//------------------------------// // A Lady Doesn't Whine // Story: Everybody Dupes // by Heavy Mole //------------------------------// Rarity and Sweetie Belle raced down a pass through the meadow that ran between Sweet Apple Acres and the Everfree Forest, where, at a distant intersection, the main road would take them north to Ponyville and thus onward to Carousel Boutique. It was, at first, Rarity who maintained the lead; but Sweetie Belle soon overtook her, and noticed—only by the sound of panting gasps, growing further away—that her sister had fallen behind in their contest. Sweetie Belle stopped and swiveled around to check on her sister; a cue which the other took to be a chance to sit and catch breath, in the fume of brush and wildflower that flocked the way as they got closer to the woods. “What’s the matter?” Sweetie Belle called out to her. Rarity replied with an apologetic look. She indicated that it would be better for Sweetie Belle to come closer; then as she approached, said, “I don’t think I can make it. We are still a good mile or so away from the shop.” “So, what does that mean?” “It means we have to be practical. You’ll have to go back to Applejack’s and find water while I look for a secluded place by the woods. They’ll let you borrow a bucket, I’m sure.” The girls heaved the air of the stinking field. Something inside Sweetie Belle dreaded another encounter with Applejack, who she remembered had left the picnic without saying goodbye. “How will I explain what I need a bucket of water for?” she said, prevaricating. “If I say it’s an emergency, everyone will want to know what’s happened to you. But what else can I tell them? We’ve been harping on my performance preparation for the last hour.” “Maybe you can go ahead of me, then. You’ve got more energy than I do, and must certainly be feeling less cramped. How long will it take you?” “Too long,” Sweetie Belle answered her. “And buckets of water are pretty heavy, by the way.” “Well, and what else are we supposed to do, then?” said Rarity, getting herself up. “That’s where we are—those are the options, Sweetie Belle. And if you want to save time I suggest you make up your mind quickly, come up with some excuse or other, and get your little white bum in gear.” “Isn’t there a place in the forest where we can get water?” asked Sweetie Belle. A thought flickered across Rarity’s face. “As a matter of fact—no, forget I said anything.” “What?” “I was going to say,” Rarity continued through a laugh, “that we could find water at the cave of the Mirror Pool, but that’s obviously a silly idea.” “I mean, it does have water, doesn’t it? And privacy.” The smell of the flowers and the warmth of the sun beat down. Rarity sweated around her cap, and noticed droplets forming on Sweetie Belle’s brow, too. “Huh! Well I’m glad to see you appreciate the caution one must take in dealing with enchanted places,” said Rarity. “Pinkie’s discovery of the Mirror Pool was a terror to Ponyville and deleterious to her mental health—she never did fully recover from that episode, poor dear. Once she was an amicable baker and caretaker. But now she likes to wander, bothering local authorities and hocking theories about how Ponyville is founded on the suffering of a single mosquito. But by all means, if nature calls, who am I to object.” Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “I’m sure if you’re smart about it everything will be okay.” “That’s not experience talking—” “But it is a fresh perspective.” “Do you even remember what that day was like?” asked Rarity. Sweetie Belle remembered. The Pinkies came out during a memorable recess at Ponyville Elementary, and two had kept with her, one pushing and one catching her on the swing. She was even saddened the next day to learn what became of them—the soft catching arms under her ribs revealed to have belonged to intruders. She could only half-believe that these new playmates were a problem for the adults in town, and wondered if there persisted amongst the grown-ups a too solemn attitude toward magic. In truth, even though she was now on the cusp of adulthood herself, a grain of this childlike mood still remained with her; and with regard to the present dilemma, which was a case in point, she supposed that magic could be used to advantage, and made to suit one’s needs, if only one maintained a positive spirit in all things related to it. “You won’t make the same mistake Pinkie did,” Sweetie Belle said, wiping a hair from her sister’s forehead. “Because, we know what we’re doing there. We are not tempted by legendary incentives, like she was. We are just simple ponies in search of