//------------------------------// // Distracted // Story: Timed Ramblings // by Midnight herald //------------------------------// Twilight had been gone longer than expected. Far too long to remain entirely relaxed, but Rarity was a talented enough actress to manage. She had to be. Spike, the darling that he was, had offered to do the dishes, giving her time to compose herself properly, setting the mask of control and poise firmly over her face before trotting over with a rag to help dry and put away what was left of their impromptu pasta for two. She glanced at the clock again and shuddered lightly, wiping harder than necessary at a plate. Eight hours. The worst state of emergency Twilight had faced since coronation had taken her four. Rarity slipped the plate on its stack with barely any clatter and smiled at Spike eagerly, as genuinely as she could. “Would you like to come upstairs, Spike?” she asked, adding a little shimmering chuckle to her words. His face lit up and her smile felt a little less forced. “I’ve got some designing to do, but I’m sure you can stay quiet enough, right?” Spike nodded happily, looking a year younger in seconds. That’s right, keep him occupied. Keep him distracted. Rarity led Spike into her bedroom and nearly laughed aloud as he gazed about in wide-eyed wonder. He really was still a baby dragon, as much as he would insist to the contrary. Rarity sat down at her desk and took her vellum and charcoal, sketching out a basic shape to hold the details of the dress, keeping an eye on Spike between stroked and lines. She was going for a daring cut, down past the knees in the back and then sharply, boldly upwards, showing a teasing edge of the cutie mark, travelling along the hip with a gather to accentuate the grace of movement, attaching to a side-lace bodice… Spike looked at her many shades of lipstick, straightened her wall-mirror five times, bounced on the edge of her wide mattress,rolled across the same mattress in a tight somersault, alphabetized her bookshelf, glanced at the clock, looked at her many shades of lipstick … The dress would be reminiscent of water, the skirt made of two layers of blue-green lace over pale lavender satin, loosely tacked together. The bodice - Embroidered with gentle wave patterns, would shift colors subtly in the light - washed silk, a murky olive green. The sleeves would be sky-blue slashed to show turquoise, slightly poofy yet streamlined, ending right before the elbow. A half-cape, a warm yellow on one side and a dark blue on the reverse, depending on the mood of the party… Spike cleared his throat again, standing right behind her. Rarity jumped slightly and turned with a smile. “What can I do for you, Spike?” she asked sweetly, smiling carefully. Calmly. “Do you have something to write with?” Spike asked. Rarity handed him a pencil and pushed her work aside. He grabbed a scrap of old paper and set to furiously crunching numbers. “What’s this?” Rarity asked, looking over his shoulder. “She probably burned herself out in a fight,” Spike explained, “So she’ll have to fly back. And since her average wingpower is 8.5 and the Macintosh hills are 35 kilotrots away, it’ll take her…” Spike’s sharp eyes flew over the paper and he mouthed numbers to himself… “Seven hours to get back.” He smiled easily, although Rarity could see a flighty, haunted tension in his eyes. Rarity nodded thoughtfully. “See, she’s been gone for 13 now, but she might’ve headed back already. And it probably took her longer to take down whatever she’s going after, since she doesn’t have the magic left to teleport back.” Rarity smiled and nuzzled Spike’s crest comfortingly. “I’m sure she’s fine then,” she crooned. Then she pulled her deck of cards out of its drawer and waved them teasingly beneath Spike’s nose. “Would you like to play some rounds of war?” Spike’s face brightened again, and Rarity shuffled the deck and handed it to him to split and deal. Just keep him occupied. Just keep him distracted, and we’ll be fine.