positions—such as myself—who rely on their professional reputations as much as their talents to meet their daily obligations, must make other considerations when it comes to asking favors of respected colleagues. Shall I ask Princess Cadance if she knows how to pick locks? Or perhaps I should pull Twilight aside on her holiday, and get her involved in some hole-and-corner business, on such a hot day, like a shade carriage mechanic? Now, I am sure that they would condescend to help us, if we asked them to do so. But that would be owing to the goodness of their hearts, and not to the tact in our request. And my chances to break bread with friends are these days so rare, and so interfingered, as it were, with prestigious company, that it does not wear well to use those occasions to ‘cadge the swells’ for the sake of small inconveniences.” “Lucky for us,” Sweetie Belle answered, showing some vexation in her voice, “I already have a poor reputation, so any publicity Twilight might give me talking smack in Canterlot would be a plus.” She turned to leave again, and Rarity called out, “Sweetie Belle, listen to me! I wish you wouldn’t be so impulsive.” “Your grievance has been duly heard and duly addressed,” Sweetie Belle called back. “Come on!” Rarity plunked herself down on the dirt path. “I’m not moving one inch, ugh! …Okay, fine. It’s stupid Rainbow Dash that I’m worried about. She prides herself on being an obnoxious little cur. If she finds out that I ate something important which belongs to you it will never see an end. She’ll make jokes about it at the round table. She’ll stick padlocks in my Puddinghead pudding every Hearthswarming Eve, just because she thinks it’s funny. You might find it amusing, but at my current stress level I’m not sure how much I can take…! Mind you, because these are my vacations we’re talking about—” “Okay, okay,” said Sweetie Belle, strolling up. “Geez. Well, what am I supposed to do? What about my vacations?” “Now, Sweetie Belle. Do you really think that I would turn down such a sensible suggestion, as you have surely made, if I did not have one of my own—other and better—which will satisfy both our requirements? For there is, indeed, a natural solution to our predicament.” “…You’re kidding.” “This would be strictly confidential, of course. Just between us. I will find a moment to excuse myself while we are picnicking—they have a lovely, homey little water closet in the manor at Sweet Apple Acres. A few moments of fine conversation—I’m sure you can help with that part—and I return to the company, fully restored, and with your performance schedule restored, to boot.” Sweetie Belle could hardly conceal laughter as she looked back at the blazered pony who had made her such an offer. She could see her squirming. At the same time, her proposal had an appeal. It might, for all intents and purposes, work out just as well as her own recommendation for retrieving the lost key; and the thought of her sister being obliged to undertake such a task seemed a harmless but fitting penance for the arrogance she had shown her during their conversation with the old stallion. “I’m… touched,” she replied, after some consideration, “that you’d be willing to go through with something like that for my sake. Really. I would only be worried that we’d be putting trust in something which is, erm… beyond our control. Call it ‘misplaced faith’.” “’Faith’ is what you are willing to die with,” said Rarity. “What we are dealing with here is a little chance and probability—that’s all. And that can be dealt with by planning. I’ve got a rhythm.” An embarrassed grin betrayed her at the accidental joke, and was enough to crack Sweetie Belle’s final defenses in opposition to proffered stratagem. “I guess you’re right. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Oh! We could stop at the pancake house and fill up, and just tell Applejack that you had a big breakfast on the train.” “Oh, no! We couldn’t do that,” said Rarity. “You know how Applejack is. It would be extremely inconsiderate of me if she went through all of the trouble to host a lunch, only for me to turn away from my plate. She really is a star for doing this.” “Maybe just a few pancakes, then?” said Sweetie Belle, as they took each other’s side again. “As a little insurance policy. I demand at least one short stack of you!” “Okay. Half a stack. I’ll do it if it makes you feel comfortable.” “Mhm. We can rinse a little at the restaurant,” Sweetie Belle said. “Perfect!” They started in a trot back toward town. “Yes, see, I told you it could still be a perfect afternoon,” replied Rarity, feeling the slog of the train ride seep back into her.