Elsewhere, Applejack roamed through the gallery, trying to keep out of everypony else's way. This wasn't too hard; wherever Applejack went in the gallery, unicorns tended to subtly slink out of her way. She paid the various artists and patrons no mind. Like a soldier on patrol, Applejack resolutely marched from one painting to another. Upon reaching each new canvas, she squinted, and leaned forwards, looking at it as hard and fancy-like as she could. No matter what the subject of the instillation was, and no matter how hard Applejack looked at it, she invariably reached the same conclusion.
“I don't get it.”
Upon making this verdict, Applejack would trot to the next painting, and take anywhere from a few seconds to a minute staring at it. She knew Rarity would be able to go on and on and on about each painting, which Applejack knew would only confuse her even more, but that was alright. It was enough for Applejack to just listen to Rarity, even if she didn't know half of what she was talking about. She was just so enthusiastic about such artsy stuff, that it had to be important.
Which frustrated Applejack even more when she didn't see why.
Applejack stomped over to the next painting, paying no mind to the small gaggle of high society unicorns that gathered in her wake. She didn't notice the ensuing ripple of whispered gossip that came with each of her proclaimations, nor the few more ponies that drew closer to see what the gossip was about. Applejack almost didn't even notice the purple-maned unicorn who pushed her way through the crowd with a barely restrained sense of panic about her.
“Oh, Applejack!” Rarity feigned disinterest. “There you are. I'm so sorry, you know how easy it is to get tied up in a gathering like this.”
“Yeah, sure.” Applejack didn't take her eyes from the canvas.
“Oh, I see you've found one of the choicest pieces on display.” Rarity nodded. “You wouldn't believe the trouble they went through to get it. The price was...exorbitant, to put it politely.”
“I don't get it.” Applejack said.
An audible, collective gasp echoed through the gallery. By now, all the ponies present had their attention focused on Applejack, and her verdicts on each painting.
“Are you sure?” Rarity said, stepping in a little closer, even as she felt untold pairs of eyes drilling into her back. “I mean, it's an Andy Warhorse original. Surely you've got more to say about it than that.” Rarity gave Applejack a subtle nudge and a not-so-subtle smile.
“Mmmnope.” Applejack said. “I mean, lookit. It's just a can of soup. Who paints a can of soup?”
“Andy Warhorse? That's...sort of what he does.”
“Welp, maybe he should do somethin' else. I mean, lookit. It's not even a good can of soup! Everypony knows the cream of mushroom's a lot better than the tomato soup.”
“I don't think that's quite the point.”
“I get it, you're gonna start goin' on about how this isn't really a can of soup, now?”
“Well, technically, it isn't, yes. Good to see you're paying attention.” Rarity looked over her shoulder at the indifferently attentive crowd. “But, uh, maybe we should talk about this later?”
“Why?” Applejack said. She kept her eyes on the painting. “Like, is it gonna look better iffin' I'm hungry? 'cuz if that's true, I dunno why they're givin' out horse-devours.”
“Hors d'ouvres.” Rarity corrected, by reflex. She wondered if she'd been hanging around Twilight Sparkle too long.
“Yeah, those.” Applejack said.
“Actually, you know, that may be a valid point, Applejack- maybe you just need something to eat. I mean, as delightful as the apertifs are, wouldn't you prefer something a little more, uh...substantial?” Rarity leaned in as close as she dared with the collective gaze of Canterlot's artistic elite focused on her back. “A trip to Pony Joe's, perhaps?”
“Nah, I'm good. Ate a fritter back at the palace.”
This caused another ripple of gossip from the crowd, though whether it was from Applejack's choice in food, or from the fact she'd been staying in the palace remained up for debate. Rarity could feel the flow of gossip as well as an old sailor could feel the shifting of the tides. She cringed. Applejack didn't notice.
“Well, speaking of the palace...” said Rarity, “it is getting late, after all. Perhaps we should adjourn?”
“Don't mind me, sugarcube.” Applejack turned, favoring Rarity with a heart-meltingly genuine smile, one that stood out all the more in comparison to the false faces put on by the majority of the Canterlot elite. “I know how much you've been lookin' forward to this here schindig. No need ta leave early on my account.”
“Perish the thought!” Rarity said, “in fact, I dare say I've seen everything that warrants seeing. So, shall we?” Rarity nudged Applejack's shoulder, and nodded for the door.
“Shall we...what?”
“Go.”
“But I already told ya, we don't have ta go. I know this is 'portant for ya. Just go on n' schmooze, Rarity. I get it. Imma just stick 'round n' try to figure out what these ponies were thinkin' when they started don' arty stuff.”
“Ladies don't 'schmooze.'” Rarity huffed, “they...mingle.”
“Yeah, well, go do that.”
