Benzedrine and Broken Dreams
"The travesties that we have seen are treating me like benzedrine."
Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers; Wet Sand
Sweetie Belle was bored, cramped, and exhausted. She'd been standing in front of a mirror in her sister's workroom for what seemed like hours. In truth, it had only been about twenty minutes, but the very young perceive time at a pace not always in keeping with its passage.
At least she was pleased with what she saw taking shape in the mirror. Rarity was pinning bits and pieces of fabric, lace, and trim all over a dress she was making for the filly's first ever school dance. It was only a preliminary fitting for what Rarity finally intended to make for her, but Sweetie Belle could already see that she would be far and away the best-dressed girl at the dance.
It would be so nice to finally outshine Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon at something, and it was that one thought that kept her rooted patiently in place, despite her boredom and discomfort.
“Ouch!” The sensation of a pin pricking her rump roused Sweetie Belle from the fantasy of her imminent grandeur.
“Oh!" said Rarity. "I'm sorry, Sweetie Belle. I guess my mind was just off somewhere else for a moment.”
“It's okay,” said the filly. “How much longer, though?”
“Not much,” said Rarity. “I just need to see if I should use a pink or purple shade of silk here. I suppose it doesn't really matter. Your mane is half-and-half.”
Rarity sucked a little air through her teeth, then hummed and hawed for a moment. “I like purple; I'll use the lavender.” She paused again. “And a few emeralds to bring out your eyes.” There was another pause. “Unless you like jade better, that is.”
“What?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Never mind,” said Rarity, still distant. “I'll just use my best judgment.”
“Am I done?” asked Sweetie Belle. “I'm really thirsty.”
“Go get a drink of water from the kitchen,” said Rarity.
The dress twinkled azure blue, and then began to slip off of Sweetie Belle's body, piece by piece. The little unicorn noticed that it was even prettier when glowing with her sister's telekinesis, but the image only lasted a moment before the few layers of fabric had all lifted themselves away, and floated to a nearby dressmaker's dummy -- foal-sized, of course.
“Do you want anything?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Actually, yes,” said Rarity. “There's a bottle of soda in the refrigerator; please bring it with you when you come back.”
“Do you want a glass?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“There's already one up here,” said Rarity.
In a few minutes Sweetie Belle had gotten her drink of water, and had returned with a bottle of lemon-lime soda she'd found in the refrigerator. She clutched it between her teeth by its neck, and though the bottle's cap was sealed shut, she could taste a bit of sweetness near its mouth, where it had been previously opened.
“Here,” said Sweetie Belle, having sat the bottle near Rarity's hooves. “Is that all you needed?”
“Yes,” said Rarity, “but don't go home right away. Hang around a bit – unless you have homework or something. In that case, I won't keep you.”
“No,” said Sweetie Belle, “nothing like that.”
“Oh, good,” said Rarity, levitating the bottle up from the floor.
In a moment, Sweetie Belle understood Rarity's request for the bottle. From beside her sewing desk, Rarity levitated a bottle of some sort of clear liquor. She poured a bit into the bottom of a glass that sat beside her sewing machine. The transparent fluid crinkled Sweetie Belle's snout, even from some distance away. Its scent reminded her of the antiseptic Miss Cheerilee had applied to a small cut she had gotten just above her hock while playing tag one day during recess. She remembered that it had burned quite a bit, and wondered why her sister would drink such a thing.
Rarity poured a little of the soda into the glass with the strange, clear liquid, and after spinning it in the air for a moment to mix it, she took a sip. It took Sweetie Belle slightly aback.
Of course she had seen Rarity drink alcohol before, but only with other adults. Even being just a filly, she knew this was not normal behavior for her sister, but then again, hadn't Rarity seemed a little strange somehow the whole time she'd been here? She hadn't been mean or anything of that nature, but she had seemed distant the whole evening, as if her mind was clouded.
The more she thought about it, in fact, the more Sweetie Belle realized that Rarity had been acting a little strange every time she'd seen her for the past few days. She wondered if she should be worried.
