The city of Canterlot was a well-oiled social machine which kept on running smoothly thanks to a certain phenomenon known as popularity.
If you were unpopular, you had as much influence as a newcomer from the provinces. No one cared about you or your life, which was making you pretty much invisible to the crowd—even if you happened to be trotting down the Promenade next to a hypothetical batpony. Conversely, if you were a well-known citizen who mattered, the crowd favored you and you were free to do whatever you want—like go in the same direction as the aforementioned hypothetical batpony—because everyone would be too intimidated by your social status to even dare commenting on such a perplexing matter.
Without Fancy Pants backing her up, Fleur would position herself somewhere in between those two extremes. She was recognizable enough for the most important street of Canterlot to notice her, but she wasn’t a celebrity and therefore couldn’t avoid being pointed at. The ponies passing by were discreet, but Fleur could feel their questioning stares piling up on her back.
A few paces away, Chestnut jumped over a puddle with a joyful ‘whee!’.
Fleur kept her muzzle no higher than her back in a feeble attempt to blend in. The hypothetical batpony figure was quite tangible, and she could no longer ignore her shenanigans. She was content that Chestnut had enough dignity to at least drop the splashing this time, as they were getting close to the part of the Promenade where the crème de la crème of the Canterlot Elite was most likely to be encountered. For the sake of her own reputation, she decided to act like she saw nothing condemnable in having such a different companion.
That meant she had to talk, use actual words to communicate with the filly. Even worse, she had to listen and respond, like in a real conversation between two individuals. Nonsense! Perhaps Chestnuts didn’t feel like talking? Gah, like that would ever happen. Fleur followed her husband’s invaluable advice and braced herself for the upcoming chitchat as she chose the safest topic possible.
“So, I have never met somepony like you before,” she said. “What can you tell me about batponies?”
Chestnut’s ears went flat at that last word. “Only that some of us would call you a racist,” she replied. “We don’t really like being called names, you know.”
“I’m sorry, have I said something wrong?”
“We don’t like being called names. Our species is called thestrals. Or noctrals, depends on who you ask. I guess it makes sense to call us the way you did because of all the things we share with the batsies: ears, wings, fangs… On the other hoof, it’s weird. You don’t see anyone calling the unicorns ‘hornponies’, or the pegasi ‘wingponies’, do you?”
Fleur’s cheeks flushed at how incredibly wrong her opening line had gone.
“But what about that little guide you wrote?”
“See, that’s different,” Chestnut said. “If one thestral calls another thestral a batpony it’s like they were the bestest of bros. It’s a sign of friend—uhm, of friend-li-ness between them. But if anypony else calls him that way then they’re being racist, and they should run.”
“Well, then how should I call you?”
The filly smirked. “Well, you can call me Chestnut!”
For what Fleur had expected from an uneducated orphan, Chestnut wasn’t completely dumb, and the point she made about her species turned out strikingly sound. The earth ponies were sometimes referred to as, pardon the foul language, ‘mudponies’ which was a neither appropriate nor elegant epithet to use. The bat-word had to be a similar case. It was like there was some kind of an unwritten agreement between the bat—between the thestrals under which they prided themselves in the nickname that nopony else was allowed to use.
When Chestnut lost interest in the puddles, the mare eagerly sought out another undemanding topic. Indulging in a conversation proved to be an excellent strategy of avoiding unwanted attention and overall a small price to pay for preserving the public image a moment longer.
“What’s the story behind your cutie mark, Chestnut?”
The filly glanced at her flank adorned with three round, glossy objects. They were brownish like her mane and arranged in a way Fleur’s own cutie mark was, with two smaller ones above the larger akin to an inverted pyramid.
“This thingy? I guess it doesn’t tell much, well, I mean besides my name.”
“Are those chestnuts?” Fleur guessed.
Chestnut rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! What did you think, apples?” She smacked her forehead in embarrassment. “Sorry! That was mean of me. Those really are chestnuts. I forgot you don’t have those in Equestria.”
“Why, we most certainly do! They look a bit different, though. They are rounder, wrapped in green, spiky shells—”
“And they’re totally not munchable like those we grow in Tramplevania! I think it’s because yours don’t have those little pointy ends,” Chestnut said. She lifted her muzzle in a marked smug. “I don’t want to brag, but when it comes to planting, growing, collecting, roasting, or eating Tramplevanian chestnuts, I’m the bestest!”
Fleur’s ears flattened at that last manifestation of lexical exuberance. The catchword was tedious in itself, but the passion with which the filly had uttered it made Fleur feel embarrassed just from being within earshot. Even if Chestnut knew a thing or two about cooking some exotic nut, she was still a loud, near-illiterate farmpony.
The mare shook her head. There was no reason to follow that route, now was there? She should probably stop judging the filly only by what she lacked, as there was a difference between being unenthusiastic and straight spiteful. How about a gentler approach for a change?
