The designer is calculating the bargaining value of her own death. For she has been trying to think of something she might be able to do which could save her friends from the monster wearing the amulet, anything, and as the designer continues her endless labors at the sewing device, her assigned place within the cathedral of madness, the same inadequate answer continues to arise.
She can die.
Rainbow had needed to stop again. They were all getting used to that. It had been asking a lot of the pegasus, to continually push on. Hour after hour, with so few chances for true rest. There were times when Rainbow napped because she could, others where she slept because it was apparently the single most fun thing imaginable -- but a few came about because somepony with an exceptionally quick metabolism and limited resources for refueling it had to stop.
The humidity was draining strength from all of them. Pinkie seemed to be a little better at dealing with it, and Rarity wasn't entirely sure why. It didn't feel as if earth pony endurance was enough to serve as a full answer, and when it came to previous acclimation... she'd never pictured the rock farm as being a particularly moist environment.
Pinkie was capable of pressing on. But the natural empath understood when others needed to rest, and often signaled Rarity before Rainbow could. The group (if such a term could be applied to any miniherd which had the misfortune to host Trixie) would immediately start looking for a defensible location: something where a pony on guard could check every angle.
Such were hard to come by. Hanging vines blocked what should have been clear views, and any minimal breeze always seemed to shift a few leaves across hoped-for sight lines. However, on the rather dubious bright side, having so many tree trunks did at least mean that the majority of opponents who were trying to sneak up from behind would have to go around before launching the first strike.
(They were traveling with one monster, and had yet to find any others.)
The humidity was draining all of them, and...
...Rarity was trying to watch over Spike. Part of that was because their special guest nightmare had an odd insistence on trying to speak with him, and the unicorn imagined that spending so much time locked away in the tree (as opposed to, say, the much more sensible choice of prison) had given the performer a delusion regarding her right to do that. Especially when nopony else was really speaking with her, because the remainder of the group was composed of sane adults and therefore the monster kept going after the vulnerable child.
She didn't want to let Spike have too much time with their burden. (The ideal would have been 'none'.) So she watched him, looking for opportunities to interrupt and places to step in. Or in between. There was usually enough space between the two for an adult mare of pleasant build to occupy, especially if she was about to offer the little dragon a chance to ride.
Rarity was trying to watch over Spike. Part of that came from knowing that he was young and innocent and relatively defenseless against the machinations of an attractive unicorn mare.
(A professional designer had to gauge appearances accurately, and so Rarity was willing to admit that the performer had a certain strictly visual appeal. The natural presumption was that anypony who got close enough to the stage for spotting it would then be in range of her odious personality, and any attraction would then more or less burn itself out.)
But the rest centered around possessing a certain level of knowledge concerning dragon biology.
It was a subject where they all knew a little, and none of them knew enough.
Twilight... she'd been struggling with that problem for the whole of Spike's lifetime. That so few dragons had grown up as Equestrian citizens, they hadn't left behind multiple bound volumes of their medical knowledge, and trying to get a library exchange program set up with the Burning Lands was effectively impossible.
When Spike became sick... they all felt helpless, and the temporary growth spurt had rendered the sensation into something exponential. But for Twilight, it would quickly turn into desperation. The little mare might start to consider consulting a vet again, because there had to be one somewhere who specialized in reptiles and perhaps any part of that knowledge would carry over. Or she would start to talk about heading into dragon territory. To bring back books. Or, should tomes be scant or the prospect of translation would potentially take too long, to just start hauling back dragons. Some of them would hoard just about anything, wouldn't they? And keeping medical information away from their fellows would turn that knowledge into something precious. Really, when you looked at it that way, then it was clearly just a matter of finding the right dragon...
It took a group effort to talk her out of it. Every time. And everypony still felt as if she was simply waiting for the moment when they stopped watching her for just long enough.
They all struggled when Spike became ill, even when he tended to bounce back with the resilience of a child. But Rarity had a special role during such mini-crises: she was his pharmacist. Because an ill little dragon tended to experience very specific cravings, as inner instincts directed him to consume something which would help. Name a gem, and it very likely had a medicinal use. And Rarity, who had more of a supply than some jewelry stores and a personal trick to let her seek out anything which might be missing...
