//------------------------------//
// Professional Courtesy 
// Story: The Tailor and her Recurring Customer: Part 1 
// by Dancewithknives 
//------------------------------//


November 11th….

It was a strangely warm November day, one that would be more fitting somewhere in September, but was not too out of place this time of the year. Quite obviously, the source of this out of the ordinary phenomena was not all through Mother Nature. Partially to blame was the Ponyville weather team. Due to a fluke in the schedule, a rain shower earlier in the week was missed, and thus the humidity in the air was high. To compensate for the mishap and not redo the schedule, they would have to resort to a heavy rainfall that night.

A very heavy rainfall.

As in it was raining sideways.

And through this storming weather, two ponies scurried in the mud and around the buildings, juggling the benefits and consequences of stirring up too much mud vs. the onslaught of rain. But as they dipped and dodged through the water that was all around, their destination was within view.

The Carousel Boutique stood tall and proud in the rain like a wedding cake topper. The cute, layered shop had the rainfall cascade off of it like a manmade waterfall. The fancily painted details and facades directed the water to fall off of the different roofs in powerful streams like a fountain while the gutters drained as much water as they could but were nonetheless overwhelmed by the monsoon.

The two travelers in the night rushed to the entrance way and hid beneath the arch. The larger of the two, holding an umbrella,  closed the shield and folded it down. A key was produced from beneath one of the yellow raincoats and pushed into the door.

The smaller of the two pushed the unlocked door open and rushed in onto the entrance mat, soon followed by its chaperon.

The first one to enter threw the yellow transparent hood back, revealing her curled, dual colored mane. The filly turned and then whined, “Rarity, did we REALLY~~~~ need to send Scootaloo and Applebloom home? It’s not that bad outside.”

Lightning struck outside, blinding the world in white light and making the filly disappear temporarily.

When everything returned to normal, the little white filly reappeared cowering beneath the other cloaked mare.

Rarity, after fixing her mane from the close fitting yellow hood, used magic to pull off hers and Sweetie Belle’s raincoat and placed them on the nearby coat rack. “I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle. But we’ll just have to have your Cutie Mark Crusaders Slumber Party some other time.”

“But-”

“It’s only luck that we took them home before the storm.”

“Ohmmmmm,” Sweetie Belle grumbled. “Okay.”

“Oh, don’t be so glum, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said, using a hoof to shift her sister’s damp snout up. “You can’t let the rain spoil all of your fun! Why don’t you go and pick out a board game and I will make us some hot chocolate.”

The filly turned to her big sister and gazed up in disbelief, “You will?”

Her only response was a nod, to which the little sister bolted from the shop’s entrance and around the corner, up the stairs and into the living space.

Rarity Belle, the owner of the Carousel Boutique, smiled at the simple solution to her sister’s despair. She made a mental note to make her promised order of hot chocolate, but before she could do that she had to first check her store for the few minutes that she had left it vacant. 

First, she turned the “Closed” sign back to “Open” out of instinct and then looked at the sandwich board that she had placed by the door earlier in the season.  On the board, the promotion said, “Due to the changing of season, we will be open until eight O’clock during weeknights for scheduling, measuring, and fitting due to the upcoming celebrations. Please remember to schedule for time now instead of the last minute! *Smileface*

-Rarity Belle- Carousel Boutique.”

The seamstress of Ponyville looked at the clock beside her diploma from design school.

6:48

The young entrepreneur grimaced at the time. Holiday hours were not fun, but she did not want to go back on her promise of staying open late. Such an action could jeopardize the relation between her and her clients… but she did want to close up early. Her promise to her sister practically demanded it!

She was the firm’s one employee, owner, and operator. It ultimately was her decision. She flipped the sign from open to closed again and locked the door. She worked all day, and while this action could lose business for her, judging by the hour and condition outside, she doubted that anypony in their right mind would want to be fitted for evening wear.

