//------------------------------// // Act I - 01 - The Way of the Fool // Story: Harmony's Warriors: Iron Mare (Revised Version) // by Avenging-Hobbits //------------------------------// Act One: "In Your Own Little World" Chapter One: "The Way of the Fool" Rarity Belle walked among the various party goers of her charity ball. The reason for the party was a noble cause, if she did say so herself. It was a charity event arranged to aid the newly democratized nation of South Griffinheim. The third world nation had finally been able to shake itself free from the dictatorial government it once had. So, out of the goodness of her heart (and the prospect of a new client), she had set up this nice little event. She, herself, had dressed to the nines, with her purple mane done up in it’s standard curl and her attire consisting of an elegant black dress that clung to her body, showing off all her curves. Her cutie mark, three diamonds, served as a constant reminder of her prowess in working with and refining gems. With that talent, she had discovered a radical new use for them. Powering all manner of advanced machinery. She had quickly made a name for herself, with the help of a certain unicorn by the name of Fancy Pants. He was a weapons manufacture of great standing, and the two enjoyed a sort of mutual respect. Rarity, with her genius and intellect, would create all sorts of new inventions, and Fancy Pants would then produce some grandiose new military application out of it, which the Equestrian Military would eat up like wild dogs. However, Rarity still found Fancy Pants’ (and the company’s) main source of income to be rather uncouth and brutish, what with all those terrible explosions, guns and bombs. It was all so...violent. Of course, her own personal feelings about the application of Belle Tech’s technology really didn’t matter to her. As long as the money kept flowing in, she’d be set. With her income, she could buy anything she wanted. A new car so that she can travel in style? Done. That brand new designer dress in the window? It was her’s. A brand new software for her home computer, so that she could continue to innovate and design the newest gem powered wonder machine? Bought and paid for with a flick of a credit card. A new boy-toy for the night to make things interesting? One quick mention of a name and her job and they would be sharing a bed by the end of the evening. Everything was at her beck and call, and honestly, right now she felt as if she was at the top of the world. She could feel the eyes of dozens of stallions on her, and she loved it. She was Rarity Belle after all and her name meant only one thing. She was the best, the brightest and the most beautiful unicorn in Canterlot, and as such, that made her the subject of their affections. Her eyes scanned the various stallions, trying to spot any who she saw fit to grace with her presence. Her eyes landed on a rather tall and handsome blonde unicorn pony. He wore a nicely pressed dark brown suit with a dark red tie to match. On his flank, as a cutie mark, was a typewriter and pen. She had seen him a few times before at various other events, mostly those held by Applewood’s elite. His name was Ernst Scribbler, and she knew him as a writer of various television shows. “Why hello there Ernst,” she chimed as she walked up to him, quickly levitating a nearby martini glass off a passing waiters tray as if it were second nature to her. Which of course, it was. The unicorn turned to face her, and smiled. “Oh hello, Rarity. Wonderful party!” he replied, as they quickly hugged each other in a non-committal way. Rarity simply shrugged in a smug manner. “Oh, of course it is, my friend. I only throw the absolute most fabulous parties,” she took a sip of her martini. She briefly grimaced at the flavor, “Oh dear, is this a vermouth martini? Dear Celestia, I detest these.” She quickly placed the half-empty glass on a nearby table and turned back to Ernst. “So, Ernst, how goes it? Any new projects lined up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She noticed as Ernst’s chest puffed up slightly at her words and a self-confident grin crossed his muzzle. “Well, if you must know, yes I do. I’ve taken on writing for that soap opera, The Passions of All the Fillies of Manehattan Hospital’s Days of Life,” he boasted. “Would you care for a replacement drink, since you seemed to react so...strongly against that one?” he asked politely, motioning towards the bar across the way. Rarity paused for a moment, putting a hoof to her chin. “Well....” she said slowly, her eyes quickly scanning the crowd of party goers. She had come alone tonight, and so far, she hadn’t found any potential take-home companions. Her eyes drifted back to Ernst and she smiled. Well... she thought. Might as well. “I would love to hear about that Ernst.” ///////////////////////// A few minutes later, the two unicorns sat at the bar, having downed a generous amount of alcohol between them. Ernst was talking quite adamantly, his voice now somewhat slurred by the amount of drinks he had had. “So, what I have mind for the show is that Standing Stone is gonna find out that Noble March, head of security for the hospital, is actually his father!” he then smiled broadly, obviously quite proud of himself. “And I think that just might be the single greatest plot twist in soap opera history!” he dramatically waved his hooves in the air, causing the now very tipsy Rarity to giggle. She actually knew the show quite well, as one of her friends (and personal assistant) Written Script, was an avid fan of the show, and watched every episode with an almost religious fervor. Rarity, herself, couldn't care less. She had already figured out that Standing Stone was Noble March’s son, mainly because they looked almost identical. The only difference was that Noble March was a unicorn and Standing Stone was an earth pony. Anyone with a brain could have figured that one out, she thought, taking another sip of her drink. “Wow...