ordinary utility.” Rarity faltered a reply. “Hmm… I don’t know. I’m just unsure.” “Do you really think it’s the Mirror Pool that made Pinkie crazy?” Sweetie Belle asked. “…I have my hunches.” “But you’re not certain.” “Oh… Who can know these things, Sweetie Belle?” Sweetie Belle unfixed her sister’s ascot and draped it over the back of her neck. She began to fan her, and said, “Let me get this right. You’re basing your judgment on what you think is happening in Pinkie Pie’s head.” Rarity took the ascot and tucked it away, but found she could not easily rebut the point. “You got us here, as far as I’m concerned,” Sweetie Belle said. “You swallowed my key, and you didn’t want to ask Twilight for help because of your reputation with your friends. Well, now I’m worried about mine with my own, okay? It’s your turn to follow me.” Sweetie Belle took Rarity by the hoof and started leading her toward the forest. “Well! If I go insane, it’s all on you,” Rarity huffed. “I’m eager to hear what you come up with, actually,” Sweetie Belle replied. “And you’ll be too insane to remember to be mad at me, anyway.” Rarity groaned. “Tell me why I’m helping you, again?” Sweetie Belle laughed as they approached the trees, subtle and intoxicating to Rarity as grape wine. They took the path to the forest and soon found themselves on a more treacherous route. Rarity’s direction brought them to a muddy tract, where Sweetie Belle pounced between stones, and Rarity herself glowered at each mossy rock and log that blocked the way. Despite her instincts, though, she did not complain; she saw that Sweetie Belle had now pinned her hopes on second-hand knowledge, for which Rarity had to pretend authority, or incur further disdain. “Do you remember what it looks like?” asked Sweetie Belle. “I feel like we would have seen it by now.” “According to Pinkie Pie,” Rarity answered, “the entrance was a long-winding chute which runs down from a well-concealed fissure in the ground.” Sweetie Belle broke her tempo. “That doesn’t help us much. Do you see any fissures?” “Not one,” said Rarity, with a sigh. Then, noticing her sister’s rising agitation, she began, “Do you remember, dear, the stories Aunt Doily used to tell when we would stay at her house, just before bed?” “Of course I do,” replied Sweetie Belle. “But what does that have to do with anything?” “Well, did you know, also, that at least one or two of those stories involved the Mirror Pool—or, as she called it, the Pool of Reflection.” “Uh… Not really?” said Sweetie Belle. “Oh, it’s true!” said Rarity. “And that is why we should be confident that we will find something here, somewhere close by. I’m surprised you don’t remember, she used to sing us a little tune— Where the thorns crowd and jostle In shrouded abode A rill there shall pass into mystic commode. Now, isn’t this fun?” Sweetie Belle fixed a gaze on her. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.” Rarity smiled and asked, “About what, dear?” “About… anything!” Rarity fell quiet and tossed her hair. Then shortly, Sweetie Belle, supposing a rebuke, preempted it by asking, “What will you do once we find the Mirror Pool? I mean, to avoid what happened to Pinkie Pie. I don’t want to put you in danger.” Rarity teased her hair a little more, and replied, “I’ve dealt with similar things. The Mirror Pool works like any magical apparatus in that it requires a payment from the user. From what I remember, the supplicant to the Mirror Pool must hold a pining wish to be separated as they look into their reflection. There they see not just their own image but the image of an actor, playing a part on the world’s stage. A tension is felt between this ideal and the doughy, hairy corpus of the living body, and poof! a duplicate rises from the surface of the water.” “I just don’t see the appeal of hanging out with myself,” said Sweetie Belle, attempting a joke. “I’m kind of a bitch, you know?” They started to move again. “Watch your language,” Rarity chided her. “You’re not… that, and I will not let my sister talk about herself that way. The appeal of the duplicate,” she resumed, “is mathematical, as far as I can see. If one can make copies of oneself to meet with friends, tend to professional duties, and otherwise blaze tracks around Equestria in several directions at once, well, one has extended the scope of one’s life. No? ‘Existence is wide as the essence is deep’.” “That sounds terrifying,” said Sweetie Belle. “How would you know who you are, in all of that? Could a duplicate be more ‘you’ than you, or what would the measuring stick be…?” Rarity pondered a moment, then replied, “Well, the matches