After making the executive decision to go back on her promised hours, she made her way through the shop, walking past the dressing room, measurement station, and other facilities until she rounded the corner. This particular corner was the boundary line that separated the building’s purpose as a shop and changed into her home. She entered the kitchen, turned the stove on, and put a small pot atop the glowing red pad.

She looked up, used her magic to open up her cabinet and pulled down two large bars of chocolate.

The first bar was authentic 100% dark chocolate in a fine dark wrapper, left in the same condition that it had arrived in. It had been ordered from a magazine and imported from a bakery in Stwizlerland. The other…. Was a large cheap bar of milk chocolate from the local candy store. The wrapper was open and showing signs of nibs being taken off every now and then.

From her fridge, two bottles of white liquid floated out with the help of glowing blue magic, whole milk and crème respectively.

From the next cabinet over, a bag of locally grown sugar, store bought espresso mix (for a little extra kick!) and a small vial of vanilla extract.

Now, with all her ingredients out, the unicorn opened a drawer and pulled out a kitchen knife and a whisk. 

First, she filled the pot warming on the stove about half way with both the cream and the milk. Using her instinct and attention to detail, she eyeballed the correct amount of sugar and added that to the brew as well as a teeny bit of the expresso mix and vanilla extract.

While the concoction warmed, she unwrapped both her fancy foreign chocolate and domestic brand and chopped them both up on a cutting board. She needed to let the warming milk and sugar get to the correct temperature before adding the chocolate, so she took the time to put away her used utensils and leftover ingredients before checking again.

It still wasn’t warm enough.

Rarity gave a huff. She didn’t set the temperature to burn or boil the milk, but she needed to get close to that before she added the chocolate! 

She pondered what to do; but then her eyes wandered over to the glass kitchen table. Her mind began to wander in her waiting time. She had a long day; it would feel nice to relax for a little while the hot chocolate cooked. She began to think of a recent habit she had developed to do just that.

She made her way over to the kitchen table and sat down at her seat, the one that had its back to the window and an open view to all of the kitchen appliances, and brought the nearby record player that usually sat perched by said window and set it beside her at the table.

Before she wound the music maker and allowed its melodies to fill the kitchen, she raised the needle and removed the vinyl disc.

Around the center label of the dark flat plastic was the label, “Sapphire Shores: Around the World Tour: ‘Prancing in Prance’”

It may as well just have read “Rarity’s Guilty Pleasure.”

She gently set her prized possession back into its place and wound it up, the needle slowly lowered itself down and began to gently scratch the record.

There were a few seconds of mute static and clicks until the gentle sound of Harps, Violins, Cellos, and other stringed instruments began to flow from the music box.

Rarity began to sit back and relax, this felt good.

And almost as if it were an instrument itself, the vocal cords of Sapphire Shores began to sing in perfect harmony with the other sounds. But not in her indigenous voice. No, the reason why the little up and coming dressmaker cherished this particular album over the others was because it was not in Equestrian, but Prench.

But more than that, this song in particular was a classic. It was not just a Prench translation of one of her other hits, but instead a classic gospel that had survived the ages, almost as if it had known that it’s destiny lead to this particular album.

The pitch, the harmony, the flow, the tempo of the Prench language was destined to be magnified through Sapphire’s vocal cords… none of which Rarity would understand though.

Sadly, for as much as she tried to act like she knew Prench, she did not. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend to.

Now that her ears were beginning to rise to cloud nine, it was time to do the same for her other senses. Lying where she had put it earlier in the day was the morning paper.  She opened it and let the cascade of words bring her mind into a gentle haze.

With her eyes occupied, ears in ecstasy, and nostrils nurturing the soft smell of warm milk, Rarity felt herself finally relax.

She began to daydream, the perfection of Prench being done by Sapphire Shores directing her imagination as she envisioned angels coming down from the sky.

Covering her in a pristine white dress that glowed like a diamond.

Attaching elegant white wings to her back and ascending her into the heavens.

