//------------------------------// // Preorders, Preorders Everywhere // Story: Kumberbuzzles Over Canterlot // by SirTruffles //------------------------------// “You’re certain this price tag is accurate?” Dogbert asked for the umpteenth time, turning the label over with a bandaged paw. Rarity’s eye twitched. “For the last time, Mister Dogbert: my prices are materials plus labor rounded off. That is the fair price, and this is a fair boutique. Now, Twilight, what's the verdict?” She turned to the purple unicorn at the counter, who was shuffling through her notes. “Well, Rarity, I don’t quite know what to make of it,” Twilight admitted. “From what I gather, the inside of the boutique door got in some kind of disagreement with the outside, so it ran off with a… hooligan, I guess.” She took another long look at her notes and shook her head. “But nines are cheaper than zeros. Everyone knows this,” Dogbert griped to Rarity. “Don’t you care about customer satisfaction?” “My customers come here to walk out looking gorgeous, not to fall for smoke and mirrors,” Rarity huffed from the corner of her mouth. “So, Twilight, how long will it take to sort out all this… furniture drama?” “Well, last night I consulted Spare Oom’s All in One Armchair Psychology for Amateurs, and the best I can promise is a week or so,” Twilight reported. “I need to take it slow: I’ve never had the opportunity to work with interfurnishing relationships before.” “Interfurnishing relations?” Dogbert adjusted his glasses. “Yep!” Twilight said, eyes brightening. “My library has a whole shelf on the subject. I can bring you a few volumes if you’re interested. It’s a fascinating topic.” Her tail flicked in excitement. An unhealthy amount of excitement. “That… won’t be necessary,” Dogbert said, completely neutral. “So, you’ve got this whole thing under control, then?” Rarity asked. “Of course!” Twilight said. “Just let me get my references, and I’ll get right on it!” FOOMPH! Twilight vanished in a flash of magic. “Nerd,” Dogbert snorted. “Mister Dogbert, you will not discuss my friends in that manner,” Rarity insisted evenly. Then a corner of her mouth betrayed a smirk. “And besides, she’s adorable when she’s curious.” “Fair enough,” Dogbert shrugged. “So that means I’m stuck here for a week.” “It seems so, yes,” Rarity said. Then her eyes narrowed. “And what are you doing with that marker?” “Nothing!” Dogbert spun around with his back to the clothing rack he had been inspecting. “I’m sure it is,” Rarity huffed, scooting the little dog out of the way with her magic. Her eye twitched when she saw the price on a sundress had been discounted from ninety bits even to 89.75. “For the last time, Mister Dogbert, this is my shop where I charge my prices.” She drew up another tag for ninety bits. “But it’s all so wrong,” Dogbert griped. “Look at this: the boring stuff is in the back, the big ticket items are out front, the price tags all end in zero, and there’s not even a thing on sale!” “I already told you: this is an honest boutique, which thrives on the honest satisfaction its style gives to its customers,” Rarity said, her nose in the air. “It’s been two days, why can’t you focus on something else?” “Because there’s nothing to do here,” Dogbert whined. “You could go on a walk without lobbying Diamond Tiara to invest her entire college fund in pine cones,” Rarity suggested. “Nothing fun to do here,” Dogbert whined. “Well if you really need something to do, you can go get the mail,” Rarity suggested. Dogbert flopped on his back. “Nothing to do. Bored. Bored. Bored-” “Fine, and there might be a few bits in it for you.