Twilight often threatened to set out for the Burning Lands when Spike became ill. Rarity tended to either wind up in Canterlot or the local warren: in either case, her stock would have been lacking and surely marching through shadowed areas would eventually have her spell locate whatever was needed.
Rarity understood a little about how to treat Spike when he became ill. (Not enough. Never enough.) But she also knew what kind of situations were likely to make a little dragon sick in the first place. Too much exposure to deep chill, and she was forever trying to construct a winter outfit which he wouldn't wriggle out of. (She was probably giving him too much free play on the joints.) Anthracite, because that produced the kind of gaseous emissions which cleared out a room and because Spike was essentially a young boy, he'd occasionally wondered if it was possible to ignore the stomach cramps and just weaponize the rest.
And... moisture. The perpetual humidity of the rain forest had to be bringing Spike ever-closer to illness.
She was letting him ride on her back. Pinkie and Rainbow were also taking turns. Trying to let him rest as much as they could. Because they would find Twilight, reunite with librarian and farmer and caretaker, and Rarity needed to deliver a healthy little brother into the custody of his sister.
We'll all meet at the waterfall.
She had to believe that.
She had to make sure that the others kept believing that.
She was effectively in charge, because somepony had to be.
Rainbow would sometimes take the lead in moments of action, when there was both very little time or need for thought: during such occasions, it could be best to let instinct rule the day. And Pinkie offered direction when empathy was required, or would unite with Rarity to mutually puzzle out a truly complex social situation. Spike... saved them from themselves.
(The performer would presumably do well if any monsters showed up, either by negotiating with her own kind or being recognized as clear competition and providing the first target.)
But this was about keeping the miniherd focused and moving forward. And that had to be Rarity.
She could keep them going. But in order to do so, she needed to recognize when Rainbow had to rest. There was only so far you could push anypony before they broke, and...
...they were stopping for an hour. Pinkie was on watch, because she seemed to be having the least trouble with the environment and in any case, Rarity wasn't going to be stupid enough to trust that their burden would keep lookout. Not for anypony other than herself.
So if they were already resting... then Rarity could just sink down next to one of the thicker tree trunks. Let her body be supported by the cushion of too-warm, too-wet soil.
(She told herself that it wasn't triggering her rupophobia. She was already filthy. She couldn't possibly be triggering something which hadn't turned itself off for days.)
Perhaps close her eyes, if only for a moment.
She... had to check on Spike first. Make sure he was breathing properly. Somepony had to keep a constant watch on that.
The performer was a good distance away from him. Good. She could stay there.
Check on Pinkie.
Pinkie was sweating. It had reached the point where the moisture had saturated darkened fur, and drops simply fell away from her coat.
...close her eyes, if only for...
...they were traveling with a forced burden and Pinkie was sweating...
What can Rarity do to save them?
Die.
Having that death be exceptionally painful may raise the effective value somewhat. She's trying to come up with suggestions to offer, and knows she'll have to be careful not to appear as if she's stepping on the monster's creativity. Those who consider themselves artists often become upset if they're overridden, and the beast may view torment as freeform sculpture.
Regardless, bringing her demise in front of the public as an object lesson -- or, depending on what the monster does to her at the end, a fragmented one -- could provide a further boost...
'Negotiations'. That is how Rarity insists on describing the process to her friends and when she considers the sheer degree of repetition involved, it's possible that she's given the terminology enough strength to let it do some insisting on its own. Regardless of how the others continue to describe the process, it is no way haggling. A lady does not haggle. She negotiates and in what's probably going to be a fast-approaching (and final) example, tries to get the best possible value from the transaction.
She'll have to be very careful about her approach. There won't be any second chances. After all, when it comes to what she can potentially bring to the bargaining table, she can only die once.
The designer is not the only pony within the cathedral. She was, however, one of the first to be 'gifted' with a task. Because the monster needed to know how everypony could best serve, and... there was an interview process, of a sort. Not that there was very much to it, at least in the sense of truly getting to know your future slaves.
How much of a future do they have left?
Twilight's outside. She must have gone for Canterlot. The Princesses will know. Any minute, any hour, they will know. And then rescue will come.