“But I'm done schmoozing! Mingling. Whatever.”
“Issat so?” Applejack finally looked over her shoulder at the crowd of not-so-discreetly eavesdropping ponies. “'cuz it looks like everypony here's starin' at ya.”
Rarity bit at her lower lip, and leaned daringly close to Applejack, murmuring into her ear. “They're not staring at me, darling. They're looking at you.”
“They are?” Applejack blurted, and looked over her shoulder. The gathered gallery ponies immediately set about ignoring her until the moment the cowpony stopped looking. “Aw heck, I'm sorry, Rarity. I done went n' ruint yer whole evenin', didn't I?” The pieces began to fall into place in Applejack's head. She blinked prettily, then splayed her ears back in embarassment. “Was I s'posed ta use a special fork ta eat the horse-devours or somethin'?”
“You're not supposed to eat h'ours d'ouvres with a fork, no- so you're fine. In fact, everything's fine.”
Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Don't lie to me, Rarity. Somethin's goin' on- I can tell 'cause your eye's all twitchy.”
“It is?” Rarity clapped a hoof to the side of her face, and forced a smile, “Well, ah, thank you for catching that. Must be, uh, an allergic reaction. To the horse-devours. H'ours d'vours. That's it. I do hope it isn't serious.” Rarity wilted melodramatically, supporting herself on Applejack's side. “Don't worry, I've just enough strength to get back to our room- you won't have to carry me.” She nudged the cowpony towards the door. “Unless you'd like to carry me, that is. I wouldn't object.”
Applejack planted her hooves, solid as any statue in the gallery, if not moreso. “I ain't headed anywhere 'til ya lemme know exactly what's goin' on, Rarity.”
“Fine.” Rarity hissed. “But...not here, not with everypony watching.” Rarity shot a warning glance over her shoulder, and some of the more timid members of the audience scattered as quickly as politeness allowed. They'd be back, Rarity knew, but she'd at least bought some time. She trotted over towards the bar (which, Rarity was glad to see, was a few steps closer to the door than she had been before). She settled in at the end, and pulled Applejack in conspiritorily close, resting her forehead against the cowpony's. It would've been quite pleasant, Rarity realized, were it not for the extenuating circumstances.
“As I told you before, don't worry. This isn't your fault.” Rarity began. “It's just that somehow, through an entirely unforseen course of events, everypony here might have gotten the sudden impression that you're a brilliant artist. A painter, to be precise.”
“What.” said Applejack.
“Oh, you know how these things go. A new face shows up, and all of a sudden everypony is making...assumptions, leaping to wild rumor and conjecture.”
Applejack leaned far enough away from Rarity to glare at her properly. “Why do I get the feelin' you're the one doin' the conjecturin'?”
Rarity's stomach twisted in a way certainly unrelated to the appetitzers. “I may have phrased some things in a way I shouldn't have.” She looked away from Applejack. “But, for the time being, I think it's best if we just let things play out on their own.”
“You want me to lie for you.”
“I never said that.” Rarity huffed.
“Ya didn't have to.”
“I wasn't going to.” Rarity glared at Applejack. “All I'm asking is that we make a polite and timely exit before things get any more out of hoof. I'll make it up to you later. I promise.”
“Ain't later I'm worried about. It's now. What am I s'posed ta do iffin' somepony starts talkin' arty at me?” Applejack paused. “Somepony 'sides you, that is.”
“That's why we should go. Now. With any luck, nopony will even notice we're gone.” Rarity forced a carefree smile, and nudged Applejack towards the door.
They made it about a dozen steps before Upper Crust ambled into their path, shakily levitating her cocktail. “Ah, Miss Rarity!” Her lips pulled back in a smile too wide to be friendly. “This must be your friend you've been telling us about.”
“Y'all been talkin' 'bout me?”
“Oh, ah, yes. In passing.” Rarity said. “Minor introductions and such, you know how it is.”
“No need to be humble,” said Upper Crust, “why, Rarity has been absolutely raving about you, Appleslack.”
“Applejack.” Rarity snipped.
“Yes, that's what I said.” Upper Crust sipped from her martini. “In any case, after hearing so much about you, and after listening to your...enlightening commentary on the collection on display, I was rather hoping to talk to you. About art.”
“Art?” Applejack's voice cracked like a hot plate suddenly plunged into cold water.
“What else?” Upper Crust pushed forward before Rarity could interject. “I mean, you've been creating quite a commotion, you know.”
“Sorry.” Applejack splayed her ears back. “I only ate the last horse-devours thingie 'cuz I thought there'd be more comin'.”
“Ah, the starving artist cliche. How quaint.” Upper Crust smiled, even as her eyes glinted with catty glee. “But really, Miss Applejack- after hearing your commentary on most of the pieces on display, I must ask- what art do you like? How would you define your style? Your influences? Which artists inspire you? Please, be specific. Name names.”