“Did you like the shape and the colors and such?” asked Rarity, as she made tiny adjustments to the little dress, sticking pins here and there.
“Huh?” Sweetie Belle's considerations of Rarity's Behavior almost kept her from hearing her words.
“Of the dress,” said Rarity, sipping at her drink.
“Oh! Oh, yes! I like it a lot,” said Sweetie Belle.
“I'm glad.” said Rarity, and it wasn't a tone of voice Sweetie Belle had heard from her before. She could tell that Rarity was genuinely happy that she liked the dress, but there was a hint of melancholy behind her words that seemed somehow out of place.
“I'm very glad,” said Rarity, the same strange tone hovering over her words, “that I can make this for you.” She paused, and took another sip of her drink.
“You know what?” Tell Applebloom and Scootaloo that if they would like, I'll make dresses for them, too.”
Sweetie Belle was now extremely confused.
“Well, I can tell them,” she said, “but you won't make theirs as nice as mine, will you?”
Rarity laughed sharply and only once, still looking at the dress. “No, of course not,” she said, then laughed more quietly as she continued making adjustments.
“Okay, good,” said Sweetie Belle. “I'll tell them.”
“So, who are you going with?” asked Rarity.
“Uh, nopony, I guess,” said Sweetie Belle. “I mean, except Applebloom and Scootaloo.”
“That's probably for the best,” said Rarity. “I doubt mother has talked to you about boys.” She took a sip, then turned to look at Sweetie. “Or has she?” she asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
“How do you mean?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“If you have to ask, then she hasn't,” said Rarity, then she turned and looked at Sweetie Belle. “I doubt she ever will, either. She just left me to figure it out on my own.” She turned her head back to the dress, and added a bit of ribbon. “I suppose that doesn't matter now, though.”
Sweetie Belle found this last statement curious, but made no comment. As she stood there puzzling over what it could mean, Rarity turned fully away from the dress, and looked at her sister.
“Promise me,” she said, “That the first time some colt asks you out on a date, or the first time you have a crush on a boy or anything like that at all; promise me that you'll tell me. I promise I won't tell a soul.”
“Uh, okay,” said Sweetie Belle. Her sister was behaving very strangely, but Sweetie found herself feeling curiously calm in Rarity's presence, nonetheless. Sweetie Belle couldn't put her hoof on it, but there was a sort of sincerity in her words, odd though they were.
“I bet she never talks to you about drugs or drinking anything, either, does she?” said Rarity.
“Well, no” said Sweetie Belle. “Why?”
“Fool old mare,” said Rarity, her eyes hardening and a hint of bitterness sneaking in behind her words. Then, she turned and levitated her drink directly in front of Sweetie Belle's face.
“Drink,” Rarity said.
“Rarity,” said Sweetie Belle shakily, the strange, bittersweet scent crinkling her nose. “I don't think Mom and Dad...”
“Forget about them,” said Rarity. “I won't tell, and you won't tell. I'd much rather you have your first nip of the creature while somepony is there to watch out for you. You see, I learned about booze and boys both in the same night. Now mind you, I had a damned good time in the process. Still, though, I'd prefer you weren't going in blind the way I had to.'
“Now, drink.”
“I... I don't like how it smells,” said Sweetie Belle.
“Hmm...” Rarity levitated the soda bottle over and added more of it to the glass. “Here you go,” she said. “You'll barely taste it at all.”
Sweetie Belle stared at the glass of bubbly liquid floating in front of her face. Reluctantly, she put her lips to it, and her sister tipped it up slightly by way of her magic. Sweetie took several gulps. It tasted a bit different than pure soda would have, but it wasn't bad.
As the glass lifted away from her lips and floated back towards her sister, Sweetie Belle's eyes widened with a bit of mild panic at the realization of what she had just done.
“What's gonna happen?” she asked nervously.
Rarity smiled through a silent chuckle. “Wait and see. You'll be fine; I promise.”