...it may come too late...
...the monster didn't ask very many questions. But it was enough to tell Rarity that the beast isn't entirely sure about who all of them are. The monster has some degree of knowledge concerning Twilight, and very little else. It recognizes that several of the residents have a degree of connection with the librarian. There was a group which tried to chase when the little unicorn was being ejected from Ponyville, just before the dome came down: it would have been hard to miss that. But as for names, talents, roles... to the monster, the designer is mostly just some mare whose mane got discolored once. And spent subsequent hours in the bathroom, trying soaps and solvents in increasingly-desperate succession because none of the cleaning spells she knew were working on the two-tone green and she had to be clean again...
What can you do? That was what the monster had needed to know. What did Rarity have to offer, which would make the monster's reign that much more comfortable?
(A death. She can offer a single death.)
I sew.
Good.
...although there is some question of why the monster wishes for her to sew at all. Not when this beast can destroy with a thought, and occasionally manages a touch of creation as well. What would it ever truly need, when magic can seemingly grant any desire?
But the designer knows the answer, for she is not the only one in the cathedral of madness. The monster has one very clear, almost self-evident need: to show off. And how can you inflict torture without victims?
Applejack is still stomping on fruit. An applesauce facial: that's the monster's excuse. Rarity has doubts. Applejack was present within the audience which originally stood before the caravan, questioned the monster's capabilities. So now Applejack gets to work. Stomping about in the wood tubs, over and over. For hours, until even earth pony endurance begins to flag. And when that happens, the farmer is tickled back to wakefulness and made to keep going. Or the muscular body is briefly lifted by the distorted hues of a warped field, just before it gets slammed into the empty tubs.
Sometimes the wood breaks.
Or Applejack cries out in pain.
Or both.
It's frequently both.
There's a lot of pain in the cathedral, and one of the victims can't cry out at all.
There has been so much pain...
There were also moments of purest bravery.
Rarity, the other Bearers... it's not as if they were the only ponies subjected to 'interviews'. The monster has been querying so many pony residents about what they can do for her.
(Which suggests that she has no magic for reading minds. And if thoughts are still private...)
Some answered immediately, because fear can make words flow freely. A few had the same opening syllable emerge six times in a row. Others hesitated, and had to be -- prodded.
And then there was Time Turner. Who was polite. Almost genial about the whole thing. He came very close to being downright chatty, as his hooves casually drifted forward throughout the course of the talk.
The Trottingham native was calm, accepting of his fate, utterly willing to cooperate with whatever the monster desired, and kept that up until the moment when he judged himself to be close enough for the lunge.
It... should have worked.
He knocked the monster off her hooves. Then he was on top of her, with his teeth going directly for the amulet. And he pulled and pulled, it should have come off, it should and it hadn't moved at all.
Then the monster's horn had ignited.
...Redheart had been allowed into the cathedral after that. The bleeding had been stopped, multiple ponies had placed Time Turner onto the medical cart, and then the nurse had towed it away.
He'd screamed, when his flung body had hit the wall.
At least he had been left with the capacity for screaming...
...the designer is... creating banners.
If anypony comes for them, before the negotiations begin... if they can all be saved... then she'll need to clear something up immediately. She didn't choose the style. The monster did. Rarity, left to her own devices (the sewing variety included), never would have gone with red and black. It's such a cliché, and the color balance on this blend is horrific. Adding the goldenrod around the edges isn't exactly helping.
The monster could have simply wished for new decorations. Perhaps those banners would have magically sung her praises. Or screamed. But she requires an audience. Those she can dominate. And so the designer is creating banners, while two friends are tasked with hanging the results, another is occasionally slammed through wood, and the last...
..dances.
The monster keeps making Pinkie dance.
Quite a bit of that takes place in an enforced, mobile, reared-up position. Hind legs only. There's only so long anypony can balance like that, at least if they aren't Lyra. Pinkie's been falling over a lot. Some of the impacts hurt. And a pony who's been robbed of her snout can't cry out at all.
The monster keeps making Pinkie dance. The baker is being forced to exert herself. Over and over. She might be made to exercise until she drops...