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “As you command, your worshipfulness,” Dogbert ko-towed and headed for the door. Rarity looked after him a moment, then returned to the back room, shaking her head. A too-quiet twenty minutes later, the doorbell jingled. “Miss Rarity, mail’s here!” a stallion’s voice called out. “Just a moment!” Rarity called back. She returned to the front to find a tan pony with a scruffy brown mane and a pair of saddlebags on his back, both stuffed with letters. She noticed Dogbert beside him and shot him a sour look. “I thought I told you to get the mail, not to get somepony to get the mail,” Rarity scoffed. “In my defense, there was a bit more than one dog’s worth of mail,” Dogbert shrugged. “And Mr. Time Turner is of the opinion that, for a lady, the mail must be right on time.” “Well, not in so many words,” Turner blushed. Dogbert wagged. “But there was quite a bit here for the little guy, and I thought I’d lend a helping hoof.” “What could possibly provoke all this correspondence?” Rarity wondered, helping Turner unload his bags on the counter. Then her hoof went to her mouth. “Mail orders?” “Ahem,” Dogbert held out a not-so-discrete paw. “Honestly,” Rarity scoffed. She took four bits from the till, and gave three to Turner and one to Dogbert. “Hey!” Dogbert protested. “Honest pay for honest work, dear,” Rarity chided. “You really don’t have to, ma’am: I was more than happy to help,” Turner blushed, brushing the floating bits away. “It was nothing, really.” “Oh, go on, then.” Rarity held the bits out to him. “There’s more where that came from, especially for a thoughtful stallion such as yourself.” “Hehe, I’d… ahem.” Turner straightened himself up, still blushing, and batted the bits back. “I really should be getting back to the post office. Have to keep the mail punctual, after all.” “Oh, of course, of course, do take care.” Rarity showed him out then pranced back to the counter, dropping the bits back into the till. “Honest pay my-” “Oh hush,” Rarity snorted. “The chase is its own reward. Now what are all these orders about?” She lit her horn and a letter floated over for her examination. Rarity got three lines in before her eye twitched, and she had to set it aside. “What?” Dogbert asked. “Nothing,” Rarity insisted, tearing into another letter. It soon joined the first followed by two more. “Mister Dogbert, could you be a dear and fetch the chaise lounge from the back room?” “Um…” he raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry: it’s more portable than it looks,” Rarity assured him. Dogbert stared. “O…kay.” He vanished into the back. By the time he returned, Rarity’s composure was porcelain. With a quick glance behind to ensure the red couch was positioned in a satisfactory manner, she reared up, put a fore-hoof across her brow and swooned. “Canterlot has gone mad!” she shrieked. “This is unprecedented! Absurd! Insane! How can ponies with such good taste demand such… trash?” She flung the letters into the air to shower down around her. Dogbert casually snatched a letter out of the air: “Dear Ms. Rarity, the spider silk ballroom gown you made me for the Grand Galloping Gala was a smashing success. I wish to commission an additional three similar designs for Spring, Fall, and Winter wear. Please contact me with your preferred appointment date. Yours Truly, Sapphire Shores.” Rarity cracked an eye. “No, no, pick a different one.” Dogbert stared at her, but turned his attention to the floor. He noted the contents of several letters, but passed them up in favor of: “Dear Ms. Rarity, It is my pleasure to inform you that my husband had a wonderful time at the Gala last night thanks to your cunning craftsmareship. As I told you before, with so many layers expected of a gentlepony nowadays he always overheats, but your simple yet elegant design gave him the breathing room he needed to enjoy himself for the first time in years. You’re a life saver! With gratitude, Rosy Blush.” “No! How am I supposed to wallow in misery with cherry-picked letters like that?” Rarity griped. “Pick literally any other one. The first one you see.” Dogbert looked down and did indeed snatch the first letter he saw: “To the gem-butt it may concern: the diamond-studded, goldsilk bumpkin sack my lackey conned off you last week made a smashing contribution to the Grand Galloping Gala in the only way it could – by playing moth-bait in my basement! If you want any of your trash to be worn at the most prestigious event of the year, you’d better go back to stick-school and get half a brain cell to rub together! Smell ya later – Smart Stitch.” “Pphht,” Rarity snorted in satisfaction. “I put the kitchen sink of gaudiness she ordered on a flubbed rag from the back room and charged her double. Then I went to