are never exactly so. And, as I can report to you, the duplication scheme doesn’t work out so nicely.” “But what if it did?” “Well, how do you know who you are, anyway?” Rarity said, teetering on a rock. “Once you notice you are obsessed with something your situation has changed—now there is something divided in you, a recursive element. There is an interstice between the observing apparatus and the observed world. What’s there?” “The theater,” answered Sweetie Belle. “You and your theater.” Sweetie Belle shrugged, and helped her sister cross onto a point bar. “You think that’s what happened to Pinkie?” she asked. “Who knows. But the difference with us is that I have no wish to split from myself. I have paid my dues, as it were, in all of the domains of happiness. And if I don’t make the required payment to the pool—well, it is nothing more than an exotic bidet, if that’s what we need it to be.” “It wouldn’t happen to have markers, would it?” “I don’t see why it would,” said Rarity. Sweetie Belle pointed toward a location a few feet off the track where four small wooden posts had been driven into the ground and wrapped in red tape so as to stand out in a thicket of brambles. She cut through the brush to inspect the spot, then waved Rarity over excitedly. “I guess someone thought that it would be a good idea to indicate the exact whereabouts of the cavern, or Pinkie has a poor sense of her surroundings.” “Oh, yes,” said Rarity, peering into the opening, “this must be the one. If you look, you can see the glowing kudzu which I remember hearing in the description. Why, they are rather like dimmer lights opening to a private latrine!” Sweetie Belle nudged her flank, and said, “Glad you like it! Now get going, and gimme back my key! I’ll hang out up here in case you need help getting out.” “Fine, fine. You aren’t worried about getting attacked by timber wolves, or anything of that sort, are you?” Sweetie Belle put her hooves up in fisticuffs. “First rule of self-defense, Rarity—the aggressor always has more reason to be afraid of you than you are of them.” “Eh… We’ll talk about it!” Rarity crouched and guided herself into the hole, letting herself drop with a woo! and slide down toward a break which formed after the initial steep of the entrance. She stood and felt her sinuses gently release at the scent of myrrh and pine. Of a sudden, a childhood recollection of brushing her teeth at her Aunt Doily’s filled her mind like the soft green light which hazed about the cavern; she became watery-eyed, and had to halt her in her place. Oh, Aunt Doily! How I miss her! she thought. And I will never forget that pink toothbrush… Without knowing why, she was impelled by a filly’s curiosity to sniff one of the polyps festooned along the walls. Carefully, she got up on her hind legs near a low-hanging vine and poised herself on a cranny. But as she came nearer to the bulb, it shriveled into the darkness like a burnt ember, and startled her backward, where she tumbled the rest of the way down the tunnel to the landing of the Mirror Pool dome. The sound of the fall was a minor fracas, and soon she heard Sweetie Belle shout from the surface, “Everything okay down there?” Rarity had become so disoriented in the whirlpool of her memories that the sound of her sister’s adult voice plucked her up, as though out of a dream. “Yes, yes, er—everything’s fine,” she replied as she collected herself. “We’ll be on our way in no time. Though, I have to admit, it’s very distracting down here.” Outside in the shade of the bramble forest, Sweetie Belle watched her hooves kick along the ground as she went in circles about the entrance to the cavern. She tried her best, during this break, to refocus herself on the performance, and renew her intentions; but she found herself instead contemplating her heated exchanges with her sister, whom she held with such high respect and admiration in her heart, that she could not be happy with herself for showing any signs of ingratitude toward her. As she thought about Rarity, she felt her tumbling hair brushing against her ears; then, deciding it would be more useful for her to practice a theater exercise, she said to herself, “I have to do something to get my head back in it. Maybe I can review some of the rehearsal notes that Miss Bon gave me. Let’s see… In on the director’s cue, check. Enter and leave without winking at the audience, check. If all else fails, don’t flee the stage—stand there and look purposeful, check. Don’t apologize for—” “Hey, you!” came a voice from the forest. The hair on Sweetie Belle’s neck stood up. She scanned the area to see where the