The designer keeps her head low over the sewing device. Tries not to watch. Does nothing more than listen for the next fall, because the monster can't tell what she's thinking and so the thoughts need to be focused. She has to think of the right words, exactly the right ones, and yet odd little weeds of concept keep sprouting up in what she wishes to be a fully organized garden. Morbid sprouts, like the one which put an odd neutrality on the note that Pinkie's always been a little overweight and if the monster keeps this up, the baker is going to slim down in a hurry.
Of course, nothing sheds the tenth-bales like decomposition.
Pinkie is being forced to dance.
Exercise.
Which makes the earth pony sweat.
Eventually, that's going to lead to dehydration.
A pony with no snout cannot drink.
Pinkie is going to die.
...Redheart was allowed in once, and she isn't the only medical professional in Ponyville. Rarity has the vague impression that hydration could be temporarily managed by IV. And... is it possible to provide nutrients by placing them directly into the blood? She thinks so, but she's not sure of the exact details. It's been years since the last time her father was hospitalized, and... she hadn't been paying all that much attention to what was being used in the name of helping a professional hoofball player recover from the hit of his life. She'd simply been waiting at his bedside, watching through tears for that first moment when he could once again speak. And then it had been moons of further observation as he'd effectively learned how to walk all over again, followed by going back into training and then returning to the game...
(Her father had lived. Stayed intact long enough to retire as a player and move into the coaching ranks. But he still tends to move as if each muscle is receiving a silent self-test before use. )
...Pinkie, with proper medical attention, might be able to survive for quite some time. But that presumes the monster might be willing to allow such care. Perhaps she considers the pain to be more entertaining.
And possibly the slow, inexorable nature of the death would actually produce a laugh.
The monster has a very distinctive laugh.
Rarity has been trying to figure out what she would give up to hear it for the last time. Perhaps because it would end by turning into a gurgle, drowned in the sudden flow of blood because the designer has been working with a sewing device for hours now and the spare needles are right there.
In theory, all she needs is a single moment of distraction, an instant in which to ignite her horn, and a clear shot at the monster's throat.
...in reality, the monster had 'interviewed' Amethyst, then given the unicorn some hastily-printed pages and a bunch of tacks. Rules to post on the town's notice boards. Amethyst had nodded agreeably, taken up the supplies, gotten about halfway to the cathedral's door, and then returned the tacks.
...so brave...
...it's possible that Time Turner only got as far as he did because it was a purely physical assault. The monster automatically sensed the magic, and...
...Redheart wasn't needed for that one.
Amethyst won't be sitting down for a while.
(At least she kept her buttocks.)
Rarity has been allowed to work with needles because the designer isn't a threat. She possesses no spells for direct offense or defense, has the merest fraction of Twilight's raw field strength...
...it's... easy to become a little jealous, when you're friends with Twilight. To see everything the librarian can do, recognize that you personally can't manage any of it, and feel... inferior. As if you'll never be able to measure up, because what little magic you can bring to bear in your everyday life is effectively pointless. Compare that scant quantity of channeled thaums to that which can be managed by the winner of the blood lottery, and...
...Rarity tries not to feel that way too often. Watches for the emotions, guards herself against them and, when they start to intrude, does her best to banish them quickly. Because thoughts which move along that path will inevitably begin to travel in a collapsing, descending circle.
Spiraling down.
The dreaming unicorn could be described as having an Ego. And if pressed to discuss it by somepony she truly trusted, she might admit that it was something meant to be used for both offense and defense. She had to convince her customers that she knew what was right for them, after all -- along with effectively telling every fashion house which rejected her at the Talent Search that their hiring agents had been wrong.
If she didn't believe in herself, then she couldn't survive.
She also had a Look. An argument could be meant for Style, even if the rain forest was currently doing its best to remove all but the vocal. And those too were meant as weapons and armor alike.
There was a quasi-joke which got passed around in Ponyville: one which had initially done its best to make its way around her on the gallop, and had utterly failed because the mare who sat at the center of one social hub could recognize when traffic was being diverted. A few careful inquiries had eventually forced a rather nervous stallion into saying it to her snout.
One enchanted sewing device accident away from becoming a supervillain.
She'd pretended to laugh.
