//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: After a Fashion // by DarkPhoenix //------------------------------// Chapter 4: Inroads The door to Carousel Boutique swung open, Fancy Pants trudged inside followed by a contrite looking Sweetie Belle. Fancy was covered in mud and several sticks had grafted themselves into his mane. “I’m really sorry Mr. Fancy,” Sweetie was saying, she was looking down, her ears drooping. He gritted his teeth, counting to ten before replying. “It’s okay, Sweetie. It’s not your fault.” In truth, it wasn’t. It was that abomination of a pegasus’ fault. He’d tried to be nice, to get Sweetie’s friends to accept him. At first Scootaloo had been hesitant to trust him, but after he’d bought them lunch and listened as they excitedly chattered away about various plans to gain their cutie marks, she’d slowly grown to accept his presence. That had proved to be his undoing. Scootaloo was rambunctious and unafraid to voice her opinion on anything. As they’d taken him around town, she’d voiced her two bits on everything. Most of it he was perfectly willing to smile and nod, perhaps offer a comment or two, then promptly ignore. The tour had actually gone fairly well and been surprisingly informative. Some of the places they visited he’d recognized from mentions in Rarity’s letters. Others were new to him. Overall he’d been impressed with the fillies. It was after the tour where things had gone wrong. Scootaloo had insisted they attempted some harebrained idea or another, Fancy had been too busy observing Sweetie to pay attention. Sweetie was far more casual around her friends than her sister. Her movements were still fluid and natural, but she was more animated, less reserved. He should have been paying attention to what was said, as the end result of him simply nodding and saying yes was where he was now: covered in mud. Sweetie closed the door behind her, attracting the attention of Rarity. She came out of the backroom, a pair of red-rimmed glasses perched on her muzzle. When she spotted Fancy, she came to a dead stop, her mouth opening slightly. “What happened?” she asked, flabbergasted. Sweetie opened her mouth to speak, but Fancy cut her off. “Nothing,” he said. There was no sense in getting Sweetie in trouble for something that wasn’t her fault. No, it was that damned pegasus. “I wasn’t paying attention and fell into a mud hole.” Rarity looked at him with a hint of disbelief. “Really?” she deadpanned. He nodded. “Really. If anything, Sweetie’s only fault is being an excellent tour guide. I was too busy looking at what she was pointing out and not watching where I was going.” He smiled at her, closing the deal. She still looked like she did not believe him. “Well, if you say so.” One of her forelegs gestured to the stairs. “I suggest you wash up in the shower.” “That sounds like a fantastic idea.” He headed up the stairs, being careful to leave as little a trail as possible. Most of the mud had dried quickly in the sun, so at least it wasn’t sloughing off into the carpet. Once in the bathroom, he took stock of his reflection in the mirror. His pristine white coat was covered in a layer of mud and his mane looked truly frazzled. He tried extricating the sticks from his mane, but the dried mud meant that he nearly tore out his hair. He’d have to leave them in for the moment, until he could get in the shower. Using his magic, he turned on the water, waiting until steam was rising before stepping in. The first order of business was loosening the mud by getting it wet. As he stood there, letting the water cascade down his body, his thoughts returned to earlier. Sweetie’s two friends were a mixed bag of nuts. He’d figured out very quickly that Applebloom was the sister that Applejack had referred to. The similar names, as well as the accent would have clued anypony in. Applebloom was more excitable than Sweetie, but not as much as Scootaloo. No, that filly had a head on her shoulders underneath that giant bow. Scootaloo, though... she was trouble. Fancy would be surprised if there was anything but hot air filling her head. Between the constant bragging about Rainbow Dash, to her seeming inability to keep her mouth shut, she very quickly got on Fancy’s nerves. He’d gritted his teeth and endured it for the sake of continuing to watch Sweetie, but ten minutes into the tour and he wanted nothing more than to give her an impromptu flying lesson by tossing her as far as he could with his magic. She was the reason he was in his current state. That filly was a menace and if he had anything to say about it, Sweetie would cut all ties with her. In his opinion, Sweetie and Applebloom were fine. They, at least, had common sense enough to question whether something was a good idea. Scootaloo just charged ahead, unthinking about consequences. Fortunately, today wasn’t a total loss. He’d gotten familiar with Ponyville and where things were located, as well as observe Sweetie. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she still retained her natural grace even when Rarity wasn’t around. Part of him had been wondering whether it was simply something she unconsciously did around her sister as an attempt to emulate her. Along with her grace, she proved that she also had a good head on her shoulders. She’d been the first to speak up against Scootaloo’s plan, only going along with it because the pegasus had pressured her, and, evidently, because Fancy had unknowingly agreed as well. No, Sweetie had her rough edges, but he had less work to do than he had initially thought. The water running down the drain was a sick, brown color. He didn’t want to get anything dirtier than it already was, so he forewent using something to help get the mud off, sticking to his own hooves. Scraping along his body, he slowly exposed his coat once more. He vigorously rubbed his mane, loosening the mud there, as well as the sticks. Gingerly, he was able to pull them out, setting them in a small pile off to the side. All the while, he cursed Scootaloo for getting him this dirty in the first place. It took him three scrub downs with soap and shampoo before the water leaving his body was as clear as it was when it left the shower head. Finally feeling clean and satisfied, he turned off the water, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. Several minutes later, he’d combed and styled his mane, praising Rarity for her large collection of styling gels and tools, once again feeling like his old self. Heading back downstairs, he wondered what to do to pass the time. It wouldn’t be too long until dinner, so there wasn’t much point in leaving again. He looked around Rarity’s showroom, idly browsing the ponyquins she had on display. She really did have a talent as a designer. Her fashions were more simplistic than those found in Canterlot, but that had a lot to do with the local market. Ponyville most likely would not appreciate the additions that Canterlot excelled at flaunting. Yet if he looked closely, he could see hints of flair that she’d craftily hidden. It was there, just understated. It would take somepony with an eye for fashion to be able to tell the difference between these works of art, and the items from the local clothes barn. But all it took were these small details to know that the designer behind them was a talented marvel. He knew that she’d been looking for someway to get her business off the ground in Canterlot. The problem was that Canterlot looked down upon ponies who hailed from “backwater” towns like this. Nopony would give her a chance without somepony vouching for her, and nopony was willing to put their reputation on the line for an unknown. It was a catch-22: she needed somepony to vouch for her to become known, but nopony would vouch for her until she was known. Perhaps he could find someway to help her. If Rarity opened a shop in Canterlot, she’d be forced to spend time in the city, possibly bringing Sweetie with her. If he played his cards right, he could convince her to come stay at his place, where she’d be busy working, leaving him free to spend time with Sweetie. Speaking of Sweetie, he wondered where she was. If he strained, he could hear a soft humming coming from the back room, which meant Rarity was hard at work designing something. But of her sister, he heard no sound. He looked all around the first floor, seeing no sign of the filly. His curiosity got the better of him, so he headed back upstairs. The door to Sweetie’s room was cracked and he could hear movement inside. Peeking around the door, he saw Sweetie sitting on the floor, a piece of paper in front of her and several crayons scattered about. Curiously, she wasn’t drawing, but struggling to lift one of the crayons with her magic. Her horn was lighting up, but she wasn’t having any luck with actually getting the implement off the floor. It would wiggle around, but stayed resolutely in its place. The filly was grunting with effort of using her magic. Fancy risked opening the door just a little bit more, watching her. She continued to battle the crayon, her face scrunched with effort. He tried to figure out what she was doing wrong, but without talking to her, it was impossible. Finally, she gave up, her horn losing its color instantly. With a frustrated cry, she kicked the crayon, sending it skittering across the floor towards the door and Fancy. “Dumb crayon,” she said. Fancy opened the door, picking up the crayon in his magic and floating it over to Sweetie. When the implement appeared in front of her, she turned her head towards the door, seeing Fancy sitting there. “Having trouble?” he asked. She looked around. “No,” she said, the lie evident in her voice. She was lying, of course. Everypony had unconscious tells that told others they weren’t telling the truth. Fancy was good at reading said tells, as well as concealing them in himself. Yet he didn’t even have to try to know she was lying. He set the crayon down in front of her. At her age, struggling with