Rarity
Rarity dreamt of rescuing a stallion from a manticore just in time to make it to a ball aboard a gilt airship. The two of them were retreating to the airship's sizable penthouse suite when, much to her annoyance, she woke. Pushing back her mask, she glanced around her bedroom and swivelled her ears, searching for whatever had had the gall to interrupt her sleep. She found nothing; the room was silent and still.
Not entirely sure why she did so, Rarity decided to go downstairs rather than attempt sleep. As she descended the stairs of the Carousel Boutique, she heard the faint sound of shuffling and muttering, barely audible above the creak of stair and the clipclop of hoofstep. She hastened downwards and swept into the main studio of the boutique, where she found an agitated and gaunt pegasus mare rifling through some of her reference books, which were now strewn across the floor.
“This is … absolutely … scandalous,” said the mare quietly. She seemed not to notice Rarity.
“Can I help you, my dear?” said Rarity, walking across the room. “Are … are you lost?” It struck her as a rather mundane response to the situation, but the mare didn't seem aggressive, and in any case, a midnight home invasion was a poor excuse for rudeness.
The mare choked out what might have been a laugh. “I very much doubt it,” she said without looking up. “And, au contraire, I think this is the first time I've had a good reason for being anywhere in Equestria. Which … Ha! … makes this all the more …” Finally she looked at Rarity. Her gaze was intense, and the circles under her eyes stood out against an otherwise youthful face. “What is this!?” Shaking, she pushed an open book at Rarity.
Rarity wrinkled her nose. “Miss! I know you're upset, but there's really no need for such behaviour! We're civilised ponies, are we not?”
The mare took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please. Show a girl some sympathy. What do you see?”
Rarity looked at the book. “Designs,” she said. “For dresses.” It seemed utterly bathetic.
“Fashion designer and that's all you have to say? Dresses?” said the mare.
Rarity looked again. “They're designs by Wild Grace … one of my greatest inspirations. Her Decadent Flaneurette series. A hybrid of Manehatten Nouveau and Decadent designs.”
“Of course they are! Brilliant!” the mare said, voice dripping with venom. “'One of the most influential fashion designers of the modern age', apparently.”
“Miss, I'm afraid I don't follow. Why have you taken such an interest in my reference works?”
The mare responded with a thin smile. “A better question would be 'Who are you?', don't you think? Well? Isn't it obvious? Hm!?”
Rarity hesitated.
The mare plucked a bluegreen feather from her wing and tucked it into her mane. “Well?”
Rarity started and almost fell over. “M- M- M- Miss Grace!”
“Yes.” Wild Grace brushed the feather from her mane and crushed it under a hoof.
“But … but … how? And why? And how? And why? Oh dear me, never mind that. My manners have abandoned me! Please, Miss Grace, make yourself at home. I'll fix you some … Oh dear, you like saloop, don't you? I have none; my cupboards are bereft! I do apologise. Will you be able to accept some tea, just this once? Darjeeling? Earl Grey? Lady Grey?”
Wild Grace swished her tail and snorted. “I don't care about any of that! I don't even care that I've been magically reanimated for a night! What's got me bewildered is this.” She pointed a hoof at the book. “What are my designs doing there? Why are they accompanied by such effusive burbling? And for that matter, why the hay do you know I like saloop?”
Rarity did not feel any less flustered. “Oh, uh, well, darling, they are some of the greatest pieces of art in recent history.”
Wild Grace shook her head. “So, I'm famous now, huh? An idol for Celestia knows how many jejune, wittering social climbers? Oh wonderful. I can just –” She stopped when she saw Rarity's expression, and when she spoke next, her voice was softer. “Cheer up, sweetheart. I didn't mean it as a slight against you. I'm sure you're a delightful mare and a true lady.” She sighed. “Tell you what. Put some tea on. I'll try and calm down a bit, and maybe you can help me a bit. Tea's fine. I'll take Earl Grey. No milk or sugar.”
Rarity cantered over to the kitchen. She, Rarity, was making tea for Wild Grace! Whatever apprehension and confusion she'd had was buried under elation. Unable to control herself any long, she let out a small giggle-squeal.