Something about her sister's words put Sweetie Belle at ease. She refreshed the glass with a splash from the liquor bottle, and sipped at it herself before setting it down to return to the dress.
In a few moments, Sweetie Belle began to feel something. It was a calm sort of lightheadedness and a tingling in her extremities that was at first alarming. Before long, she found that it relaxed her. She said nothing as she watched Rarity work on her dress.
For the first time ever, Sweetie Belle noticed how precise her sister was at her work. She chose every detail carefully, moving bits of fabric, ribbon, and lace in increments that were all but imperceptible to the younger unicorn. Sweetie Belle wasn't sure whether it was the concoction she had just imbibed, or the image of her sister diligently at work on something that was, in effect, a gift for her. In either case, though, she felt peaceful and ethereal. She decided she had been silly to be worried. Rarity would never willfully do anything to harm her.
“Rarity, can I have another drink of that stuff?” she heard herself ask.
Rarity laughed for a moment. “You really are my sister,” she said, as she added more soda to whatever was in the glass.
* * *
Applejack stepped up to the door of Carousel Boutique, Applebloom at her side. The sun had begun to sink, but was some way from being fully set. She knocked on the door, and was quickly greeted by none other than Sweetie Belle, who was already wearing her dress.
“Gee-yawds a'mighty,” Applejack said, half-stunned. “How long did Rarity spend on these dresses?”
Sweetie Belle's dress was as elaborate as some wedding dresses Applejack had seen come out from under Rarity's hooves.
“Not too long, I think,” said Sweetie Belle. “She's really fast when she wants to be.”
“Where is she?” asked Applejack.
“She's upstairs in her workroom getting Scootaloo into her dress,” replied the little unicorn.
“Well, AB, run up there and get dressed, and don't forget to thank Rarity.”
“I won't!” said Applebloom, and then she was up the stairs.
“You look like a little princess,” said Applejack, nudging Sweetie Belle's cheek with a hoof.
“Thanks,” said Sweetie Belle, slightly embarrassed.
The two ponies said nothing for a a few seconds, and then Sweetie Belle looked up at Applejack with a peculiar sort of pleading in her eyes.
“Applejack, could you please, please, PLEASE do me a favor?”
“Well sure as shootin.' What is it?”
“Will you spend some time with Rarity, and see if she seems like she's acting... I dunno.... weird... to you?”
“Hmm?” Applejack was puzzled. “Well, okay. What's got you worried about her?”
“She's just been... different for the past week or so,” said Sweetie Belle. “She's been asking me to stay over here a lot, and sometimes she looks kind of sad, somehow. Not like crying sad, though; just... regular sad, I guess you'd say.”
“I'll see if I notice anything. I was just gonna walk home and come get Applebloom later. Y'all oughtta be fine getting to the dance from here; still plenty of daylight left. I was just gonna butt out to keep from spoiling y'all's fun.”
“Thanks,” said Sweetie Belle,“but you've never spoiled our fun before.” She gave Applejack a little neck hug, and Applejack blushed slightly, though Sweetie Belle didn't see it.
In a few minutes, Applebloom and Scootaloo came down the stairs. Both of their dresses were extremely nice and demonstrated Rarity's characteristic expertise, but as Rarity had promised, neither exceeded Sweetie Belle's – or even quite equaled it – in its extravagance.
“You two look great!” said Sweetie Belle.
“I know!” said Scootaloo. “When do we leave?”
Rarity came down the stairs shortly, and looked at the trio, obviously satisfied with her work. The three dresses were variants on one design, obviously meant to compliment one another, and as always, there was a certain pride evident in the white unicorn at seeing her work come to its intended fruition.
“You girls can go, now,” said Rarity, “but go straight to the school. Sweetie, I'll come see you home at nine.”
“Thanks, Rarity!” the three said in unison, then hug-mauled the unicorn before dashing out the door.
“Well,” said Rarity, “now I can get back to my real work.”
“Which is?” asked Applejack.