the spa.” She blinked. “Honestly, Mister Dogbert.” She lit her horn and a host of letters lifted from the floor for her to read and flick aside one by one: “Dear Ms. Rarity, I wish to purchase four kumberbuzzles immediately. – Ms. Rarity, I would like to commission a kumberbuzzle – Are your kumberbuzzles in stock? – Do kumberbuzzles come in mauve? – I want the most scrumptulecent kumberbuzzle you have. – Would you mind tailoring my sundress to bring out its scrumptulocity? I hear that’s in now.” Her eye twitched. “This is an absolute nightmare!” “What? You don’t like money?” Dogbert asked. Rarity’s eye twitched again. “There will be no sales. Not after I have… disabused these clients of certain notions concerning the current state of fashion. And if they cannot be disabused, then I, well, it would not be right to charge them.” She stuck up her nose. “Well if there’s a possibility that you’ll be filling these orders, and a percentage commission is off the table, we’ll have to renegotiate the licensing terms,” Dogbert pondered. “Excuse me?” Rarity scoffed. “You cobbled that design together in my shop out of my merchandise, and then sold it in the name of my establishment. Licensing? I should be licensing you.” “Actually, according to the Equestrian Intellectual Endeavor Recognition Act subchapter Zi heading h, section moon, subsection sun, sub-subsection nine and three quarters and a half again, it is the designer of the device in question who is recognized as the rights holder regardless of distribution,” Dogbert informed her. “What makes you so sure of that?” Rarity asked. Dogbert shrugged. “If you act interested and ignorant, it turns out most nerds actually want to do your homework.” Rarity glowered. “Mister Dogbert, I resent your insinuation that my friend is a gullible-” FOOMPH! Twilight exploded into existence on the other side of the counter. Several quills were tucked into the band of the hot pink kumberbuzzle on her head. Rarity and Dogbert stared for two entirely different reasons. “Uh, don’t mind me: I’ll just be in the corner having a heart to heart with the door about its childhood.” Twilight flashed a toothy grin. “Spare Oom was quite clear that that is where all the problems start.” She trotted towards the closet. Rarity’s head tracked the unicorn in disbelief. “Twilight… dear. Why is that on your head?” “What? The kumberbuzzle? Dogbert gave it to me,” Twilight said over her shoulder. “N-no, I mean… why are you wearing it?” Rarity asked. “Well, it’s just that quills and saddlebags don’t actually mix very well,” Twilight explained, unpacking her things. “My quills always either fall to the bottom and get crushed, or I have to keep them in a case of some kind, but then I have to bother with it every time I want one. Dogbert suggested this practical solution, see? The quills go in the band, and then there’s even room left for an inkwell in the little purse. He’s a clever little guy if I do say so myself.” “But… but…” Rarity’s eyes swam in and out of focus. “Are you aware of how, um, you know – how it makes you look?” “Well yea, I wouldn’t be caught dead with it in Canterlot, but I’m not exactly out to impress when I’m doing field research, am I?” Twilight said. “I… I suppose,” Rarity admitted, averting her gaze. “Um, Twilight, would you mind putting one of the racks in front of your little study zone? It would give you a little more… privacy.” Twilight’s ears flopped about in confusion as she studied her friend. “Um, ok.” She went off towards the storage closet. Rarity’s eye twitched with every bob of the purse. “Two satisfied customers,” Dogbert said. “At this rate, we’ll corner the whole market in no time.” “One was the sale of a repurposed item,” Rarity noted. “The other was self-inflicted. There will be no more.” “Then I suppose I should inform these potential customers that this boutique is no longer a licensed kumberbuzzle dealer,” Dogbert decided. “And I’ll have to find another vendor too. That’s annoying, but not unexpected.” “But you’ve nothing to license,” Rarity pointed out. “Nopony is going to pay you for public knowledge.” “On the contrary,” Dogbert handed Rarity a notarized document. “I-” Rarity blinked, looked away, looked