“Are you okay in there?” called Wild Grace.
A few minutes later the two mares sat opposite one another, nursing ornamented cups. Rarity's books were stacked in a neat pile beside them, and Wild Grace was settled.
“So, Miss Grace …”
“You can drop the honorific, sweetheart. 'Grace' will do just fine. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, though?”
“Rarity.”
“Well, then, Rarity, I apologise for my conduct earlier. I'd apologise for dropping in so unexpectedly, but I didn't have much choice in that matter.”
“Oh, no,” said Rarity. “It's no bother at all, I assure you! If anything, it's an absolute pleasure!”
The two ponies stared at each other while the absurdity of the situation sunk in. They burst into giggles.
Wild Grace's died away and she finished with a nicker. “Well, thank you,” she said. “But there's still the issue with all this.” She gestured at the books. “Exactly how famous am I?”
“My dear, your work is one the foundations of all modern fashion design. Everyone in the industry has heard of you. The greats say how much they owe to you and the uncouth young turks decry your stifling influence! You are, without doubt, one of the greatest influences of the modern world!”
“…Of fashion.”
“Of fashion, yes. Is there a difference?”
Wild Grace pursed her lips and swished her tail. “I feel,” she said, “as though I've been paraded through the centre of Canterlot with my tail held up. While in estrus. With a big, flashing neon sign on my rear. Without my knowledge.”
Rarity choked on her tea. When she had recovered she said, “But why? Why does it upset you so much?”
“Because I never asked for it!” Wild Grace pulled the first book from the stack and began leafing through it. “All this … It was meant to be private.”
“It's fashion, Miss Grace. It's not in its nature to be private.”
“So, what, because my notebooks were filled with designs rather diary entries, you think they flew out into public and spat out their contents of their own accord?”
“There's no need to be facetious, dear,” said Rarity. “What I mean is this: A pony dresses up to be seen. We wear these clothes to show how glorious we are! And we design these clothes to show how glorious we can make other ponies! Being a fashion designer and wanting it all to be private … It makes no sense to me.”
Wild Grace shrugged. “Where does making sense come into it? I just fiddled with fabrics and sketched a few designs.”
“Why? Why create if you have no intentions of showing off your creation?”
“Do you really need to ask that?” said Wild Grace. “You're here surrounded by art of your own making and you ask why create? I'm an artist. I create because I couldn't do otherwise.” She looked down and flipped through the book again. When she spoke again, her tone had softened. “I had all of these ideas and I just had to put them down. These things came to me unbidden and wouldn't leave me alone. So I filled my books with scribblings. For my sake, not for anypony else's.”
“Wild Grace, dear,” said Rarity quietly. “That's a load of horsefeathers.”
Wild Grace looked up, looked Rarity in the eye.
“I know what it's like to have my muse drag me to the drawing board and not let me go,” said Rarity. “Believe me, I do. But I was the pony who chose to go into this field. If I hadn't wanted it, I wouldn't be here. And I think the same holds for you.”
“Well, believe as you like,” said Wild Grace. “I've told you why I made all those designs, and I'm not going to explain again.”
Rarity had spent years developing an artistic facade, and she knew one when she saw one, but she decided not to push the issue. She sighed. “Okay, if you say so.”
Wild Grace snorted and went back to flicking through the book. For a while there was nothing but the sound of rustling paper and Rarity sipping her tea.
“Besides,” said Wild Grace, “It's not just about my designs, is it? Saloop – you know I like saloop. Why does that need to be publicised?”
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Ponies know your favourite drink. Is that really a big deal?”
“Yes!” said Wild Grace. “Yes, it is!”
“I think you're being a little overdramatic, dear,” said Rarity.
“Overdramatic? Ha!” Wild Grace rifled through the stack of books again, sending some crashing to the ground, which did nothing to aid her dismissal of Rarity's comment. “It's the principle of the matter! Why should details of my personal life – any details! – become trivia answers for the in crowd? What do they care?”
“Because you're an idol to these ponies!” said Rarity. “You mean a lot to them. And to me. They want to learn about you.”