magic wasn’t uncommon. Lots of fillies and colts were going through the same process she was, so it was nothing to be embarrassed about. “Want some help?” he offered. She shook her head. “I’ve got it.” He chuckled. “Sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, or accepting it when it’s being offered.” He looked around as if checking for anypony listening in, his head lowering until it was close to hers. “Wanna know a secret?” he whispered. She nodded, excitement taking over. “When I was your age, I couldn’t even make my horn light up.” Her eyes widened. “Really? But everypony in my class can at least do that.” “Really. I was terrible at magic. I still am, actually.” He wasn’t lying, either. He knew a lot of the theory behind magic, as it helped his business, but he wasn’t capable of performing many of the spells himself. Not that there was much call for that, that’s what he hired other, more magically inclined, unicorns for. He could live his life perfectly with only the most basic of spells. “At least you can lift a crayon,” she pouted. “As can you,” he countered. “And I can help you, if you want it.” He could see the filly warring with herself. Her pride was telling her to dismiss his offer, while her need to conquer this hurdle wanted her to accept. Fancy sat patiently waiting. He already knew that she’d take him up on his offer. Finally, Sweetie sighed. “Okay,” she said. Immediately, her horn lit up and she resumed trying to lift the crayon. Fancy placed a hoof on her shoulder, stopping her. “Not yet,” he said. He’d need to judge just where she was before he could try and help her. Keeping his hoof on her, subtly feeling her soft coat, he spoke again. “First, tell me what you’re trying to do.” “Lift the crayon,” she replied. He chuckled. “I mean, how are you going about doing that?” “Well, I’m trying to use my magic to grasp it.” Her general answers were giving Fancy a fairly good idea of what the problem was. “Have you been taught how to use your magic before?” “Sorta,” she said. “I asked Rarity to teach me, but she just told me to concentrate harder and went back to making her dresses. When I asked Twilight, she filled a chalkboard with math and talked for over an hour.” “And what did Twilight say?” At this Sweetie looked sheepish. “I... Don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t understand any of it, especially the math. It had all these weird symbols.” She stuck her tongue out in disgust. “So I just asked for some books to read, but those didn’t help either.” Fancy used his hoof to rub her back. “Books are all well and good, but there’s no substitute for a teacher.” He finally relinquished his hoof on her. She’d need to concentrate without distractions. “Can... Can you help me?” she asked, looking up at him. “I can try,” he said. He pointed to the crayon on the floor. “Take a good look at this.” She stared at it for several seconds. “Okay,” she said. “Now close your eyes,” he instructed. The filly complied, her eyes closing. “I want you to picture the crayon in your head. See it on the floor. Nod when you have it fully in your mind.” Sweetie nodded. “I can see it,” she said. “Now what?” “Patience.” He waited a moment, before continuing. “Now, I simply want you to channel magic into your horn. Don’t try and do anything, just make your horn light up.” How quickly she accomplished this would let him know how much she knew about the basic theory of magic. It took her a moment, but her horn was soon alight with her light green aura. The aura wavered for a moment before becoming steady, the filly channeling a constant stream of magic into her horn. Fancy was impressed. Most colts and fillies her age would have trouble sustaining their magic, their aura would be wavering as they struggled to adjust the amount of magic. Yet hers was quite stable, only the occasional waver in it. She was further along than he thought, and certainly further along than she thought. He let her sit there, channeling her magic, getting used to it. Now came the hard part, where her attention would have to be divided between two tasks. “Very good,” he said. “Can you still see the crayon?” She sat still for a moment, before nodding. The fact that she didn’t speak showed that she was too busy concentrating. “Good, now comes the hard part. I’m going to describe something to you, and you’re going to need to use your imagination to make it happen, all the while you cannot stop channeling your magic.” He gave her a quick moment to let that sink in. “In your mind’s eye, I want you to envision your magic reaching out and grasping the crayon. It can take any shape you want it too, but just picture it clearly.” Her horn wavered a bit, but stayed lit as she concentrated. “Don’t try and lift the crayon, not just yet,” he said. “Picture your magic grabbing the crayon and letting go, grabbing it and letting it go.” He stayed silent, watching her. Her horn wavered, nearly going out several times, but each time she pulled it under control. He’d