An Ego, a Look, and a Style.
Armaments and blockade.
The things which let her exist.
...the designer has been keeping her gaze low whenever possible, tending to the banners.
But she also keeps stealing glances at the monster.
There is a beast at the center of the cathedral, making Pinkie dance herself to death. And the designer is trying to evaluate what that monster might desire. It's just about always worth the effort to figure out a potential customer, especially when all she has to sell is herself.
The monster could be seen as attractive. She's also wearing something which is, quite frankly, completely the wrong outfit for her hues and whatever Style she might have been going for. The designer has made that decision on the level of instinct, and already came up with an inner sketch which suggested something rather more suitable for a dictator.
...she tried to tell herself that it was something else she could offer. I can make this for you, if you just...
...maybe it would be accepted.
Or perhaps the monster would ignite that distorted corona again, as the intensity of reddened eyes came close to an outright glow. Create the new garment with a mere thought. And laugh.
...somepony has to help them.
Twilight must be heading for Canterlot. The Princesses will know, and then...
...they can defeat the monster.
The beast at the center of the cathedral of pain isn't stronger than the Diarchy.
She can't be.
...please don't let her be...
...but it may take time. Twilight's hardly the fastest pony on hoof, and she won't risk a teleport to Canterlot until she's sure that she's within her range: this is probably going to require standing at the base of the mountain. She might be able to signal a passing air carriage before that, gain some speed, but...
...assume that hours may be required. Possibly more than a day. It could even be two, or stretch out into a duration which requires the imprisoned to start figuring out how to best survive in the new (and temporary, it has to be temporary) land of Trixietopia.
A pony who goes without water for two days is almost guaranteed to develop colic. And that's with somepony who isn't being forced to exercise at Pinkie's current rate.
(The earth pony is being made to stand on her hind hooves again. She spins, jumps, lands, and falls.)
After that...
...the designer is trapped in the cathedral as splinters embed themselves in Applejack's skin and Pinkie dances closer to the edge of death. Rainbow and Fluttershy... they're only safe for now, because the monster will eventually become bored. Especially after there's one less victim to torment.
Rarity can come up with improvements for the hat and cape. (She seldom finds occasions to loathe her own talent, and one of the very few comes when she recognizes how to best work with any inevitable bloodstains.) And she can go up to the monster, offer to do so much, to do everything desired for a lifetime if only the beast will...
The trains can't reach the station. Surely word of that got back to the Grand Gymkhana and from there, the palace.
The Diarchy has to know.
Maybe they're already trying to get in.
...maybe they can't...
...and Rarity is in the cathedral, supposedly safe as long as she just keeps sewing, safe and helpless, weak and pointless and helpless to do anything while two friends are tormented and one is dying and she would place herself in the center of the pain, feel every bit of agony for them because having to watch and listen as they suffer is so much worse than being attacked herself, she wants the monster to come after her and not them, never them, leave them alone and
take me
hurt me
if you desire, if it'll give you a single moment of amusement but just
restore Pinkie
give her a voice, a mouth, a chance to live
kill me instead
...Luna... had said something to her, shortly after a seasonal poker game had wrapped up. The hosting duties had rotated to the Boutique, just about everypony else had headed home, and Luna had remained for a time. Coming into the kitchen, where she helped Rarity finish the cleanup. It had started out as a rather odd experience, in part because you really didn't expect to get alicorns in kitchens. (This had held true even after Twilight's change, because anypony who hoped to get a decent meal at the tree was well-advised to let Spike do just about all of the cooking.)
The dark Princess had talked about a few subjects, as they'd mutually put dishes away and Rarity had resisted the urge to correct Luna's resorting of the plate storage system on the spot. But eventually, the topic had turned to -- generosity. The virtue itself, as embodied in necklace and, on a good day, its Bearer.
To give freely, without price or thought of personal cost.
Rarity had briefly laughed. Said something about how it was an odd Element for somepony who arguably worked in retail to bear, especially as survival required the Boutique to turn a profit and -- there had already been a number of non-customers who thought that the virtue meant she had to give everything away. To whoever might ask, for nothing at all.