Wild Grace had found a book of biographical details and responded without looking up. “What they want is salacious details. They built me up without my asking and, not satisfied with that, they also want to tear me down.” She paused, reading a paragraph, nickered, then continued. “This may be some great future, but ponies haven't changed, I assure you. I remember the rags with all their speculation on Princess Celestia's less regal side. And now you ponies have made me into a mini-Celestia, and ...”
“Miss Grace,” said Rarity, “While I won't deny there are some ponies like that in Equestria, the great majority have a great respect for you. They want to know as they would a friend.”
“I asked for none of it,” said Wild Grace. She sounded more petulant than angry this time. “And look, they spend five pages here talking about how I sired a mule. I guess you future ponies don't care much about whether a girl has a thing for Jacks or not any more, but to see something like that, something I could tell nopony but my closest friends, splashed across Celestia knows how many biographies …”
Wild Grace paused, then snapped her head back to the book and skimmed several pages. “Never mind my woes. Rarity, sweetheart, do any of these books say what happened to him?”
“I, uh,” said Rarity.
“There were journalists all over my past like flies on manure,” said Wild Grace. “Come on, there must be something.”
“Hold on,” said Rarity. She took the book from Wild Grace and glanced over the pages. “I do apologise,” she said. “I haven't read parts of this since I was a filly.”
“I suppose that's better than if you'd had it fully memorised,” said Wild Grace. “Well? Anything?”
Rarity slumped and shook her head. “I have nothing about your son, Miss Grace.” Piqued, she threw the book across the room, taking care not to let it hit anything important. “Oh, how horrible of me! Now you will never – Oh, wait!”
“What? What!?” said Wild Grace.
“I know where we can look!” said Rarity. “Take whatever coat you wish. Come, Miss Grace, we're taking a trip across town!” She galloped cross the room and grabbed her emergency going-out coat from the wardrobe.
“Stop calling me that.”
Soon after the two mares were galloping through the streets of Ponyville. There was nopony else visible on the streets.
“Twilight will be surprised!” panted Rarity.
“We won't see your friend,” said Wild Grace.
“Whyever not?”
“It doesn't work like that, I don't think.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate,” said Rarity. “It would have been so lovely to introduce you to her.”
“I'm afraid I'm all yours tonight. You must bear that terrible burden alone,” said Wild Grace. “Anyway, you seem to have cheered up a bit. What's come over you?”
“Oh, Miss Grace, isn't it obvious? I get to do something for my idol!” Rather than have her complain at me, Rarity didn't add.
The library, as Wild Grace had predicted, was empty. Rarity circled the room, lighting candles.
“I love this town,” said Wild Grace, scanning the shelves. “A tree for a library. How delightfully bucolic! Ah, here we go – biographies.”
Rarity trotted over to help. Soon they had found a number of books about Wild Grace. The next few minutes were spent in silence while the two ponies searched through contents pages and indices.
“Splendid! Here we go,” announced Rarity, handing a book over to Wild Grace, open at the page where her son was mentioned.
Wild Grace scanned the page, then looked up. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. “Thank you, Rarity,” she said. “I know this is a terrible thing to ask in response to such a generous act … but would you mind giving me a little time alone?” She smiled sheepishly.
“Not at all, Miss Grace,” said Rarity. “I'm just glad I could help.” She stood up. “I'll be just outside if you need me.”
Rarity sat outside and looked up at the moon. The air was chill, but not uncomfortably so. With only the sound of her own breathing audible, it seemed as though Ponyville was empty, preserved in resin by some capricious deity. She liked the metaphor and congratulated herself for coming up with it, but the argument she had had with Wild Grace back at the boutique kept coming back to her.
Rarity had sought recognition for her talent her entire career. The idea that a pony, especially a luminary such as Wild Grace, would be horrified by fame was utterly bizarre to her. Except … Not quite. There were parts of her life that Rarity jealously guarded from everypony, parts that she would not think about now. Was that what fashion was to Wild Grace? She didn't know.
But perhaps …
The door behind her opened “Rarity,” said Wild Grace. “I … I'm done now.”
“Did you … ?” said Rarity.
Wild Grace nodded with a faint smile. She glanced at the stars. “Shall we head back? I think we've enough time for another cup of tea. If I'm not imposing, of course?”
*