honestly expected her to fail at this point. Most young ponies lacked the fine control to split their attention between channeling the magic and using their imagination. It was something that took practice to accomplish. Yet Sweetie seemed to be doing just fine. When her horn was mostly stable once more, he spoke up again. “Now, grasp the crayon and pick it up. Again, don’t actually try it, just imagine it. Envision your magic lifting the crayon off the floor.” This was the final simple step. If she could successfully imagine this, then the final step was to actually use her magic to accomplish what she wanted. He watched her carefully. In truth, there was very little difference between this step and the previous one, what mattered was that she get used to what it should look like. What he was really watching for was signs that she was getting tired. Already he could tell that her breathing was increasing, her chest rising and falling as she took in deeper breaths. A single droplet of sweat was making its way down her muzzle. She was getting close to her limit, before she could no longer sustain her magic. “Now comes the final step,” he said. “I want you to use your magic to lift the crayon. Keep your eyes closed.” Almost instantly her face scrunched up again and she started grunting with effort. “No,” he admonished. “Don’t try and force it. The magic is already flowing through you. Instead, just guide it. You’ve been guiding it already, you cannot force your imagination. Instead, let your imagination shape your desire then let the magic do the rest. Let it, don’t force it.” She still had a scrunched face, though she wasn’t grunting anymore. The light green aura surrounded the crayon, which wiggled around a bit, but still stayed on the floor. “You’ve already imagined what it should look like, now make it happen. Use your will to guide the magic. It’s yours to command, you simply need to direct it.” Slowly, her face relaxed. The aura around the crayon grew stronger as she concentrated. The crayon lifted off the floor marginally, slipping back down briefly before lifting back up. The process repeated for over a minute, each time the crayon staying in the air just a little bit longer. Fancy raised a single eyebrow. At each step, Sweetie had surpassed his expectations. He’d never believed that she could actually accomplish lifting the crayon. He figured that she’d fail and he could wrap up the lesson with an explanation of how to go through with the magic, then continue to work with her on it. Now, it seemed like he’d have to expedite his hasty plan. Sweetie was breathing hard, sweat evident on her face, but the crayon was hovering several inches off the floor. It still wavered, but it was there. “Keep guiding your magic,” he said, “and open your eyes.” She opened her eyes, blinking as they readjusted to the light after having been closed for so long. When she could see again, she spotted the crayon hovering over the floor, held in her magic. She gasped, her concentration breaking, causing the crayon to clatter to the floor. Silence permeated the room, the filly’s deep breaths the only noise. Fancy smiled down at her. “Congratulations,” he said. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. Finally, she got control of herself. “I... I did it...” she said. “I did it. I did it!” She leapt into the air, letting out a loud exaltation of joy. “I did it!” she cried again. Her eyes fell upon Fancy, who was still sitting there, chuckling at her antics. She reminded him of himself, when he finally managed to achieve the same thing. Accomplishing levitation was always a cause for celebration, as most unicorns struggled and struggled with it. Beyond lighting the horn, levitation was the most basic spell, making it the best place to start learning. Once the secret to levitation was unlocked, it was all about practice from there. Sweetie leapt once more, this time forward. She wrapped her hooves around Fancy’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He was slightly surprised at the hug, but recovered quickly, pulling the filly closer. Her soft coat pressed up against his, the scent of her mane filling his nostrils. He enjoyed the closeness. He leaned into the hug, getting his face as close to her as he could, inhaling through his nose, her scent filling him. She smelled like a mixture of berries. It was intoxicating. He gave himself into the contact, his nerves lighting up. Everywhere Sweetie was pressed against him was working on overdrive. Nerve endings sent messages of pleasure to his brain as her coat subtly rubbed against him with her breathing. “What’s going on up here?” A voice interrupted him. He looked over to see Rarity, her glasses still on, standing in the doorway. He took stock of the current situation, that being him alone with Sweetie in a room where she was in his arms. He scrambled for some way to explain this, despite Rarity simply looking confused. Sweetie beat him to it. She released him, running over to Rarity. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “I did magic!” She pointed to the crayon that still sat on the floor. “I levitated the crayon!” Rarity looked over her sister at Fancy, who nodded. “She did,” he confirmed. “Mr. Fancy taught me how to do it.” Rarity looked back down at Sweetie. “That’s amazing, Sweetie. Congratulations.” She smiled at her sister, the smile being genuine. Bending down, she hugged Sweetie. The two sisters shared a moment of joy over an accomplishment. Eventually, Sweetie pulled away. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Applebloom and Scootaloo.” She rushed over to Fancy, giving him another hug. “Thanks again, Mr. Fancy.” He was careful to just wrap a single foreleg around her. As much as he wanted to give in to the hug, he couldn’t, not with Rarity standing there. He had to be careful. When she pulled away, Fancy went back to coaching her. “Now do you remember what I told you?” She nodded, an infectious smile still on her face. “It will still be difficult at first, but if you keep practicing, it will get progressively easier.” He left out anything that would be better dealt with in the future. For now, she just needed to concentrate on getting better at what she already knew. “But,” he cautioned. “Be careful not to overexert yourself. If you feel lightheaded or start getting a headache, then stop for the day.” Once again, she nodded. “Yes,” she said. Fancy rubbed a hoof over Sweetie’s head, causing her to giggle and try to flatten her mane back down. “You did very well today.” She beamed at him, still riding high on her success. He left the room, Rarity leading the way back downstairs. As they walked, he noticed that behind her smile, Rarity looked upset. He wondered if by teaching Sweetie magic he’d made her upset. Having her feeling down, and with him the cause, would never do. He needed her to be happy with him if he was going to continue to have access to Sweetie. Perhaps if he apologized then he could make things better. “Rarity, I’m so sorry,” he said. She looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “Whatever for?” He flattened his ears, doing his best to look contrite. Appearing apologetic went a long way towards the offended party accepting, whether you were sincere or not. “I saw Sweetie struggling with her magic and I don’t know what came over me. I just... felt like helping. I remembered the method that my old magic tutor used to teach me, and I tried it with Sweetie.” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “Honestly, I never expected her to actually succeed.” His head turned up, looking her in the eyes. Her face was passive, but her eyes betrayed shock, though at what he wasn’t entirely sure. “So, I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds.” The room was quiet a moment. “Fancy, you did nothing wrong. In fact, I should be thanking you for helping Sweetie. She’s been struggling for so long with magic, it’s wonderful to see her succeeding. To see her so happy.” “You looked upset,” Fancy explained. “I thought it was because of what I did.” Rarity laughed. “Oh no, not at all. You just did so much for Sweetie. If anything, I’m upset at myself.” They entered the kitchen, Fancy noticing that a pot was on the stove, steam rising out of it. Rarity took a seat at the table, Fancy sitting down next to her. “The truth is,” she continued, “I’ve been meaning to work with Sweetie on her magic lately. But I’ve just been so busy with orders and with the shop, as well as my friends and my fiancé, that I’ve been neglecting Sweetie.” Fancy reached out, taking one of her hooves in his own. She seemed surprised at first, but didn’t pull away. “Rarity, you can’t punish yourself for that. Take it from me: life has a way of getting away from you sometimes. You can get caught up in things and everything else just fades away.” He gripped her hoof just a little tighter for a moment. “Sometimes you just need somepony else to show you what you’re missing. Celestia knows I’d be lost without Quick Time, my assistant. That mare is a blessing, making sure everything is organized at work, and then unafraid to kick my plot out of the office if I get too caught up in things.” Rarity chuckled. “She sounds interesting.” Fancy nodded. “That she is. She’s more helpful than she realizes. But my point is that you shouldn’t blame yourself for getting caught up in the details, it happens to everypony at some point. Now that you know it, you can avoid it. Spend some time with Sweetie. Soon.” He used his free hoof to gesture around him. “I’m a capable stallion, I can watch your store for a bit while you spend some quality time with your sister.” “Oh no, I can’t ask that of you. You’re a guest and here on vacation, I can’t put you to work.” “Rarity, I’m offering. Just take the offer. If not for yourself, then do it for Sweetie.” She struggled with her thoughts. “Oh, fine,” she gave in. “I’ve got an order due tomorrow that I still need to finish up, but once I wrap