Luna hadn't said anything. The alicorn had just continued to rearrange the contents of Rarity's cabinets. And the designer, feeling a little desperate in the wake of a jest which had utterly failed to land, quickly added that some didn't see how the trait of generosity could possibly be a virtue at all!
That there were times when... Rarity had wondered (and her head had dipped) what made her worthy of a necklace...
A cool, dark horn had touched the tip of its white counterpart.
"You know why it is one of the virtues," Luna had said. "On the level of mark and soul, you know. Why it stands equal with the others, and..." somewhat more softly "...at the very end, at the last, when it is truly needed... rises above."
"...how can it...?"
"Because the final gift of Generosity," the alicorn had told her, "is sacrifice."
She hadn't understood. Not then.
She understands now.
And so the designer forces herself to sew, because that lets her remain close. She can listen (and hates what she hears). Watch the beast, when she can. Evaluate, and figure out the best possible approach for selling herself. And it'll have to be an expert pitch, because she only has the one demise to offer.
But she has to try.
(Another pair of crashes. Applejack's hip is sent into another plank, and then Pinkie falls.)
How many lives can she trade for a single death? The most likely result is one for one, and that would mean saving Pinkie. She may be able to up the stakes somewhat if she can propose a truly spectacular demise. All she needs to do is make the approach with dignity, grace, utter commitment, and a certain degree of speed because at some point, she's probably going to start shaking and that's not going to help anything.
(Unless the monster likes to see fear. Maybe she should tremble from the outset.)
Of course, as far as negotiating with the monster goes, there's a certain question as to just how long anypony who's talking will get to keep their mouth.
But she has to try.
She will try. Once it becomes clear that nopony will arrive to save them -- to save Pinkie -- in time. She'll offer up the last of herself, everything she has and is and could ever be, to be placed on the pyre of a monster's burning mirth.
Except that...
...she WILL try.
She has to.
But she will be negotiating with a monster.
She does not fear death, while standing so close to its edge. That surprises her. There's just a rather simple peace, and the willingness to wait for the right moment.
But there is a terror lurking within.
That she will give up the whole of her being, if doing so will save a single pony. Her mind, dreams, life, and soul.
The remnants of her corpse will collapse onto cold ground. The monster will laugh. Turn to face the saved.
And
kill
them
anyway.
After the Amulet had been removed, well after Trixie was gone and long before Rarity learned that Princesses could make mistakes because parole or probation or whatever it was had clearly been the wrong decision... she had thought about what they'd read from the book. The Amulet was a corruptive influence? Well, it wasn't as if it had needed to put in very much work on that. You took a mare who clearly lived by her Ego and gave it an excuse to go out of control.
...that was all it had been, really. An excuse.
...there had been a dream, shortly after they'd all been freed. Once things were back to normal, and some degree of recovery had begun.
Her nightscape had traveled to the capital's Fashion District, because Rarity had been wanting to say a few things to the ponies who felt they were in charge of it for a very long time. And with a certain piece of jewelry around her dream self's neck, the time was clearly opportune...
...she'd laughed, after she'd woken up.
After she'd staggered out of bed, forced herself into the shower, and scrubbed until all of the night sweats had been washed away.
There had also been the matter of finding Opal. The cat had ultimately been located in the supply room, with just a bit of tail visible past concealing fabric rolls. And nothing Rarity had said could coax her out. She'd eventually had to take her pet up within the field bubble, carry her down to the kitchen and offer the feline canned fish until the last strands of fur resumed their normal grain.
She remembered having laughed in the dream. Rather a lot, especially as burning bolts of cloth had rained down from the sky and the world became a better place. Also a much more stylish one. And she laughed once she was clean again, because it was just a silly little dream and no actual harm had been done.
No harm at all.
She'd been moving a lot in the dream. Perhaps that had startled Opal.
Perhaps she'd been laughing in her sleep...
In some ways, every Bearer was a distorted vision of every other. They recognized that now. There were occasional jokes. Trying to find Fluttershy's aspect within Rainbow, that was good for a few laughs. Seeing Applejack within Pinkie...
Rarity hated Trixie, and there were so many reasons for that. But there was a part of her which took care to only regard the performer through a mist of rage.
It did a lot to obscure the reflection.