//------------------------------// // 3a/b/c. // Story: Come Together // by A Hoof-ful of Dust //------------------------------// 3a. The knock at the door caused Rarity to jump and let out an unladylike squeak of surprise. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. All she needed to do was get through this one simple encounter, then she could get a good night’s sleep and properly assess The Applejack Situation. There was no reason this needed to be difficult. Open door. Hand off outfit. Act like nothing was different. Simple. The knock came again. First step, open door. Applejack stood at the doorstep. She tilted her head when she saw Rarity. “You alright, sugarcube?” “Yes. Yes. Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” “Y’ look jumpier ‘n a long-tail cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs.” “Do I?” Rarity tried to laugh it off as Applejack stepped inside, but her laughter came out sounding shaky and forced. “The knock at the door gave me quite a start. That’s a firm hoof you have there, Applejack.” Although she looked at Rarity like she wasn’t exactly sold on that explanation, Applejack gave no further comment. “So,” she said instead, “everything turn out okay?” “Oh, yes. Should we go up and see?” The pair ascended the stairs. Applejack’s finished outfit, complete with boots, was displayed proudly in the center of Rarity’s workspace. “Looks real good there,” Applejack said. She turned to Rarity. “Now can I try the whole thing out?” “Of course,” Rarity said. “I could do the adjusting. If you find out it needs adjusting.” Applejack gave Rarity a slightly puzzled look. “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s in great shape.” She took a step towards the ponyquinn, then stopped and tapped herself on the forehead. “What ‘m I doin’? I’ve been workin’ the north field all day.” She turned back to Rarity, and asked, “Mind if I use your shower real quick?” “Not at all,” Rarity said, her voice perfectly even. “Be my guest.” Her head felt like it was filled with smoke. Or maybe it was steam, the kind that came from running hot water in a small room. “‘Preciate it. I won’t be a minute.” After Applejack disappeared into the ajoining shower, Rarity stood immobilized for a moment trying to gather her thoughts. Could there be a set-up more directly lifted from a lurid romance novel? Were she the protagonist in such a tawdry paperback she would no doubt find some excuse into the shower, at which point Applejack would suggest Rarity help her with the hard-to-reach places on her back, and Rarity would step in to the spray of warm water and begin to lather up her hooves, and– The sound of the showerhead spitting out the first burst of water brought Rarity back to reality. She swallowed. She was just going to stand right here and not imagine that scenario going any further. She was going to think about how to reorganize her studio. And nothing else. After a few minutes of fruitless attempts at self-distraction, Applejack emerged from the shower. Her mane was damp and messy, obviously hastily toweled dry. “Much better,” she announced, and pulled her mane back, banding it up once more. “And now, the final test,” Rarity said as Applejack lifted up her outfit. “Excited?” “Y’know, I kinda am.” Applejack shook her head. “Never thought I’d hear m’self say that about clothes.” “Well, they’re more than just clothes, they’re your clothes. Not just something you picked off the rack or even something you requested but something you designed. They’re an extension of you. You should feel excited.” Applejack put her hoof into the first boot. “Since you put it that way, I ‘spose you’re right.” She bent down to fasten the strap. “Is ‘s how it is,” she asked around a mouthful of leather, “when you make something?” “I suppose it is. Creativity is always very personal, whether it’s art, or music, or fashion.” “I guess that makes this somethin’ pretty special, then,” Applejack said, pausing to take the time to look right at Rarity. “How do you mean?” “Well, if creatin’ something is so personal, then workin’ together on something must be real… uh…” She tapped a booted hoof against the floor. “What’s the word I’m thinkin’ of here?” “Intimate?” Rarity suggested. “Yeah,” Applejack said. “Intimate.” A long moment passed between them. Rarity thought she had seen a fleeting look in Applejack’s eyes; she wanted to watch her to see if it appeared again, but at the same time she didn’t want to be caught intently scrutinizing Applejack’s expression. Finally, Applejack placed the hat on her head and asked, “So, how do I look?” “Perfect,” was Rarity’s automatic response. She took a step towards Applejack and touched the fabric covering her leg. “Everything fitting here?” “Fits just fine,” Applejack said, and stretched a hind leg. “And how about,” Rarity asked, moving to the other side, “here?” She ran a hoof down Applejack’s side. “That’s… good.” Rarity could hear the shakiness in Applejack’s voice. A fluttering flicker was growing in her own chest, but it was too late to back out now. “What about…” She slid her hoof along Applejack’s flank, feeling the fabric, feeling the toned muscle beneath. “…Here?” Applejack turned her head to face Rarity. Rarity looked into her eyes, and yes, that expression she had suspected had returned. Intimate was indeed the right word. “That’s good, too,” Applejack breathed, but it felt like the words were coming from somewhere far away. Rarity leaned in. She could smell her soap mixed in with the smell of the rough fabric, the two scents combining despite their contrast, light and heavy, soft and hard. She closed her eyes. Intimate, she thought, hearing Applejack say the word in her mind. Just like a romance novel, what followed was a sweet hazy blur. Applejack