excitement was taking place, then pointed to herself. “Yes, you!” the voice came again. From the path emerged a chunky bay stallion wearing a pocketed uniform and a glistening badge which bounced with each of his hard steps. He was short and moved expertly; he trundled up to Sweetie Belle, whipped out a pencil, and looked up to address her. “This is a restricted area,” he said. “No visitors except by special authorization. Can I see your papers?” He waited as Sweetie Belle stood in surprise; then, becoming impatient, he puffed himself up as far as he could, and said, “There’s a sign with big letters right out here by the perimeter which prohibits any entrance to this part of the forest. Did you not see it!?” He drew a tablet from one of the many small pouches on his shirt and began to write, making quick glances between his detainee and his pad. “Awfully far off the track out here. I have to give you a ticket for trespassing. You didn’t go down in the hole, did you?” “Eh…” The stallion removed his hat and ran a hoof through his peppered mane. “Name?” “Est-ce que tu parles fancais pony?” Sweetie Belle replied in her best accent. He looked her up and down. “Yep, should’ve known by the hygiene… Papers?” he asked, this time more loudly. “NOT ALLOWED HERE. DANGEROUS. NEED SPECIAL PAPERS. LOOK AT BOOK,” he said, waving his pocket manual in her face. Sweetie Belle batted it away from her, and answered, “Ah, oui, oui, like ze poetry.” He sighed at the word ‘poetry’. “Geez, this is going to be a tough one. Look, why don’t you come back to the station and we can get all of this sorted out,” he said, pointing back down the path; then, recollecting himself, adding, “Eh… French fries?” She let out a gleeful laugh, and took him by the elbow. “Bien sûr, how you say… french fries! Et baguette, s'il vous plait.” “C-calm down now, Ma’am.” She tugged him in the direction of the trail perimeter as he fumbled his notebook into his breast pocket; Sweetie Belle grinned and chortled during his toil, and gave him directions to the ladies’ restroom, to which he gave a polite nod, when the pair crossed a second ranger arriving from the opposing direction. “Ah, here you are, Moose Munch,” he said. “I thought I hear goings-on in this direction.” “Yes, well—everything is under control, Pennywise,” the other replied, standing to attention, and nearly knocking Sweetie Belle off her balance. “I found this tourist patrolling outside the Mirror Pool. It has taken all of my wits to get her to cooperate, I tell you, but by gum we’re on our way back to the station now. We’ll get her a cart and send her back to town. It’s sad how some of these travel companies treat their customers.” “If I were a bettin’ pony,” Pennywise said, making a sly gaze at the captive, “I’d say she’s most needed in the old district.” Sweetie Belle was frozen, and felt her hair standing once more; for she found herself in front of the same old stallion with whom she had exchanged coquetries in a few hours earlier in Ponyville Square. As she depended now on the stranger’s mercy, rather than his inclinations, and having in this situation no better model, she reverted to the politic behavior of her older sister, and said (as she wiped the mud from her shins), “And that’s exactly why I need to be out here, far away from the stage and all the worries that go with it.” Moose Munch turned eyes on her. “So you can talk. Trying to avoid getting a ticket, then?” “I’m not avoiding anything,” Sweetie Belle replied to him with indignation. “I’m an actress. Pennywise will tell you. I like to go on long, lonesome walks. I need space for the art of experiencing to ferment and transform the role. It’s method acting, darling.” “Method acting?” replied Pennywise. “As I understood it, Miss Bon Temps has always rejected that approach, in favor of the one taught by Miss En Scene.” “Ah, so you have heard of her…” Pennywise smiled. “I’m an old stallion, Miss. Remember? I may have picked up a thing or two in my time on this earth.” Sweetie Belle laughed nervously, and said, “Yes, of course. Well, you learn it so that you can discard it. The worst thing is for a theater pony to be accidentally method acting. Depth and release, Miss Bon calls it. Always great to meet a fellow fan.” “Indeed it is,” replied Pennywise. He turned to Moose Munch, and explained, “She and I ran into each other in town this morning, when the young mare was coming from a rehearsal. I think all we have here is an overzealous theater pony, Munch—an ‘ecstatic’, as they say. Minds like theirs go in weird ways. Let’s get her back to the station so we can fill out her papers and get her on her