*hic* that’s really...*hic* exceptional,” Rarity snorted, not taking notice of how many drinks she had had. Ernst once more pumped his chest out slightly. “Why thank you, Rarity. I do think it’s one of my better ones…*hic* *hic*” he smiled smugly, his eyes glazed over with alcohol. “What about you though? I’ve been chattering up a storm here and you haven’t said a word. How goes it for the fabulous Rarity Belle?” Rarity smiled broadly, basking in the sound of her own name. “Oh…stuff, things,” she snickered, taking another sip of her drink. “Been working on various projects you know, this and that,” she paused, all of a sudden remembering one of her many at-home projects. “In fact, I think I might have the single most brilliant idea of my career.” Ernst raised an eyebrow. “Really? What?” “Well…” Rarity sloppily reached for a nearby napkin and her purse and pulled out a pen. “I, *hic* have devised a rather innovative design my friend.” She dragged the pen across the napkin sloppily until she was satisfied with her doodle. She levitated the napkin in front of Ernst’s face. “Gaze upon genius!” she laughed, her own vision starting to swim slightly. Ernst drunkenly leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “Wow! That’s the coolest robot I’ve ever seen!” he giggled. By now, the two of them had ingested at least a dozen shots each, and now the both of them were giggling and slurring their words. Rarity looked at the drawing on the napkin. It was a rather simple design, a pony-shaped robot that she had intended for various uses that she hadn’t yet figured out. “Yes it is,” she sighed drunkenly. “I’m sure Fancy Pants will find some sort of military use for it. Celestia knows he lives and breaths that sort of brutish behavior,” she took another shot. The two of them were silent for a moment, the conversation finally drowning in the ocean of drinks and the music taking prevalence. Rarity felt the distinct feeling of boredom start to slink into her, and she reached back into her purse, pulling out a box of cigarettes. She pulled one out and lit it with a spark of her magic. She took a quick draw from it when the bartender walked up to her. “Excuse me,” he said gruffly, “But you can’t smoke in here, it’s a non-smoking area.” He pointed towards a nearby sign, where a lit cigarette was shown with a bold red X over it. Rarity simply snickered, waving her hoof dismissively. “Nonsense! I may do as I please. Here,” she reached into her purse and pulled out a fifty bit bill, “Take this. That’s fifty bits. Now, if you will allow me the pleasure.” She took another puff and the bartender took the cash from her begrudgingly, muttering under his breath as he walked off. All of a sudden a voice caught her attention. “Why hello Rarity, how are you this fine evening?” the voice said in a cultured Canterlot accent. She turned to see a familiar white unicorn with a grayish-blue mane and mustache, wearing a monocle. He wore a very expensive looking double breasted suit, and his cutie mark was a trio of crowns. “Oh hello there, Fancy Pants! How goes it?” Rarity chirped. Fancy Pants smiled thinly. “As well as could be expected. Good news, I’ve managed acquire some good contracts with the new government in Griffinheim. In fact, they are so ecstatic to meet with you they invited you over to that technology conference they’ll be holding in the capitol.” Rarity simply waved a hoof. “Oh alright then…*hic*…Although those things are a terrible bore,” she said, frowning at the idea. Fancy Pants could be heard sighing. “Rarity, are you drunk again?” his voice was laced with disappointment. Rarity simply shrugged. “So what if I am! I’m Rarity Belle, a mare of her own making!” she theatrically waved her hooves in the air. Fancy Pants simply rolled his eyes and put a hoof on her shoulder. “Rarity, I believe it would be most prudent for you to go back home for the evening. Lest I need remind you of the last time you drank a tad too much.” Rarity paused, mulling over the memory. The incident in question had been her own birthday, and things had gotten quite out of hoof. Her memory was still somewhat hazy, as she always, no matter the situation, over drank at parties. That particular time, she had recently finished one of her newer robotic designs and attempted to show how it worked to some prestigious military liaisons. Next things she knew, her precious widescreen television was in flames and a rather important member of the Equestrian military, a minotaur by the name of Iron Will was covered in motor oil. At the time she had found it incredibly funny, but come the next day, the reporters had gotten their hooves