Where handsome and muscle bound stallions were awaiting her.

Who would gently hoof feed her grapes.

And their cologne! It smelled of immolated corpses-

What?

Rarity shook herself out of her daydream. The record player skipped on its track to supplement her rude awakening. What made her think of such a strange thought?

Then she looked at the page of the newspaper she was subliminally reading, the international news. The headline read “Party ends with a Bang!”

There were two pictures under the title, the one on the left showed party guests and ponies dressed to the ninth degree entering on a red carpet. The one on the right was a disturbingly different picture. A mansion up in flames. Party guests falling back on basic survival instincts to get away from the fire. Ladies in ripped dresses crying on the ground at the carnage.

The picture was enough to rip the young mare from her fantasies, it deserved to be read.

“Medellin, Kolaumbian billionaire, philanthropist, and suspected trafficker of the narcotic known as  ‘Pixie Stixs’ had thrown a celebration for his wife’s birthday yesterday. The party was going smoothly until a fire started and caused the guests to panic. Initial investigations suspect that the fire was started when a rogue firework detonated and either started a chain reaction or igniting the dry plant life from of the drought in the area. But as the night proceeded and fires were extinguished, rumors of a secret area of the compound surfaced, raising the question that the claims of Mr. Medellin being a drug trafficker may be true. 

The Kolaumbian army officials made no comment of the incident, even though they scrambled to defuse the situation as fast as they could. They were not able to save the majority of the mansion.

Mr. Medellin as well as many party guests have not been found yet. Fire and rescue crews are searching the area for any signs of life or their remains. Story continues on page 5D.”

Rarity folded the newspaper in half and slid it away from her as if it smelled of rotten eggs. Such an article was unfit to be in the news. She would not see another word of it.

But, as she pushed the stack of papers away from her, she realized that she was neglecting her hot chocolate. She stood up, feeling a bit better, and walked back to the stove. Sure enough, the milk was ready, so she lifted the cutting board and let the chopped chocolate carefully cascade into the white mixture.

Now all she had to do was wait for it to melt, mix it up with her whisk, and then it would be all ready for distribution and consumption. Instead of going back to her musically made heaven, she decided to wait for the chocolate to melt and quickly whisk it to greatness and then join her little sister upstairs.

But as her best laid plans were made, they were soon crushed again.

As Rarity stood guard over her pot of milk and chocolate, she heard the bell above the door signal a new arrival into the Carousel Boutique.

Rarity looked back at the kitchen door with bewilderment. She swore that she locked the door before she went to her house. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dear.” She called out, sticking to her guns about spending the rest of the night with her sister. “But I had to close shop early. ” She walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, “I am sure I can reschedule you for a more convenient time later, and I will be willing to provide a discount for the inconvenience. ”

She was at the corner of where her house turned into her shop.  She was just about to step around the corner, but then she heard a familiar voice, but not one that was welcome.

It was a cold, clear, and low voice. Even though it was quiet and not in alarm, it seemed to echo around the building.

“Ms. Belle,”

No…

Rarity changed from a trot to a sprint as she put forth all her effort to make sure that the thing she thought was around the bend in her shop was just her imagination.

She jumped around the corner and inspected the entrance way of her shop. But as if she had just sprung a trap, lightning struck outside of the shop, probably on one of the lightning poles atop many of the buildings in Ponyville. But nonetheless, a blinding white light filled Rarity’s vision. 

Right in the center of the bright white frame, standing before her was a dark splotch. Like the representation of her fears. A dark void was there, sucking in the light of the world, ready to consume her as well.

But luckily the hallucination lasted only a second, and after a blink to recover the details and colors of the world returned. Even though her brief second was just nerves, and that there was no ‘dark void’ in her universe, the danger was still genuine.

Standing reared at the door, putting a wet weather resistant coat with the label ‘OMNISHIELD’ on the sleeve onto the rack next to her own was a navy blue stallion. One that she recognized much too well.

“I need a new suit.”