way.” Sweetie Belle approved highly of this scheme; and though Moose Munch sneered at her, she took confidence in the alliance with Pennywise, and began to walk by his side. She was thinking she was in the clear, when a cry was heard echoing from the crevice of the Mirror Pool. “Sweetie Belle, I have recovered the artifact!” it said. Munch turned. “What was that?” “Probably just some leaves rustling,” said Sweetie Belle. “Wait,” said Pennywise, “I heard a voice.” “Yeah! It said ‘Sweetie Belle, I have maintained something something’,” Moose Munch added. “Is that you?” “Gentlemen, please!” she rebuked them. “Don’t you know that this is a howling cavern?” Munch took off his hat again. “What’s a howling cavern? Who?” “This tunnel, I mean. An echo is just a mirror of sound. And the echoes of this cavern reverberate for many years after a speech has been made. “You don’t say.” “Mhm, I do!” she replied. “When you go down into the Mirror Pool there’s a ghastly tinnitus of voices ringing in the caves. And anyone who hears it will go mad, or otherwise prove they are worthy of approaching the pool by enduring the peals of the chatter of long-departed ponies. Wouldn’t it be best if we went back to the ranger station?” she suggested to them, rather loudly. “Of course,” replied Moose Munch. “And worthy advice, I might add, from someone who didn’t even recognize what she was looking at until just a few minutes ago.” “It was… my Aunt Doily,” Sweetie Belle explained, itching her nose. “She was an expert on magical places, and even used to write songs about it. She would sing to me before she would tuck me in at night.” “You don’t mean Dapper Doily, do you?” asked Pennywise. When he received a nod, his face lit up. “Ah, yes! The last time we saw her was when she was delivering the newsletter for the square dance hall, a few years back. I didn’t know she was such a mystic! We were all real sad when she passed—now no one knows what’s going on at the hall, heh. You must be her little niece, then. I reckon you must be out of secondary school, by now.” “Yep, almost. Small world, huh?” “And it’s gonna get smaller soon,” said Moose Munch, “when we meet your parents.” “Wait, what?” cried Sweetie Belle as he led the party into a walk. “I can tell them myself—I’ll come right back tomorrow—” “Sorry, kid,” said Munch, “can’t have a minor snooping around restricted areas, you know. We’ll get your documents ready, call your folks, and if we can’t reach them, either Pennywise or myself would be happy to escort you home at the end of our shift. You’ll be in good hooves with us.” She looked up at Pennywise, who, being embarrassed to have led his new friend into a pit, kept a forward gaze; and likewise searching without success for an answer in the mud rocks, Sweetie Belle turned back to her oppressor, and said, “With all due respect, Ranger Munch, I think you’re giving me a hard time on purpose.” This time, Moose Munch laughed. “With all due respect! I tell you what. If you are well-behaved, I will even get you a baguette to take home.” The dome of the Mirror Pool housed an ancient, subterranean forest. Its trees rose some sixty feet, and formed a dark canopy which shrouded the vault of the cavern. Along the wall were small crags overrun by vine flowers and ferns, whose long furls suggested a long and undisturbed tranquility. In the center was the pool itself, rimmed with flagstone, the water dark and still. It was fed by a stream which dripped through a passage of stalagmites, receding through the forest to an unknown source. Most strikingly, a shaft of light hazed over the pool, as though reflecting the sun’s radiance from a skylight. But the pool was dim; and as Rarity approached, and searched for an opening, she found that the light, like everything else in the cavern, terminated in a gnarled thicket of foliage. “It’s some kind of mirage,” Rarity wondered quietly to herself. She began, once more, to be overpowered by her sense of smell. Her thoughts became foggy; and, thinking of the last voice she had heard, she remarked in jesting tones, “Isn’t it ironic, my dear Sweetie Belle, that I would ask for improved conditions for the fulfillment of my obligation to you, and should be brought here? For where shall I go, where I shall not be exposed to the examining presence of this tepid forest? What hideaway shall I find here, which will mute the echo of that sordid work? In what manner will the foul evidence of its perpetration be concealed, and not go lingering, in this sacred, fragrant temple?” She looked back up to the entrance of the cave, but saw no sign of her sister eavesdropping. “No use putzing