took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I am mighty hungry,” she announced to the now-quiet room. “I can’t say that’s quite the effect I had in mind,” Rarity said, smiling, “but I shall take it as a compliment nonetheless.” Applejack chuckled. “I skipped out on supper, so I could be here earlier.” Rarity shifted so she could better face Applejack. “We could get something to eat…” she said, trailing off to turn the statement into a suggestion. “Ain’t that the wrong way around?” Applejack asked with a grin. “Shouldn’t it be dinner first, then…?” Rarity laughed, burying her face against Applejack’s shoulder. She felt warm and comfortable. Relaxed. How was it possible that this had all been so easy? “Sometimes it’s good to break with convention, every once in a while.” “One must take the occasion,” Applejack agreed in her Manehatten accent, “to ‘mix it up’ now and then.” “But if we are going out,” Rarity said, rolling out of bed, “then first I need to do something about my mane.” “I kinda like it the way it is,” Applejack said, smirking. “Casual-like.” Rarity ran a hoof through her mane, trying to straighten it as best she could. “I am going to take a shower.” She stepped toward the door, then turned back to Applejack, who had propped herself up with a pillow, watching her. “Care to join me?” 3b. Rarity glanced up at the clock. When was it that Applejack said she was coming? Had she said when she was coming? She had been trying to remember all afternoon. Was that somepony by the window? She put down the book of matches and stepped into the foyer, opening the door and pre-empting the knock. “Good evening, Applejack!” “Hey, Rarity.” Applejack stepped inside, then peered into Rarity’s living room. “You lose power or somethin’?” “No, why?” “What’s with all them candles?” The room was lit by the glow of dozens of candles, sitting on shelves and tables and anywhere there was a free space. “…Sometimes it’s nice to have candles,” Rarity said. “I guess so.” Applejack turned around in the center of the room, taking in all the little waving points of light. “I find candlelight quite romantic,” Rarity said. “Wouldn’t you agree?” “Actually, it kinda makes make me think o’ the blackouts we get at the farm sometimes durin’ a real heavy storm.” “That could be romantic too. Being trapped in a little farmouse, nothing else to do…” Applejack’s brow furrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?” Rarity stepped in close and gazed into Applejack’s deep green eyes. “I could show you what I’m talking about,” she whispered, and leaned in and brushed her lips against Applejack’s own. She heard Applejack’s sharp intake of breath and her heart began to beat a little faster, but when Rarity opened her eyes she found herself staring into Applejack’s expression of shock. “…What’s wrong?” she asked, although a nagging feeling in the back of her mind was suggesting she already knew the answer. “I don’t quite know what that just was,” Applejack said slowly, “but, uh… I’m awful sorry, Rarity, but m’ barn door don’t swing that way, ‘f y’ know what I mean.” It was like her heart had just dropped into the pit of her stomach. The prickling feeling of complete embarrassment crawled all over her skin. She tried to speak, but no sound came out; it was like the room was suddenly too full of heat, too empty of air. Rarity pushed past Applejack and rushed up the stairs, fleeing into her bedroom and locking the door behind her. Rarity sunk to the floor and took a deep breath. Opalescence gave her a look from her spot at the foot of Rarity’s bed, roused awake by the commotion. That look seemed to be both a sarcastic congratulation of being unable to have handled things any worse and a pointed question of whether all this activity was worth being woken for. A knock came at the door. “Rarity, open up in there.” “No,” she said, perfectly aware of how much she sounded like a filly. “Go away.” “Okay, y’ don’t have t’ open the door, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’ve talked this out.” “What’s to discuss? I just made a terrible fool of myself and I plan on staying here until I die of embarrassment.” “Who else would you want to make boneheaded mistakes in front of,” Applejack asked, “if it ain’t your friends? We’re still friends, Rarity. Nothin’s gonna change that.” “I know,” Rarity said softly to herself. “A friend is always gonna be the first pony to forget whatever you’ve gone and embarrassed yourself about.” A pause, then Applejack added: “An’ friends always open the door to let their friends come in and hug ‘em when they feel they’ve done somethin’ mighty dumb.” Rarity stood up and pushed the door open with her magic. “Friends do that, do they?” she asked, a faint smile beginning to form on her face. Applejack seized her in a fierce embrace. “You bet, sugarcube.” “What’s say we see how that outfit looks?” Rarity suggested, cautiously treading back into familiar territory. “Yeah,” Applejack said, “let’s go do that.” As the two ponies left for Rarity’s studio, Opalescence curled up and closed her eyes once more. Rarity ducked beneath the awning of the sofa and quill store. She shook her umbrella a little more vigorously than was needed, the magical glow floating it through the air turning a darker shade of purple. Why did the things that looked the nicest always turn out to be the most impractical? The weather ponies had scheduled sunshowers for this afternoon, but as far as she was concerned once the ground became muddy it was no longer a sunshower: it was rain, and it crossed over from being fun and whimsical into being unpleasant. She realized she could smell something over the rain, something warm and appealing. Applejack stood with her applecart loaded with fresh baked goods in the town square, their aroma escaping from underneath the heavy tarp