back, and blinked again. Then she scowled. “I know for a fact that this is forged. You were in my sight the whole time from inception to sale. Sale with no prior design patent. Public knowledge.” “Au contraire, you’d be surprised what gets lost in the back room of the patent office,” Dogbert said, his tail wagging. Dingaling! Two cream colored unicorns sporting striped blue and white carnival vests and straw hats strode into the boutique. “Excuse me,” said one, stroking his red mustache, “are these the premises of Dogbert Industries?” “This is Carousel Boutique,” Rarity said, her eyes narrowing at the pair, “and I believe you were just leaving.” “Dear me, Flam, how can a stallion have such a problem with the mares?” The clean-shaven one elbowed his partner, then sauntered right up to the counter, a winning smile on his face. “Now ma’am, what seems to be the problem? I don’t believe we’ve met before-” “You tried to convince my friends and neighbors to run my good friend Applejack’s farm out of business, so you could sell us rocks-and-dirt cider,” Rarity deadpanned, an edge in her voice. She took a step forward. His hind-hoof crept back a step. “I believe you were leaving the premises, and then running full tilt until you’ve cleared the general area. Screaming like foals is optional, but it may improve my mood.” “Heh heh, well, Flim, old boy, looks like you’re not so hot yourself,” Flam gloated, curling his mustache. “But in all seriousness, I was under the impression that this establishment was the very one mentioned in that ad. You’re sure you’ve never heard of Dogbert Industries?” “I believe it’s me you want to talk to,” Dogbert stepped between them, now sporting a little black top hat. “Dogbert: CEO of Dogbert Industries.” He extended a paw. “Ah, excellent, Flim here,” the clean shaven unicorn stepped around beside Dogbert and took his paw. “Flam,” said the mustached unicorn, extending a hoof from the other side. “Flim-Flam Fashion Lines, LLC,” they both said in unison. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” Dogbert said. “Now, you mentioned in the ad you needed sales partners for this new doohickey of yours,” Flam said. “Yes, the one all of Canterlot is buzzing about,” Flim mentioned. “Something like that,” Dogbert said. “May we see the merchandise?” Flim asked. “Of course,” Dogbert said, but then he turned to Rarity. “That is if we all don’t have to leave the premises.” Rarity opened her mouth, but the something occurred to her, and she shut it again. Her eyes skewed up. “Very well,” she sighed. “You may conduct your business in the kitchen – I am still open for business, after all.” “Excellent,” said Flam. “Lead on.” The group trotted behind the counter, through the back room, to a modest kitchen done up in blue with a single table in the middle. “There wouldn’t happen to be any refreshments about, m’dear?” asked Flim. A paper cup bonked him on the nose. “There’s a pump over there,” Rarity huffed, motioning to the sink. “Ah, um, yes, thank you.” Flim put his cup aside hesitantly. They all seated themselves around the table. “You were saying, Mister Dogbert?” “Dogbert Industries’ world renowned design division presents: the kumberbuzzle.” Dogbert produced a tie-dyed lace band with a brown bobble clasp attaching it to a putrid yellow change purse covered in an avant-garde scattering of buttons. “Interesting,” Flam remarked. “I believe I heard it was headgear of some kind?” “Indeed it is,” Dogbert said. “Would you model for us, Rarity?” “Me!?” Rarity stumbled back a few steps. “Well if you don’t want to be a partner, I don’t see why you’re still here.” Dogbert wagged. Rarity looked from Dogbert to the abomination in his paws. One hoof instinctively went for the door, but as soon as the kumberbuzzle left her sight, her neck tensed. Finally, she flicked her horn at the windows and cabinets, removing every reflection from every piece of glass in the room and blackening the windows for good measure. “Very… well.” She laid out her neck for the axe. Dogbert stretched the garter around her horn and ear. Rarity’s countenance was porcelain. “Hmm, I see,” Flam said, taking it in from all sides. “Simple design. Assembled from whatever’s