about, I suppose.” Scanning the cave, she noticed bunches of coconut fruit dangling near the understory of the forest, each about the size of a small buck ball. She spotted one that dangled just a few feet over the brush, just low enough for her to access. She grabbed it and felt along its surface—it was old, and just a little bit soft. She found a stone large enough to crack the casing and split it open with a few hard blows. In one half of the shell was an aromatic pink juice, which she retained, and set down next to the cleft of a tree root. A branch with tiny, crystalline flowers draped over the spot, making for an elegant veil. “Ah, perfect!” Rarity said aloud, in appreciation of her serendipity. “Now this is an insurance policy I can handle. Only one thing is missing…” She went back out to the atrium of the Mirror Pool with the empty half of the coconut shell and creeped up to the little pond. She averted herself, as though holding her nose at the presence of a foul odor, and dipped the shell into the water. It was cool, but warmed around her hoof like a living body, greeting her, as she scooped into it—she cringed and retracted her arm quickly, then scanned the room for a new sister. She was still by herself; and the water looked as unmoved as though it were on the ocean floor. She returned to her boudoir and set the filled coconut cup in an accessible location near the tree, and, regarding the space afforded by her arrangement, perched herself to advantage over a patch of velvet moss. “My, how lovely it is down here!” she thought, trusting her senses again, and allowing herself to relax. She gazed from her roost up at the mysterious shimmer of the pool. “Everywhere you look a little lifeform is shining, scuttling, flowering. Something about it seems so familiar…” The dome was quiet; but the sound of Sweetie Belle’s voice, asking if she was all right, began to sound in her ears again. “I wonder how long she has left in this old town,” Rarity pondered. “Not more than two years, I reckon. Well, good for her. She is eager to go. She almost bit my head off back there—what a set of teeth she has, now. Must be careful. Not so Sweetie Belle, having to spend all of this time with me!” Her face sank a little. She reached over and pulled the water coconut closer to check her appearance—she could make herself out against the shine of the column of light. Her jacket was filthy, and her hair had become unkempt. She noticed that she had applied too much makeup to her features during the train ride, which showed, rather than concealed, the tug of age around her cheeks. “She must be so disappointed in you,” she observed, sadly, to herself. “You’re supposed to be the success. And all you’ve proved is how irrelevant you are to her.” Having concluded her business, she turned around and set to work, damping her hooves in the water of the coconut, and humming like a seamstress to distract herself from the toil. She recalled her beloved Aunt Doily, again, and the wash-up song they used to sing together, which she found herself reciting out loud: And into her own complexion she stared With rinse and rag and gumption prepared So goblins of grime may gnash and may swear At a filly whose hygiene can’t be compared. “Sweetie Belle, I have recovered the artifact!” she hollered out in triumph, clutching the key like a sought jewel. She began to dream of making her way out into the open air again, and onward to the church, whose yellowing chamber awaited her with its splendid evening and mysterious performance, and her sister, behind its big metal door. She found an easy way up the ramp which would take her back to the surface, and began to make her way, when she heard Sweetie Belle’s voice, again, saying, “Wouldn’t it be best if we went back to the ranger station?” Whereupon, she had the heavy sensation that she might still be doomed to toss in bed. Once she was sure the patrol had left the vicinity of the Mirror Pool entry, Rarity crawled out the fissure in her mussed hair and sullied jacket, and made her way back along the muddy track toward the meadow trail. Though she was tired and disoriented from her time in the cave, she managed, with some expediency, to arrive at the split which led a short way down to the ranger station. It was a squat building, made of brick with a tiny tar roof, with a few storage compartments in the yard. Rarity sidled onto the property and peered through a fenestration before making an entrance—and there, indeed, sat her sister, craning her neck in an uncomfortable plastic chair, her frizzled hair falling over her shoulders in every which way. “Oh, look what’s