Rarity chuckled. “Nothing,” she said. “I finished my summer collection before I ever started on those dresses. I just need to tidy up my workroom a bit.”
“Well, that's fine and dandy,” said Applejack. She couldn't see what Sweetie Belle had been referring to in terms of her sister's odd behavior.
“Applejack, would you like a drink? I have a bottle of whiskey.”
“There it is,” thought Applejack. Rarity would sooner buy high explosives than spend a single, solitary bit on a bottle of whiskey.
“Yeah, I can stay for awhile, Rarity. What kind did you buy?”
“Eighteen-year-old scotch. I thought I'd like it, but I didn't.”
“I'm more of a bourbon girl, but I'll drink it,” said Applejack.
Rarity headed towards the kitchen, and beckoned for the earth pony to follow. Silently, she produced a bottle of scotch from an upper cabinet, and poured up a glass, which she levitated to the dining table.
“There you go,” said Rarity. She pulled a bottle of gin from the same cabinet. Applejack noticed that, as usual for Rarity, it was very good gin, imported from Trottingham. The unicorn poured herself a glass. “And here I go,” she said, tipping the glass back.
“What's gotten into you?” asked Applejack. “I ain't never seen you drink straight liquor before. Well, except tequila, anyway, and that's only when you're doing shots.”
“I know. I ran out of it last night.” Rarity indicated the garbage can. An empty tequila bottle was visible at the top of the heap.
“Ah,” said Applejack, shrugging slightly, “but that still don't explain what's got you hittin' the bottle so hard.”
“Hmm...” Rarity completely drained her glass, and then filled another one. “Maybe I'm turning into an alcoholic,” said Rarity.
“Ha,” Applejack forced a laugh. “Not before me, you ain't.” She turned up the glass of scotch and downed it completely. “Aftertaste on that shit is awful,” she said. “Pour me another one, would you?”
Rarity chortled, then complied with Applejack's request. She levitated bottle back to the counter, and the glass to her friend's outstretched hoof..
Applejack continued to examine the unicorn. The more she watched her, the more apparent it became that she had already been drinking. Rarity had a known love for a good gin and tonic, but this sort of steady consumption of neat liquor – especially alone – was not her usual style. Sweetie Belle had been right; something was definitely off with this mare.
All that would not have had Applejack too worried by itself, but then Rarity levitated a bottle of pills out of the liquor cabinet.
“What is that?” asked the earth mare, skeptically and with just a hint of accusation.
“Benzedrine,” said Rarity opening one bottle. "Without it, I'll end up passed out before it's time to go fetch Sweetie."
Applejack was about to protest Rarity's mixing of the pills with the liquor, but before she could say or do anything to stop her, Rarity had opened the bottle and popped one of the pills, washing it down with a swig of gin.
"Not sure how much longer I'll be able to get the stuff," said Rarity. "They don't make Benzedrine anymore, you know?"
She looked down at the bottle, and stared at it for a moment.
"Pity," she said wistfully, "it's much easier on the comedown than most uppers. I'll miss it one day, when there's no more left to be had." There was a strange disconnection in her speech that finally prompted Applejack to probe more deeply.
“Rarity, what's got you in a twist? Sweetie Belle mentioned that you'd been acting a little weird, and I'm kinda seeing it, too. And if you get mad at her for that, by the way, I'll kick your ass.”
Rarity snickered. “I'm not mad at her. She was probably right to be a little worried, what with the way I've been acting lately.”
“So, what's up?” asked Applejack, sipping at her whiskey.
Rarity was silent for at least a minute. Her face contorted in thought, and her eyes traced up the wall and onto the ceiling, where they remained fixed for some time. Finally, her eyes brightened a bit, and turned towards Applejack.
“You know, of everypony I could tell, I guess you're the best option I've really got.”
Applejack spat a mist of scotch halfway across the room. “You're not coming out of the closet on me, are you? 'Cause I know I'm a hardass, but if you think...”