“Uh.” Applejack shifted from one hoof to the other. “I guess my favorite artist would have to be Rarity. She makes purdy dresses. N' stuff.”
“Oh!” Upper Crust cackled politely, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “No need to flatter your...friend just because she invited you, Applejack. Why, Rarity hardly even counts! She works in an entirely different medium. Not to mention her style is decidedly Haute Couture, which is frankly archaic in comparison to the Postmodernist tone of this gallery, wouldn't you agree?”
“Archaic?” Rarity gritted her teeth as politely as she could. “I wouldn't go...that far.”
“Perhaps, but that's beside the point.” Upper Crust said. “But, you must admit, Miss Rarity, you're working in an entirely different medium. Fashion's too...practical to be real art. I mean, at the end of the day, Rarity's works are hung up in the closet, not on a gallery wall. Entirely too pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?”
“I don't agree.” Applejack growled, and stepped forward, looming over Upper Crust. “I don't much care for the way you're talkin' 'bout Rarity, either. Even iffin' I ain't quite sure what you're talkin' 'bout.”
Upper Crust shrank back just a step, as one would when confronted with an irate and well-muscled earth pony.
“Now now, Applejack, she doesn't mean it.” Rarity lied. She put a hoof on the cowpony's shoulder, pulling her back. “No need to start a scene on my account.”
“Ah, yes, Rarity's right.” Upper Crust's words came just a little too fast. “Just making idle conversation, that's all. The art world fascinates me, that's all- on the one hoof, it can be entirely sublime...while on the other, well, one never knows when one might run into a poseur. I mean, somepony claiming artistic talent without proving it would be entirely gauche. Especially if that particular pony happened to be ruffling feathers with certain loud and opinionated comments.”
Applejack narrowed her eyes, and glared harder at Upper Crust. “Hold up. Y'all's talkin' 'bout me, aintcha?”
“I have no idea where you're getting that implication.” Upper Crust said, smiling, “Unless, of course, you have a guilty conscience?”
“Please, Applejack.” Rarity pulled at the cowpony's shoulder, to little avail. “We should go. Now. Sooner than now, really.”
“Aw hay no, Rarity.” Applejack said, “Y'all told alla these folk here 'bout me bein' a painter...so Imma do a paintin' for 'em.”
Rarity paled, and barely caught herself before she fell to the floor in a shocked swoon. “What?”
“Oh! This must be that artistic temperment you mentioned!” Upper Crust crowed. “And, as it would just so happen, I believe there's some extra art supplies laying around.” A few other ponies stumbled out of the crowd and set up paints, canvas, and an easel with suspiciously well-coordinated speed. “There they are!”
“Well, ain't that convenient.” Applejack glared around her and stepped forward, fixing the blank canvas with an initmidating stare. “I ain't ever backed down from a proper challenge, n' now ain't gonna be the time to start.”
“Applejack, please- you don't have to do this.” Rarity rested a hoof on the cowpony's shoulder.
“Sure I do, darlin'. Somepony's told 'em how great a painter I am, so they gonna see me paint. Funny how that works.”
Rarity forced a pained laugh, and draped one leg over Applejack's shoulders, clutching her like a spar of driftwood in a shipwreck. “Yes, well, but everypony knows you can't rush artistic inspiration. I mean, the whole process of creation's so intimate, wouldn't you think that it might just be a teensy bit...embarassing, with all these ponies watching?”
Applejack smirked. “Y'all really think I care what these folks have ta say 'bout me?”
And before Rarity could protest, the cowpony-turned-'artist' took a paintbrush in her mouth and got to work. Rarity recognized Applejack's expression. The gritted teeth, the set brow, the defiant gleam in her eye- they all meant Applejack was going to accomplish something. It was almost enough to make a pony swoon, if one were so inclined. Rarity decided against doing so, mostly for convenience's sake. There'd be the time (and furniture) for that later.
Meanwhile, Applejack set to the task with the same determination she took to her farmwork, or any other challenge that crossed her path. She worked her paintbrush up and down, pausing every now and again to dab the bristles back into the paint as needed. A ripple of gossip spread amongst the various artists, critics, and other hangers-on as they watched each pass of Applejack's brush. The cowpony ignored them all, focusing only on her work.
And within moments, it was over.
Applejack spat out the paintbrush, and looked over the crowd, smug. “There ya go. One coat a' paint, free of charge.” She looked over the canvas, and nodded approvingly at the uniform shade of barn-red she'd painted it with, corner to corner. “Woulda gone faster iffin' I had a paint roller, but hey, ya work with what ya got, right? 'sides, li'l canvas like that ain't nothin' when you're used to paintin' whole barns, right?”
