//------------------------------// // Service // Story: The Tailor and her Recurring Customer: Part 1 // by Dancewithknives //------------------------------// Present… Rarity Belle walked her client up to her counter and opened up the registration book to the most recent page. Using her magic, she readied a quill and scribbled a garbled mess on the newest blank in a way that would look like messy hoofwriting. With no forced cheer, charisma, charm, or effort in her voice, she asked, “Are my proportions correct or is there a need to measure once again?” The last minute arrival shook his head slowly to reply. “Very well.” She answered, “Leave the fabric to be recycled and I will start immediately.” She set off to gather the supplies to fulfill the order, but the customer spoke again, “I should wash.” She looked him over again, wet from the rain and also covered in a smoky type of dirt that ruined the fine pieces of his old garments. Even though he had stripped the suit away, the ruinous substances could be smelled from his fur. Even if it wasn’t THIS particular client, she would have suggested for him to clean off before being fitted. “Indeed.” The two professionals broke away, one heading to the back while the other went to the closet, gathering stuffing, thread, needles, scissors, magnifying glasses and whatever else called for the making of this one particular piece before heading to her filing cabinet in the back, searching her records of clients and finding the proper one with her customer’s dimensions. Now, with instructions, tools and supplies ready, she began to create. Not a simple article of clothing, but a piece of artwork. She sat, but before she began to make the first cut, she heard something. A low rumble, that of pacing hooves stomping around somewhere. Confused, she looked at the ceiling and listened for a while, deducing where the phantom steps were going and simulating their movements based on a memory of the floor plan. It wasn’t until the familiar creaking of the top step of the stairs that lead to the second floor did the young store owner remembered a terrible fact. She was not alone tonight. Abandoning her prepared job, she shot out of the sewing room and ran to the staircase, sliding to a stop and looking up at who was standing there. Her younger sister, a frown and annoyed look on her face, stared bullets down at her sister. She demanded, “How much Longer, Rarity! I’ve been waiting forever!” Her being around her client was one thing… but her sister? Never! As a proper sibling, a protective adult and overall good pony, she would never allow danger to befall Sweetie Belle for the potential risk that even becoming aware of the customer washing his coat off in the guest bathroom imposed. “Sweetie Belle!” she shushed , “Please, be quiet we have a…” she thought for a moment, “A fashion emergency on our hooves!” Sweetie Belle stood at the top floors with her mouth open in disgust, the effect of that hated term settling in her brain and instigating anger within her. “But you said-” “I know,” Rarity interrupted again, “But please, I need to do this right now…” She look her sister over, thinking of an excuse to occupy her time, “And you’re filthy!” she claimed, “Sweetie belle, you should have washed when we returned home, shame on you!” Yes, redirecting the blame on her sister was not a nice thing to do, but now was not the time to be the sister of the year. “But… I, you’re dirty too! We were out in the rain, remember?!” The older of the two sibling pointed her nose up, playing the role of snob perfectly, and said, “Sweetie Belle, instead of arguing, you should be getting yourself cleaned up. ” The other pale unicorn in the shop/ house readied to rebuke again. How was SHE the bad pony all of a sudden? But instead of fighting, she kept her mouth closed and chewed back her insults and arguments by grumbling, “Fine.” But, instead of heading back into the safety of the second floor, she head down the stairs. The filly’s guardian sidestepped to be in the way of her family member once more and questioned, “I thought I said to clean yourself off?” “You did,” she snarked, “but there’s no shampoo upstairs, I gotta go get some from the guest bathroom.” It was true what they said, no plan survives contact with the enemy, and counter to what the store owner had thought, her contingency had, instead of saving her from it, pointed her young lamb towards the lion’s den of the washroom. “Y-You can’t! My customer is using it!” Sweetie Belle groan again, “Alright, I’ll wait for them to leave.” That still did not help the mare’s plight. She stepped aside once again and further hindered her sister’s advance. She thought as fast as she could, where else was there shampoo in the house? Her mind raced, and could only find one spot. But was it worth it? She looked at the spoiled mood of her sister, and made her decision. With a long sigh, Rarity answered, “You can use my lavatory for the night. But please, stay upstairs. I have business that must be done.” Sweetie Belle heard her sister, and the devil on her shoulder began to rub its hooves together in anticipation. “Okay,” she answered with an evil sneer. “If you say so…” before slowly walking back up the stairs and turning to her sister’s bedroom, towards the unguarded nest of imported mane cleansers that were practically begging to be abused. Past… The dressing screen was pulled back, and as expected, the newly arrived guest exited, carrying a tied bag and a ball of rags that he had once been wearing before. Rarity beckoned her guest over to a center pedestal in the shop next to a small podium and mirror. Decorating her neck like a fine and expensive scarf were several measuring tapes. Ready to try and crack through her customer’s surface. She smiled again and said, “Oh, thank you darling, but please leave those rags on the counter, I shall take care of them later.” He did as asked and turned to look at the counter. Using his green magic, he placed the ruined garments where his host requested. It was a shame what happened to them, really. Their purpose may have been to be affordable formal wear, but they did not deserve