Rarity laughed hysterically. “For the last time...” her eyes teared up a bit through her laughter. “That's only when I'm drunk!”
“You're drunk now!” protested Applejack.
“I know, but not that drunk. Yet. An hour or so from now, though, you may want to watch out. Those rippling, orange earth pony muscles might just get me a little amorous,” said Rarity, obviously in jest.
“I'll keep that in mind,” said Applejack, not the least in jest.
“But, what I mean was..." Rarity was struggling for words. "What I mean is that... Well... Twilight's got her own issues, Rainbow Dash wouldn't know what to say, Pinkie is too immature, and Fluttershy... She'd just be... too nice... about the whole thing.”
Applejack sighed. “Rarity, just spit it out.”
“Oh, yes. Like you did that scotch... all over my floor.”
Applejack chuckled a bit. “Sorry about that. But seriously, what's wrong?”
Rarity turned up her glass, and emptied it completely before setting it on the counter. Then she turned to Applejack, swaying slightly.
“I'm sterile,” she said. “I can't foal.”
“What?” Applejack's mouth hung open. She had been taken totally off-guard. She would have been better prepared for Rarity to have told her she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
“I've always had certain... irregularities. I was always a little worried about them, and it finally got to me, so I went to the doctor. He ran a few tests, and I got the results back last week. I can't... make a baby. Ever.”
“Damn,” said Applejack. She didn't know what else to say. Rarity looked out the window, a hint of shame in her eyes.
“I mean... uh... shit.” Applejack sighed. “That wasn't any better, was it?”
Rarity half-smiled. It was calm and only lasted for the briefest moment. “Don't worry about it," she whispered just loudly enough for Applejack to hear her. "I wouldn't know what to say if it was you, either. I guess I was just ready for somepony – anypony – to know.”
Applejack walked over and gave her friend a hug that lasted for what would have seemed far too long under almost any other circumstance. Rarity didn't resist.
“Hey, sugar cube.” She pulled away. “It ain't hopeless. There's magic for that, ain't there?”
Rarity shook her head slightly. “Not for unicorns. I asked the doctor. It's a weird sort of trade-off, but if you use magic to fix this sort of problem for one of us, it warps our natural magical energies. It would disable all my magic – or at the very least reduce it considerably. I'd basically be a watered-down, feeble-bodied version of an earth pony. I certainly couldn't run my business anymore.”
“What about some kinda surgery?” asked Applejack. “Or medicine or something?”
“Not for what I have.” Rarity poured herself another drink. “And please don't ask. I don't want to talk about it; Not that part of it, anyway – not right now. Another day, but not right now.”
“Well, you can always adopt,” said Applejack, as Rarity lifted the glass to her lips.
Rarity quickly put the glass back down on the counter, having not even sipped from it, and took a deep breath.
“I don't want to,” she said firmly. “That's what's been bothering me.”
She stepped a few paces away towards the center of the room, leaving the glass where it sat.
“Applejack,” she said, and for the first time, her voice cracked a little. “When the doctor told me I couldn't have a foal, I wasn't even upset. It didn't bother me in the least. In fact, I felt relieved.”
Applejack sipped at her scotch, and spoke not a word.
“Something about that... I feel ashamed.” Rarity turned around to face the orange pony. “What does that mean about me?” she asked, her voice slightly pleading, and her voice unsteady. Her eyes watered slightly at their corners.
“I guess it means you don't want to worry with it, Rarity.” Applejack was choosing her words carefully. Even if Rarity didn't want children, something about this situation obviously had her upset, and Applejack didn't want to exacerbate the problem.
“Applejack,” said Rarity, her eyes welling further, “I'm supposed to be some kind of living embodiment of generosity. My ultimate virtue is that I'm supposed to be a giver, and here I find out that I can't even give life. I could forgive myself for that, except that learning as much made me realize that I never even wanted to!”
“Well, Rarity,” said Applejack, “you give a lot of things. You made those dresses for the girls just out of the goodness of your own heart, didn't you?”