happened!” Rarity declaimed at the sight. She knew for what reason her sister had been interred; but could not, herself, think of an explanation to give the officials without incriminating herself in the offense. She then noticed a gummous-looking officer making notes at a desk, and from there hatched a plan. “It’s time for me to take a page from your book, little sister,” she thought, “and exercise a bit of my natural persuasion—otherwise, we may be here all night. So be it! You’ll see, Sweetie Belle, that you’re not the only crafty lass in this family.” Like a soldier preparing for combat, she fixed her hair and patted her cheeks for color; then, with great bombast, burst through the door of the station and cried, “Ah, there you are! I was so worried you were eaten by a bear, or maimed by killer bees, or—who knows what! That I despaired of ever seeing you again!” She hustled over to Sweetie Belle and kissed her twice on the forehead. “Shame on you,” continued she, “wandering off, when we had all of the huckleberry bushes we needed for Aunt Doily’s pie right in the field—and for disrupting the work of these handsome officers, who have much more important affairs to attend to in the service of our venerable princess, than to have to worry about fool-hearty young ponies like you. Why, I would slap you instead of kiss you, if I weren’t so glad to see you alive.” She paused and made lingering eyes with Moose Munch at the desk; then, she turned and gave Sweetie Belle a tap! against the cheek. “Wow,” she said. “Rarity can we—” “And you, sir!” Rarity went on, addressing the ranger, “you brave forester of these savage fronts, who learns and abides by nature’s rules—to you, I cannot but offer a chorus of plaudits, like an ingrate, who, stealing a loaf of bread, pays back by contrition those powdered hooves which rise with the sun to give her this day her daily, and defend her from privation in stern silent duty.” Munch frowned at her performance as though he had received worrisome news. “Oh, come off it, now!” laughed his lady, cutting him off from reply. “There is absolutely no reason for you to be modest here,” she said, strolling over to the desk. “I certainly have no qualms about modesty. Do you?” She sat her hip on his desk and wiped the dust from the top of his name plaque, making several passes as they locked eyes. “Please don’t sit on the desk, Ma’am,” he said. “We provide a variety of chairs for our visitors to choose from.” Rarity stood up and began a strut around the desk. “It’s such a relief to me—to have her here safe and sound, you know. She’s still just a young thing. A silly filly.” “Silly? We are well aware,” said Moose Munch. “Guess what?” Rarity interrupted him. “Hmm, what?” She grabbed the writing utensil he was using and let it flop onto the desk. “I’m a silly filly, too!” Moose Munch eyed her sidelong and reached for the pencil. “Ma’am, I’m sure you don’t want to hear—” She took the pencil again and let it fall on the floor, with a high, tittering laugh. “Oh, Munchy, you devil! Now who will pick this up?” “Psst! Hey!” hissed Sweetie Belle, turned around and glaring. She made sharp motions for Rarity to desist and come over to talk; but the latter, sensing a rush in her cheeks, felt the pressure of execution, and supposed her sister might be offering the criticism of a more tutored practitioner. Rarity concealed her aggravation with a tee hee! and backed away as Moose Munch fetched his pencil. “Tell me what happened.” “I found this one loitering in a restricted area. No one is allowed near the Mirror Pool. It’s a dangerous place for a bystander to be, as I’m sure you know.” “Oh, indeed, indeed!” “And I’m sorry to say,” he continued in a brass voice, “that it doesn’t end there. When I asked for her identification she attempted to defraud an Officer of the Guard—an Officer of the Guard, Ma’am—by pretending to be an out-of-towner. That’s the kind of monkey business that undermines the whole legal order, I’m afraid.” “Surely you can’t be serious,” said Rarity, tossing her hair. “Though I’m afraid matters like that are a little hard for me to understand.” Munch nodded. “Well, I wish I could tell you I wasn’t serious, Ma’am. There’s a reason we follow up on these kinds of incidents. If this young lady is willing to lie to a pony of my rank, well…” He broke off, and looked sententiously down on his papers. “I hope you understand that I don’t wish to denigrate her character.” Rarity made a long sigh. “Oh, I suppose I am to blame for it. I must set a better example for her of how deal with an officer of the law. You have so much territory here to look after,” she