on the story and caused quite a stir, leading to quite a bit of embarrassment on her part. She was, unfortunately, used to this sort of attention from the press. She grimaced slightly, “Oh I guess you’re correct. Wouldn’t want to ruin everypony’s evening.” Rarity’s eyes then drifted in their sockets towards Ernst again. The alcohol had done a number on her inhibitions and she didn’t exactly want to share a drunken limo ride back to her home alone. “Say...Fancy,” she asked, leaning against Fancy. “Have you met Ernst?” she gently dragged the drunk writer over next to her. Fancy Pants’ expression faded into vague disgust. “Why yes. That writer chap. Nice to meet you.” He extended a hoof in greeting, which Ernst shook sloppily. Rarity simply smiled and leaned close to Fancy Pants. “Now, Fancy, I shall be leaving and he shall accompany me, because, as we all know, a hangover is something that should be shared with a close friend. Come Ernst.” She turned back towards Ernst who paused and eyed her suspiciously for a moment. He nodded dumbly; a somewhat dimwitted smile crossed his face. Obviously, whatever he was drinking was taking an effect on him as well and he was blatantly plastered. “If you want, I can show you a prototype I’m working on,” Rarity said, making sure to pose herself so that all the right curves were in his field of vision and leaned in close. “Would you like that?” “Yeah sure thing Rares…that sounds positively enrap-enra, good,” Ernst giggled drunkenly, giving up trying to speak in a well mannered way. Rarity smiled and motioned towards him and he immediately stood at attention. “Then let us go, and leave this dismal affair shall we?” she started to trot away from the bar, her glass levitated in her magic. Of course, being as drunk as she was, her hoofsteps were drastically off kilter and she fell onto Ernst’s side, giggling. Fancy Pants walked up to her and propped her upright. “Come on Rarity, let’s get you home,” he said, walking the two very drunk ponies out of the main party area, and to the rows of limousines. Rarity and Ernst flopped inside and Rarity waved towards Fancy Pants sloppily. “Au revoir monsieur!” she called out to him, leaning out the window as the limousine started to drive away. Fancy Pants watched the limo disappear into the night, a rather grim look on his face. “Stupid mare…” he grumbled in annoyance before returning to the party. ///////////////////////// The Next Morning: Written Script rested his hoof on the doorhandle of Rarity’s bedroom. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was time for the guest inside to leave. Taking a moment to get into character as the no-nonsense personal assistant, he opened the door. The bedroom looked like it always did when his boss came home from a party. Scattered glasses and a half-empty wine bottle sat on a small table, and articles of clothing were scattered along the floor, along with several dozen piles of crumpled up paper. The bed sheets were, as always quite ruffled, and there was a conspicuous lump under the expensive comforters. At first, Written Script ignored the lump, from which faint snoring could be heard. Instead, his attention was focused on the large window curtains. With his horn glowing a shade of lavender, the curtains moved aside, letting in a golden shaft of morning light. Almost immediately, the once snoring lump groaned in frustration and a blonde unicorn stallion’s head peeked out from under the covers. “Blegh....” he groaned, holding a hoof in front of his blue eyes while he dragged himself up right. “What the buck man?” Ignoring the stallion, Written Script went about picking up the various bits of crumbled up papers and quickly inspecting the various doodles on them. Every so often, he’d fold a paper up and tuck it inside her ever present briefcase. As for the other papers, he’d crumble them up a little more and toss them into a nearby (and now overflowing) waste basket. The stallion raised an eyebrow. “Hey, what’s the deal? Why’d you wake me up?” Written Script stopped sorting sketches and turned towards the stallion. “Because it’s half past eleven. High time for you to set about your day don’t you think?” he emphasized her words by levitating the scattered remains of Ernst’s Scribbler’s clothing towards him, all folded neatly. “Here you go,” he said, plopping it on the bed in front the perplexed stallion. With that, he turned around and trotted out of the room. He turned to the left and headed down the rather spacious hallway. As soon as he was out of sight of the bedroom, he loosed up, his gait shifting from the rather tight manner of his secretary job to a more laid back gait. His main thoughts were centered on Rarity. He had known her for more than ten years, and honestly, he had grown tired of seeing her act like this. She didn’t need to act this way. She was smarter than that. The night before in particular had been tiring for Written Script. Rarity and that Ernst Scribbler fellow had shown up, both totally drunk, basically all over each other. They had made a beeline for the bedroom, and to be honest, the noise coming from there had kept Written Script up all night. It was nights like those that Written Script wished he had brain bleach. He shuddered at the memory. With these thoughts on the forefront of his mind, he finally reached