The gallery crowd stared at her in silence.
“Okay, so maybe ya ain't used to paintin' whole barns.”
“Well.” Upper Crust said. “That was...something.”
“Isn't it?” Rarity tried to keep the nervous quaver from her voice.
“It certainly was!” Fancy Pants gracefully stepped out of the crowd, “I mean, look at it! It's a brilliant commentary on the nigh-industrial conditions of the modern art market! Why, it's one of the most brilliant pieces of improvised art I've ever laid eyes on.”
At Fancy Pants' verdict, the other ponies in the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves in vague agreement.
“Her choice in color is brilliant- do you think the red represents blood?”
“No, it's not that red- it's more of an earthy, elemental look, if you ask me.”
“Nevermind the color, look at the brushwork! It's so absolutely even, there's not a drop of empty space, or of wasted paint! I don't understand how Fancy Pants can say it's industrialism, when it's obviously more of a tribute to old-fashioned craftsmareship.”
“This Applesnack is an up and comer!”
“I absolutely must have one!”
“Does she do commissions?”
With each outburst from the crowd, Applejack felt her tomach twist into a new knot. She'd done something worse than embarassing herself at the fancy-pants art gallery.
She'd become popular.
“Well.” Upper Crust did her best to ignore the chitchat echoing through the gallery. Given her finely-tuned ear for high society gossip, this proved easier said than done. “That's...certainly not what I expected.”
“'n just what did you expect?” Applejack said with just the right combination of politeness and vitriol. It was enough to make Rarity proud.
“I'm...not entirely sure.” Upper Crust said. “But that's part of the unpredictability of modern art then, isn't it? One never knows when there may be a...fluke.”
“Wha'd you just call me?” Applejack said.
“Oh, would you look at the time!” Rarity cut in, and began shoving Applejack away from Upper Crust before the situation got any worse. “We honestly must be off. You know how it is.”
“Hold up, Rarity,” Applejack braced herself again, and the unicorn nearly bounced off of her solid frame. “I'm thinkin' me n' that lady here gotta have...words.” Applejack snorted, and drug one hoof over the floor, deep enough to leave scratches in the hardwood.
“Oh, fine.” Rarity huffed. “If you're going to be stubborn about it, there's nothing more I can do. I'll just leave on my own. I'm sure I can find some fine gentlecolt to escort me back, if need be.”
“That s'posed ta make me jealous?” Applejack switched her ire from one unicorn to another.
“Of course not, darling.” Rarity smiled. “You know I wouldn't think of playing such games with you. Besides, you're a grown pony. I'm sure you won't have any trouble dealing with your sudden popularity. There's a whole crowd of ponies who're just dying to talk to you. Alone.”
Applejack mulled over those words for a few long moments, and glanced towards the still-gossiping crowd. “Y'know, when ya put it that way, I think headin' back ta the palace sounds like a good idea.”
“I knew you'd see it my way, Applejack. Now, shall we?” Rarity guided Applejack out the door and out into the street as fast as politeness could allow. The evening air was far cooler outside the little gallery, refreshingly so. It had apparently rained lightly sometime during the exhibition, leaving small puddles across Canterlot's cobblestones.
“Uh, I think we already shall'd.” The cowpony looked over her shoulder at the gallery as it receded into the distance. “Ain't they gonna make a fuss over us leavin' early?”
“Applejack,” Rarity said, flatly, “after all that's happened, are you really concerned about making 'a fuss?'”
“Y'know, when ya put it that way, it sounds pretty silly, don't it? Still...what 'bout all them folk that're goin' on 'bout me bein the best painter ever or somethin'? Seemed ta be a big deal. Ain't they gonna wanna see more?”
“For...now, yes,” Rarity said, “but you've got to realize, the art world is quite...fickle. Give it enough time, and they're bound to forget you as soon as the next big thing comes along.”
“How much time we talkin' 'bout?”
“Not much at all. Why, so long as you don't do anything...noteworthy, they'll probably forget about you in a few days. A week, tops. Something else is bound to come up to distract High Society soon enough. I'll make sure of it, if I have to.”
Applejack eyed Rarity warily. “'n just what're ya gonna do to make sure?”
“It's probably best if I don't answer that.”
“Welp, so long as all this is blown over by next Friday, I ain't gonna complain. I'd hate to miss the the Haymarket Hootenanny on account of some damnfool highfalutin' fancy pants malarkey. I've been' lookin' forward to takin' ya there for weeks now.” Applejack smiled, and leaned in for an affectionate nuzzle. “That is, iffin' ya still wanna go.”
Rarity felt most (if not all) of the evening's stress melt away at Applejack's touch. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I refuse? One thing, however...”
“Whassat?”
“Just...what exactly is a hootenanny again?”