that fate. Rarity even doubted she could recycle any of the cloth. She would either have to bury it in the back yard or burn it in a bonfire to properly lay it to rest. But as he discarded his old clothes, the white unicorn in the room noticed something that she had not yet seen about this new pony. Wings. The customer continued to the measuring area as the dressmaker thought on what to do. She looked at her podium and the pre-rendered sheet that had the anatomy of a unicorn on it with spaces for her to place the lengths. “Oh, my!” she said, quickly scribbling in wings and arrows to record those measurements as well, “I had no idea you had wings.” “Yes, my apologies,” he said, moving to position and standing as still as a statue. “Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said, marking that down as some progress with her shy customer. “You are a winged unicorn, correct?” “Yes.” “I have never had the opportunity to meet one before, let alone make clothing for one. This is a very special occasion! My, I can see how you can be mistaken for an alicorn!” “Yes.” In the time it took to make that statement, as well as carry on a largely one sided conversation about mistaking one thing for another, Rarity had measured almost all of his dimensions; Barrel, haunch, length, leg, hoof, height , neck, shoulders, wingspan, lateral wingspan, horn, and several other places on his body that would usually be neglected by another clothes maker, but not her. She was not simply making an article of clothing for her customers, but a piece of them. An extension of their body. It was as unique and special as they were. For her efforts to mean anything, it had to fit perfectly. Even after millenniums of existence, Alicorns were still shrouded in mystery. The Princesses have never bred other alicorns before, and for all the experimentation made into their origin, scientists still have not determined if they had been chosen to be who they are or were lucky foals in a .00001 percentile range. Winged unicorns, on the other hoof, were quite different. Unlike the Princesses, scientists could study a winged unicorn’s pedigree, these subjects have been made through years of breeding and trading traits from one species to another for generations. The pony before Rarity was an imperfect hybrid, nothing more than a mutation or a genetic mistake.It just so happened that, based on that the horn seemed to be more powerful than the wings, that his traits mainly favored the later part of its name. Rarity had never had the opportunity to work with one; this was a brand new adventure for her. A lazy seamstress would simply use what they assumed his wingspan would be if specifically a pegasus, but she was not a lazy seamstress. The rumors she had heard were true, as she measured her client's wingspan, she noticed that he was significantly shorter in that respect than what he should have been. Also, from her years at design school, she noticed a significant lack of feathers making up his wings. The ones he did have were spread out longer to try and compensate. Rarity assumed that defect must have made attaining flight much harder for him, but she also assumed he was used to it, he may have known his limitations and stayed in a comfortable range of effort. The absence of feathers must have put a strain on his wings, but the tailor assumed he must have grown them back quickly. Her friend Rainbow Dash lost feathers constantly, but she never seemed to be hindered by it. Although it was cliché, Rarity never took an interest in biology at school. But she would not deny there was something fascinating about the way genetics made ponies. How a member of one species could be born from parents of completely different races was indeed fascinating. Rarity was a firm believer that there were three pony tribes in the beginning. But to just think what the likes of the tribe leaders would do if they could see into the future and view how evolution had put their differences aside to create a being that shared bits and bots of two species. It was simply mind-boggling. Even though she did her job with full attentiveness, a tiny theory began to develop in her mind. A silly little fantasy that a schoolfilly would dream up about a random handsome stranger, but as her mouth talked, magic measured, and eyes saw, her mind was as active as ever. Not thinking about what would be the best color to accent navy blue, but instead her own fantasy about her new client. Why he was coming to her little store, being so shy, why he had both wings and a horn, why he was being so unresponsive. Maybe he was a Prince! Of course her first thoughts went on to old desires and the lust to have her dreams of marrying a handsome Prince come true, an instinctive reflex made by habit, one that she was trying to break away from. But even though marrying and living happily ever after would have been a dream come true, there were other things that she could take advantage of than to fuel a fantasy. He could be anything from a Prince to a lesser noble’s offspring or an ambassador. The fact of the matter was that, if he was born into some higher position in which he was trying to hide from her, she could take advantage of this opportunity to show her talent and thus receive better business. He probably wanted a small tailor shop instead of a chain or better known firm, and by word of mouth or luck, he had heard of Lady Rarity and The Carousel Boutique. Clothing was one of the best advertisements, she had to pay almost nothing for it, and when a customer wore one of her garments, they may as well have been a walking billboard. His old suit, rest it’s soul, must have been old, forgotten, or experienced an accident to be brought into the shop in ribbons. But it’s loss would not be in vain. Like the phoenixes of the east, in its ashes a magnificent representation of success and chivalry would emerge. Its purpose, to make the first impression before its owner even spoke, to be the conversation piece, to attract all of the wandering eyes, to make its owner the center of attention. This was no longer a fight to uphold her ego or reputation, but business.