a rather simple looking white door with the words “Workshop. Do not enter.” written across it. Music could be heard thumping loudly from the inside. Written Script lifted up the welcome mat beneath his hooves, and pulled out a small key. Quietly whistling to himself, he unlocked the door and opened it, instinctively putting his ears back against his head in preparation for what was to come. Right on queue, a blast of the deafeningly loud music greeted his ears as the door opened. Without saying a word, Written Script reached over towards the panel on the wall. Tapping it a few times, the music decreased in volume to something much more reasonable. “Hey! What happened to my music?!” Rarity shouted, turning around, her face the very portrait of anger. She was now clothed in a simple white lab coat, under which was an equally simple t-shirt and black slacks. The lab coat was covered in grease stains, just like her hooves. Pearched above her head, making her look vaguely like a mad scientist, was a pair of goggles. In her magic was levitated a small soldering gun and in her mouth was a slowly burning cigarette. Her anger faded when she caught sight of Written Script, “Oh, it’s you.” She then promptly turned back to work on whatever she was currently working on. “Hey Rarity. Showed your friend out.” Written Script said, trotting up next to the white unicorn. He looked over the work table. Scattered across it where the various pieces of Rarity’s newest project, which was a rather advanced equine robot prototype. The part Rarity was currently working on looked like the torso, and a rather large gem sat in the center, glowing gently. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung around Rarity, as she busied herself with the half-disassembled machine, muttering something about input-output ratios. Written Script coughed as he accidentally inhaled the fumes. “Geez Rarity, you smoke like a train...” he said, waving to disperse the smoke cloud. Rarity simply shrugged. “Helps me think. You know that. Same thing with the music too,” Rarity then motioned towards a nearby computer, “Can you tell me what the simulation says?” Written Script refocused his attention on the computer. On the screen was a very complicated and detailed diagram of what Written Script assumed was the gem implanted in the robotic torso. Written Script took a moment to attempt to decipher the dozens of different readouts the screen was giving. “Um...I think it says you’re not getting enough power...” he finally said, turning back to face Rarity. Rarity looked up from her work and looked closer at the screen. All of a sudden and unexpectedly loud booming noise greeted their ears and they turned to see the metal torso was now caked in ash and a thick cloud of smoke came from where the gem once was. On seeing this, Rarity let a frustrated groan and tossed the soldering torch back on the work table, stripping off her goggles and lab coat, tossing those aside as well. Written Script, taking the cue, followed after her. “Damned rock,” Rarity muttered, tossing the now withered cigarette into a nearby waste bin before producing another one that had been tucked behind her ear the whole time. A quick flicker of her horn and the cigarette was alight. “Always says that. Why isn’t there enough power to it?” she then levitated a pen and a bedraggled looking journal off a nearby shelf as the two unicorns exited the room, Written Script being sure to close the door behind them. Rarity continued to jot down notes and calculations in the journal, muttering them to herself. Apparently though, she couldn't find the solution to the problem and closed the book with a frustrated groan. They entered the living room and Rarity flopped herself down on the large antique fainting couch. “Script?” Rarity called out all of a sudden, levitating a remote control in front of her and turning on the brand new wide screen television. “How’s my schedule look?” Written Script walked up to her and levitated his clipboard in front of him. The clipboard had a long list of various appointments that Rarity was due for that day. “Well...seems a little busy this week. You have that science conference in South Griffinhiem you promised to attend," "Yeah huh..." was all Rarity responded with. Written Script took that as a cue to continue. "And I think today you’re mom’s going to be visiting to bring Swee-” he was cut off by Rarity letting out a long, drawn out groan of frustration. “Oh please no not that! Please tell me it’s not today!” she complained dramatically. Written Script simply shrugged. “That’s what the schedule says.” He said. Rarity turned to face Written Script, looking quite angry. “Can’t you just make up a reason for them not to come? Something, anything to keep that little imp out my mane? And don’t even get me started on my mother! Did I ever tell you about the time I first got my cutie mark?” Written Script let out a patient sigh. “Only every time anypony mentions her.” “Exactly! It was awful!” Rarity groaned, sliding down on the fainting couch and flicking through the channels. The channels flicked by at the speed of light, with Written Script barely able to see what was going by. Rarity let out another frustrated groan. “Dear Celestia is there nothing on?” Written Script simply shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe if you slowed down you’d find something.” he said sarcastically. However, his sarcasm died rather quickly as he caught a glimpse of Rarity’s expression. It was quite obvious he was in no mood for sarcasm. In hindsight it should have been obvious, as any mention of Rarity's mother was bound to send the unicorn into a near unbearable funk where everything was perceived as the most annoying thing in the galaxy. There was a silence between the two as Rarity continued to flick through the channels. It was interrupted by the sound of Written Script's phone ringing. He glanced down at the phone, revealing it to be Fancy Pants. "Rarity, it's Fancy Pants. Do you wanna talk to him?" Rarity simply shook her head, still focused on the television. "So you want me to take it?" Written Script asked, already guessing the answer. "Yes. He's your uncle, not mine. Last thing I need is that stallion acting as if he's my legal guardian or something. Always sticking his muzzle in my personal life. Rather invasive don't you think?" she answered offhandedly. Written Script sighed. "Alrighty then. I'll be in my office." he turned and trotted out of the room, mentally prepping himself for the oncoming conversation with Fancy Pants. ///////////////////////// Rarity meanwhile, simply grimaced at the television screen. It seemed the universe was setting out to make her day particularly difficult for her today. First, she had woken up with a tremendous hangover (and a headache to match) and then, once she’d recovered from that, she had attempted to work on her new design. And she had hit another roadblock. For some reason, the gems she was using the power the prototype would constantly short out, causing a shower of sparks and another ruined gem. And now this. Her mother and her little sister would be coming over for a visit. Wonderful. Words could not begin to describe the animosity she felt towards her mother. The best way she could think of to describe her mother was as the single coldest, unemotional, difficult to please and manipulative pony she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. It didn’t matter to her mother that her daughter had made millions, if not billions off her talent. All that mattered is that Rarity had dared to break free and be her own mare. Every time Rarity had made a new innovation or a breakthrough in an project, her mother would find out and call her for the simple reason to ask: “When shall you be finished with this foolish enterprise of yours?” or “Really? You did that? I’m surprised you could even spell that word.” Her mother had controlled almost every aspect of Rarity’s life until she was twelve years old. Then it was off to finishing school, to be the target of ridicule and scorn from the strict teachers. But, Rarity had pulled through, by her own strength of will and intelligence. Once free from the oppressive world of the finishing school, she had struck out on her own, determined to never again allow someone to control her. She had went to college, and there met Written Script. Written Script had come from a rather upstanding family, and was probably the only other pony in the entire college that appreciated the potential contained within the various gems and rocks buried around Equestria. With Rarity’s knowledge and vision and Written Script’s seemingly supernatural organizational skills, the two had started a business together. Her mother’s reaction? One of deafening indifference. Soon, the two had caught the attention of Written Script's uncle Fancy Pants, and the rest, as anyone in the know would tell you, was history. Rarity let out another long frustrated sigh, and continued to flick through the channels, until she landed on something that held some semblance of interest to her. She landed on a rather dull special on the Trottingham Steel Mill and it’s history. Ugh, at least it’ll take my mind off- her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her doorbell ringing. Oh no... She closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip. Please be some little brat just playing a prank...please... She thought as she dragged a cushion over her head in an attempt to block out the sound of the ringing doorbell. *ding-dong**ding-dong* The ringing continued, quickly becoming a long string of dings, interspersed with loud knocking. “Ugh...fine damn it here I come...” Rarity bitterly mumbled, throwing the cushion to the side and stalking towards the door. She paused, taking a deep breath to collect herself. Deep inside, she still hoped it was just a random tabloid reporter trying to get a scoop or something nerdy fanboy desperate to get the advice of the great Rarity Belle. With that rather weak hope on her mind, she opened the door. Standing on the front porch, with characteristic disinterest, was a middle aged light pink unicorn with a purple mane done up in a beehive. Rarity instantly recognized her as her mother, Pearl Belle. Next to her, dwarfed by her own suitcase, was a small white filly with a light purple mane with equally light pink highlights. Her flank, a place usually adorned by a cutie mark, as completely bare. Rarity’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the young filly. Sweetie Belle. “Hello Rarity,” the older unicorn spoke, her voice as cold as ice. “How are you?”