over the cart. Applejack noticed Rarity and waved her over, seeming oblivious to the rain. Rarity put her umbrella up again and walked over. Applejack was wearing the slicker she had designed for herself all those months back, the rain falling from the broad brim of her hat and drumming against the tarp. “That’s a pretty fine outfit you’ve got there,” Rarity said with a smile. “I almost wish I had one of my own.” “Well, it’s a one-of-a-kind design from a pretty exclusive designer,” Applejack said with an exaggerated casual glance over her shoulder. “Kinda hard to come by, need the right connections to the right ponies.” Rarity laughed. “Perhaps I’ll just settle for something from the applecart, then.” “Sure thing. What’ll it be?” “Apple dumpling, please.” Applejack reached underneath the tarp. “Here y’ go. Two bits.” Rarity floated two coins to Applejack. “Good luck in this dreadful weather.” Shrugging, Applejack said, “‘S only a bit of rain. An’ I’m dry as a done in this getup. I should be sayin’ good luck to you, so y’ don’t get your hooves all muddied up.” “Rest assured that I’m doing all I possibly can to keep my hooves far from any mud. Goodbye, Applejack.” “See ya,” she said, and waved. Rarity waved back and turned away. As she walked in the rain, her thoughts turned back to that night as they often did during the quiet moments between events. There was nothing she could have done to change the outcome, but a tiny part of her insisted something could have made it different. She bit in to the apple dumpling, warm and smelling of baked apples, wondering how long it would take for that tiny part of her to fade away. 3c. Rarity completed the short trip from the kitchen to the foyer for what could have been the hundredth time that afternoon. The clock kept advancing, pressing forward to the time when Applejack said she’d drop by, and with each revolution of the hands she felt no more prepared. What would she say? What could she say? Why hello Applejack, do come in, take off your hat, such a funny thing happened to me today, my friends alerted me to the fact that I was completely oblivious about fancying you, shall we sit down and discuss that over some tea perhaps? Applejack, what do you say about dinner and a show some time later this week, the intention of which would completely pass you by because the standard avenues for making one’s intentions clear are so woefully inadequate when one suddenly finds oneself in love with one’s friend? I know you appreciate honesty, Applejack, so let me be absolutely frank with you: I have developed a romantic interest in you and wish to know if my feeling are reciprocated. Rarity hung her head. Oh, goodness, no. Even if the hurdle of broaching the subject was successfully cleared, Rarity hadn’t had any time to really examine just how it was she felt. Was this just a flash-in-the-pan whirlwind romance, a brief interlude, a midsummer night’s fling? Would the flame of passion burn bright and then gutter out, leaving their friendship like a burnt match, frail ashes? What if how she felt was all physical? But then, what if it weren’t? What if her friendship with Applejack formed the basis of an even greater, even stronger relationship? Rarity could imagine living a lifetime with Applejack, passing on content. She could imagine a tempestuous separation and a heart that could never be truly mended. She could imagine epic arguments and calm moments of kindness, good times, bad times, the entire gamut of experiences two ponies could have together. She could have all of that. On the other hoof, she could have all of that. Anything she imagined was possible. Anything at all. Like any creative pony, Rarity knew the danger the real world posed to imagination. One might have visions of a fabulous creation that, once let loose of the mind, would simply refuse to cooperate and do everything it could to make itself seem drab and uninteresting. All that potential it was once filled with was lost, melted away into the ether – except it was never really lost, because while this fabulous thing was just an idea it never really was in the first place. It was the proverbial bird that one must set free, the bird that would return if it was loved; and the truth was, as Rarity and every creative pony knew, was that not all of those birds returned. It was always such a wrench to begin a new project, letting reality work its entropy on one’s perfect vision. It was always difficult to open that cage and trust love would bring the little bird inside back. It was always so hard to let all that potential escape, although a pony knew it would never do her any good just keeping it trapped. The knock at the door came in perfect synchronicity with the ticking of the clock. Rarity never broke stride; she stepped right into the foyer and opened up the door. There Applejack stood, her hat tilted away from her face. The knot that had seized Rarity’s stomach seemed to smooth itself, a wave of calm spreading over her. It was like the moment in a dream when one realized one was dreaming. “Hiya, Rarity.” Applejack stepped into the foyer. “Not interruptin’ anything, am I?” “Nothing important,” Rarity said. As she followed Applejack to the foot of the stairs, the exact perfect thing to say flitted through her mind, and without a second thought she threw open the door to the cage and said it. “Say, Applejack, I was thinking…” “Yeah?” “Seeing as how we worked so well together on this outfit…” She paused for the complete dramatic impact. “…What would you say to being open to future projects together?” Applejack turned on the stairs to look at Rarity. She seemed to be giving deep thought to the question. “You know,” she said, “I think I’d like that.” Rarity smiled, an uncomplicated unconscious smile. “I think that I would too.”