on hoof, I take it?” “Dogbert Industries is 100% committed to reducing consumer waste,” Dogbert said. “Yes, yes, the green angle, very promising,” Flim said. “How are the margins?” “One to one, if you know where to look,” Dogbert said. “Of course, this is all assuming you know some professional hobos.” “That can be arranged,” Flam said. “Now hold on,” Rarity said. “You’re saying the well-to-do are going to buy these ridiculous items made entirely out of dumpster debris?” “I completely resent your misrepresentations, ma’am,” Dogbert huffed. “Dogbert Industries starts with only the finest garments before distressing them to perfection. It’s novel, it’s antique, it’s the best of both worlds!” “And you really think they’ll believe that?” Rarity asked. “Of course: everyone’s saying it,” Dogbert said. “Or will be, at least,” Flam said, with a wink at Flim. “You can’t be serious,” Rarity snorted. “Then what are those order forms all about?” Dogbert observed, snatching a stack of letters taller than him from the counter. “They’re even asking for scrumptulocity by name already.” “No! Those are- a mistake!” Rarity turned to Dogbert, clawing at the letters with her magic. “A terrible, terrible-” “Oh! You’ve already got pre-orders? Let’s see, then,” Flam said, his green magic displacing her blue to float them over. “Hmm, Topaz Glint, Noble Oak – oh! – and even Lady Fleur Di Lis herself! That seals the deal, then!” Flam decided. “No! Those are not your pre-orders. They are my customers. Customers who asked for the services of their trusted fashionista,” Rarity protested, snatching the letters back. “Customers who are expressing an interest in a service you refuse to provide,” Dogbert pointed out. Rarity turned on him. “They are interested in my service of bringing out their inner beauty. A process which in no way involves your product.” “Well the customer seems to think differently,” Dogbert waved the letters in her face. “And the customer is always right in my book. Shouldn’t we expect everypony to have the sense to know what they want?” “Well I… I…” Rarity fumbled for words. “Well, brother of mine, my profit senses are tingling all over,” Flim cut in. “How much were you thinking, Dogbert, old boy?” “Seeing as it is my idea, and it comes with my expertise, I was thinking somewhere around forty-sixty,” Dogbert proposed. “We were thinking closer to seventy-thirty,” Flam countered. “There’s two of us, after all, and it’s a lot of work to find the absolute lowest bidder, you know.” “I can go to fifty, but that’s as low as I go,” Dogbert said. “It’s not like I can’t find other partners, after all, and Canterlot is already desperate for that special scrumptulocity only found with my product.” Rarity discretely floated over a glass of water, and jumped at the reflection of the abomination latched onto her forehead. “With the right connections, we could be on the heads of every soul in Canterlot within days, just look at this chart-” “Fifty!” The room fell silent as all eyes turned to a hyperventilating Rarity. “Well, I hear an offer of a fifty-fifty merger,” Dogbert observed, adjusting his glasses. “Going once?” “Wait, you can’t be serious,” Flam protested. “I thought she wanted out-” “Twice?” Dogbert prodded. “We’ll match!” Flam blurted. “Fifty-plus-one!” Rarity shrieked over him, cold sweat beginning to show through her coat. “Sold! To both of you,” Dogbert declared. “WHAT!?” squawked all involved. “I never said I was selling an exclusive license.” Dogbert’s tail wagged. “It’s against the rules of fair play, leading us on like that,” Flam huffed. “Caveat emporium,” Dogbert said. “And I wouldn’t call a fifty percent cut unfair, either. Unless you don’t like money…” “Well, let’s not be hasty,” Flim said. Flam nodded. “Any objections, Rarity?” Dogbert asked. “Rarity?” “It will be fine,” Rarity assented, more to herself. “So long as there are allowances for tailoring in the contract, I’m sure it will be…” She realized she was shaking and studied herself. “I’ll make it work.” “There might be something like that in there, sure.” Dogbert produced two contracts. “Now, if you could just sign right here, and here, and – you really don’t have to read that – and here…”