that up, I’ll do it.” He squeezed her hoof again, a gesture that she returned. “There, that wasn’t so hard.” She playfully swatted his shoulder, earning a chuckle from him. “It was excruciating,” she joked, a smile gracing her muzzle. “Thanks for the talk.” “Anytime,” he said. His hoof still held hers. She was so soft, her hooves well manicured. She wasn’t pulling away, so he was going to enjoy the contact as long as he could. This was what he wanted, what he would have, after a fashion. Eventually, she pulled away with the excuse that she needed to finish up dinner. Fancy just smiled at her, sitting at the table as she went over to the stove, stirring whatever was in the pot. Despite what that pegasus had put him through, today was an overall success. He’d gotten to spend time with Sweetie away from Rarity, giving him a better glance at what he had to work with, and what still needed improvement. He’d also made a huge stride in getting the filly to trust him. By helping her with her magic, she’d be far more comfortable around him, more accepting should he suggest something in the future. He knew not to rush things. He was playing a slow game. Rushing would only end in failure. But by taking it slowly, carefully, he would win. He’d get what he set out after: his Rarity. Dinner came and went, filled with the excited chatter of Sweetie as she discussed magic. Fancy declined to comment, letting Rarity handle most of the interaction. He’d get his opportunity, but for now it was time to let Rarity take the stage. Keeping Rarity happy was a priority. The rest of the night was spent in pleasant conversation with the sisters. Rarity was interested to hear about Canterlot and what was going on there. Sweetie listened, though Fancy could tell that her interest wasn’t the highest on the current subject. He tried to include her by describing some of the things in the city that would appeal to a filly. With each successive thing, he could tell that her interest was growing. Maybe he wouldn’t have to suggest a trip to Canterlot after all, he could just plant the idea in her mind and let her do all the work convincing Rarity. Eventually, they all retired for the night, Sweetie yawning and professing that she wasn’t that tired. Rarity ushered her sister up the stairs, telling her to get ready for bed and that she’d tuck her in. Despite protests that she was too old for that, Fancy could tell that she wanted it. Fancy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sweetie and Rarity were both in bed, leaving the Boutique in a relaxing silence. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the feeling of Sweetie pressed up against him. The ghost of her scent tingled his nose. It was stupid, but he needed to be near her, just once more before he could sleep. Cautiously, he peeked his head out of the guest room. The hallway was dark, the only light was Luna’s moon, spilling in through the window. On the tips of his hooves, he crept down the hallway, pausing briefly in front of Rarity’s door. He pressed and ear against it, listening. The only sound was silence. He listened for any sign that she was awake for over a minute, before feeling satisfied that he could continue. He arrived at Sweetie’s door, seeing it cracked open. Rarity must’ve left it open after she got done tucking Sweetie in. That made his job a lot easier. He nudged the door, which swung open without a sound. Sweetie’s bed was positioned across the room from a window, allowing moonlight to illuminate the sleeping filly. Her back was to the door. Quietly, he crept into the room and over to the bed. He could barely make out the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was asleep. Leaning over, he placed his muzzle next to her, inhaling. His nose filled with her sweet scent. The berry smell was stronger now that she’d showered recently. Sweetie let out a small sound. Fancy froze, afraid that he’d woken her up. The filly rustled deeper into the covers, letting out a sigh. He waited, still frozen. When her breathing remained deep and slow, he let go of the breath he’d been holding. It would certainly do him no good to get caught in her room late at night. Even if he would be able to come up with a suitable explanation, Rarity would be sure to watch him closer; suspicion would certainly be planted. Taking a chance, he inhaled once more, savoring the scent as long as his lungs could hold the air. Still holding his breath, he left Sweetie’s room, making sure to nearly close the door behind him. As soon as he made it back to his room, he released his breath in a great rush of air. Just like Rarity, Sweetie entranced him. Her beauty, her grace, he wanted it all to himself. Climbing back into bed, he got under the covers, resting his head on the pillow. A smile graced his muzzle as he still savored the memory of her scent. Today had been a good day, all things considered. He’d advanced further than he thought possible in such a short time. Still smiling, Fancy fell asleep.