“I know, but I feel like I did that as some sort of penance. I really, really thought -- my whole life -- that I wanted a family. I convinced myself of it so completely that I never even took the time to realize that it wasn't who I was. I feel like I've betrayed myself in some way.'
“Now," she continued, levitating her drink to her lips to take a sip, "I feel like I'm trying to make up for my own iniquity. I've been having all these weird, motherly instincts and feelings, and directing them at anyone or anything I could. I've coddled and fawned over my goddamned cat so much she won't come out from under my bed for fear I'll smother her to death!”
Applejack snorted a laugh, and once again blew scotch all over the floor.
“You did it again,” said Rarity, rolling her eyes as she sipped from her glass.
“Couldn't help it,” said Applejack. “That's funny as hell, and you know it is.":
Rarity dropped her head, and giggled a little. “I know, but it's also a bit sad, don't you think? Like I'm trying to make up for something I can't be; something I feel like I should want to be?”
“Rarity,” said Applejack “don't spread this around, but sometimes I like to sit and think about what it might be like if I had a rugrat or two of my own. In fact, I do it more than I'd like to admit. Part of being a mare, I guess. If'n you took that away from me tomorrow, – I mean the outright chance of it ever happening – I can't even guess how it'd fuck with my head or how it might make me act for awhile.”
Rarity didn't respond, and Applejack was compelled to once again approach her and give her a hug.
“Look, sugar cube, if it took finding out you couldn't have something to realize you didn't even want it in the first place, there ain't no shame in it. Hell, it's a lot better than having a foal then realizing you don't want one.”
“I know,” said Rarity. “I just... I feel like less of a mare, somehow.”
Applejack chortled. “Girl, I promise you, your baby factory may be out of whack, but you're more of a mare than every other mare in this town put together.”
“Thanks,” said Rarity quietly.
“I mean holy fuck,” said Applejack, “how many of us could bitch a gang of kidnappers into submission in one afternoon? That was damn impressive.”
Rarity laughed, and stepped back to the counter. She lifted her drink from where it sat, and giggled quietly.
“Well, bitchiness is an art form,” said the unicorn, smiling with closed eyes as she once more turned up her glass.
“Only because you raised it to one,” replied Applejack, smiling. “The same way you do everything else. Hell, me? I woulda just kicked their damn teeth through the backs of their heads, and gone on home. Grant you, it woulda got the job done, but there wouldn't have been no class in it.”
“You know,” said Rarity. “I wanted to be a princess, once upon a time, but royalty has this infernal obsession with blood heirs. So that dream, silly and childish though it was, is finally really dead for me. A lot of my dreams are. I have no idea of what I want now, Applejack.'
“I know I want to keep being a clothier and a fashion designer, but to do it all alone? It seems rather empty, somehow.”
Applejack sipped at her scotch. “You don't have to be alone. There's plenty of stallions that don't want foals.”
“Yes, but what sort of stallions?” Rarity asked.
“Ones that ain't that different from you, apparently,” said Applejack.
“Good point,” said Rarity.
“Look,” said Applejack, “Nopony's gonna be able to tell you how to handle this, but I can tell you this much. If'n what you thought you wanted out of life was all built on something you come to find out you didn't want in the first place, then you just dodged one hell of a bullet.'
“Fuck your dreams.” Applejack continued, “Try just being Rarity for awhile, and see what happens. If you can't come up with nothing else you want, then it might just be you don't need dreams because you already got what you wanted all along. You know how few ponies can say that?”
Rarity's eyes widened momentarily, and she sipped at her gin. “That doesn't sound like a bad idea, Applejack.”
“Now, if you don't mind,” said the earth pony, “I'm gonna drink the rest of your scotch.”
“Only if you'll let me make you a dress,” said Rarity, “and if you promise me you'll wear it in public.”
“Deal,” said Applejack, smiling broadly.
“Thank you,” said Rarity warmly. Then, her eyes brightened a bit. “Benzedrine?” she asked.
“Hell no,” said Applejack.
finem