said, eyeing a framed map of the forest on the wall. “Thirteen-hundred acres,” he said. “That sounds like an awful lot to manage. Tell you what. Leave her to me, okay? You’ve no time for fillies, clearly.” She went over to where he was sitting, put a hoof on his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m sure you’d much prefer the company of a mare…” Thereupon, she tossed herself into the officer’s lap, nearly throwing both of them out of the seat. She turned his head toward her, and cried, “Take me, Munchy! Make me one of your little wood elves! Chase me through the reeds and over the backwater pools of our lust! Do with my character as you please! Only, give a me a chance to go and apply some deodorant, and I will meet you out here…” At that moment, being drawn to the sound of commotion, Pennywise entered the room; Moose Munch stood up in a fright, letting his admirer fall to the floor. “Her—I—“ stammered munch, who was certain of an imminent review with the horse resource bureau. “I assure you, Pennywise, I’ve followed all of the ordinances! It’s the mother! We were talking about the forest, and she pounced on me!” “Mother!?” Rarity cried. “You nincompoop! I’m not—” “Geez, Mom, cut it out!” said Sweetie Belle, intervening. She hurried over and helped Rarity up by the shoulders, explaining, “She’s been like this since the divorce. Can’t keep her hooves off a stallion in uniform. I apologize, it’s really embarrassing.” “I’m sure she’s just excited to see her little girl,” said Pennywise, giving Rarity a wink. “What she would want to do with a scoundrel like you, Munch, is anyone’s guess.” Moose Munch was so chagrined to be at the end of another of Pennywise’s jokes, so shortly after his humiliation at the Mirror Pool, that tears nearly stood in his eyes; he now despised the sight of Rarity and Sweetie Belle standing in his office. “We asked for a parent, and we got one. Let’s not waste any more time on this.” “Well, it’s your case,” said Pennywise. “Would you do the honors?” “I’m familiar with what my duties are, thank you!” he snapped; then, turning to Rarity, he said, “Ma’am, please see to it that your daughter knows and observes that pertinent zoning and property laws promulgated by the Royal Office of Public Services. We will let her go this time. But in the future, any truant or transgressive behavior will be punished by fines or imprisonment, based on whatever is deemed appropriate by the National Court of Equestria, firth circuit, with possibility for appeal.” He pulled out his ticket book one more time, scribbled on it, then tore the sheet and gave it to her. He then leered at Sweetie Belle, and said, “Was that so hard?” Rarity stared at the ticket, then at Pennywise, then Sweetie Belle, who enjoyed a smug grin at the conclusion of Munch’s concession. “Er… Well, thank you, Mr. Munch. I apologize if I came on a little bit strong. Things have been very hard for us since the accident.” “That’s what she calls the relationship with Dad,” Sweetie Belle added quickly. “It’s depth psychology stuff. She’s a bit of an oddball, and believes in the transmigration of the soul and all of that—” “Just get out!” hollered Moose Munch, who was beside himself as he searched his shirt pockets for a package of tissues to dry his eyes. Sweetie Belle and Rarity made a line for the door; and before they were out of ear shot, they heard Pennywise call out, “And break a leg!” “Let me be one of your little wood elves?“ Rarity sighed. “He was overweight, I thought he might have been into fantasy games.” “Well he wasn’t a patron of the arts, that’s for sure.” “Let’s not ruin the night, please.” Rarity and Sweetie Belle kept up a light trot on the road going back to Ponyville. As they rounded a bend, they saw the skyline of town rise up on the horizon, slightly silhouetted under the shimmer of the sun. Rarity pulled ahead in her dirty clothes, thinking of the Mirror Pool; and lagging behind her, Sweetie Belle was fretting over the duty of theater ponies, and her feeling of authenticity, which the picnic and her encounter with the officers had tampered with. She made jabs at her sister’s performance at the station to cover up her own anxiousness. “Thank you, Rarity,” said the former, following several such remarks. “It was very generous of you, indeed, to go to such peculiar lengths to make sure my colleagues don’t think of me as an irresponsible pony. I swear, you are so hard to deal with, sometimes.” Sweetie Belle fell silent for a moment. “I’m just kidding.” Rarity looked back at her as they crossed a bridge beneath some bald oaks on the outskirts of town. “Me too,” she said.