Chestnut fixed her eyes on the street. “Unfortunately, you can’t grow them here in Canterlot, or anywhere in Equestria for that matter. I was told that it would take many years of the weather ponies’ work all across the country to make the climate good enough, not to mention the Princess would have to move the sun away… or was it that she’d have to move it closer? I don’t really remember. There was a lot of some climactic mumbo-jumbo,” she said, looking away. She let out a silent sigh. “I guess you could say I’m kinda a jobless pony here.”
When Fleur noticed that Chestnut’s trot stopped matching her own, she glanced back. For the first time since they had met, the filly didn’t seem carefree but concerned instead, and even though Fleur found her usual attitude tiresome, she would rather deal with the antics she was already familiar with. Besides, weren’t parents supposed to reassure their children in need, especially when they looked all downcast?
Hold on a second, did she just think of Chestnut as her child? That’s way too gentle.
And also preposterous. Fleur didn’t know the first thing about cheering up jobless ponies, so that was probably just Fancy Pants speaking through her. She intended to treat the situation as a mere exercise to learn more about being a parent, as suggested by Doctor Hugs, and so that her husband wouldn’t give her ‘the look’ later today. The circumstances were more than favorable and she had a perfect plan even she couldn’t possibly blow up.
“Don’t say that!” she replied, not even noticing the thoughtfulness of her voice. “Just because you can’t do whatever your cutie mark suggests doesn’t meant you can’t do anything at all. Au contraire, you’re free to do anything you want.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely! Just look at my cutie mark. Do you know what these are?”
Chestnut gave her a quizzical look. “Are those, uhm, fancy winged squids?”
Fleur snickered. “Well, not really. They are meant to symbolize the three flowers of a lily. Do you know how do we say ‘flower’ back where I come from? It’s fleur,” she said, accenting the word to dissolve the sound of her ‘R’.
“That’s your name!” Chestnut shouted, flapping her wings in extreme excitement.
Such a disturbance of what was supposed to be a peaceful morning brought a salvo of condemning stares upon the filly, so she quickly dashed down and hid behind the taller mare. She landed closer than she had been trotting before, but Fleur didn’t mind. Some of the ponies watching them probably knew her, maybe personally, and could as well start sowing disastrous rumors, but she decided to keep her muzzle high and act as if nothing socially deviating had just occurred. She was going to think about sinking into the ground in shame later, once she’d be done talking to Chestnut.
“Much like yourself, I too have a connection between my name and the look of my cutie mark,” she said. “I’d probably be called Lily Flower if I was born in Equestria, and you’d think that I was meant to become a lily gardener, or a pond cleaner, but I haven’t tried any of that. I decided to pursue my dream of becoming a model instead.”
“Heh. I don’t think I have a dream like that.”
“Well then, you have your entire life to discover it,” Fleur assured. “Your cutie mark does determine who you are, but only to a certain extent. Who’s to say you can’t learn growing other plants, or cooking meals not based on chestnuts, or doing something else entirely? While it’s true that you may not, say, paint as well as a pony who’s a naturally talented artist, that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to try,” she said. “Besides, did you see Fancy Pants? He has three crowns on his side, but he’s neither a king, nor does he wear pants.”
Chestnut burst out laughing.
Fleur couldn’t tell whether it happened due to a stroke of luck or her maternal instincts kicking in—if such a feature existed within her—but Chestnut regained her cheer and once again engaged in her vivacious ‘I can take on the world’ trot. For some reason it made the mare feel satisfied, maybe even reliable. While saying nice things to fashion designers and boutique owners to make profitable connections was one thing, the honest smile of a child was its own reward, one that was infinitely more gratifying.
She didn’t even try to hide her chuckle. Not because there were no ponies nearby around which she had to keep up appearances, but because she simply felt like laughing alongside Chestnut. The filly lacked in the areas of eloquence, sophistication, and quite possibly many others, but so far she was proving to be an interesting companion. Wasn’t that exactly what the Canterlot Elite was so desperately trying to show off? That they were worth talking to? That they mattered, that they had something interesting to say? All of that, for what? To score more points in the game of social dodgeball?
She seriously needed to talk to Fancy Pants about their ‘noble’ ways.
They stopped in front of a sand-colored building.
Les Deux Maregots was a renowned café of unconventional origins. It used to be a fabric and novelty shop which didn’t withstand the pressure of the Promenade where only the most successful boutiques, jewelry stores, and restaurants had the raison d’être, the reason to exist there. With the Royal Castle on one end and the heart of the city on the other, the competition was unforgiving. The first owner wasn’t ready for that, so when the Maregots reached the brink of bankruptcy, some wealthy investor from Prance seized the opportunity, bought the place out, and rebranded it as a café, keeping the name at the same time. As it turned out, it was a genius and highly profitable investment.
Chestnut frowned. “It looks super fancy-boring,” she said, then flapped her wings to make way for a café employee carrying a bucket of soapy water. “Way too fancy-boring for me. Do I have to come in?”
A decent question. Under the cover of catching up, Fleur intended to talk to Rarity about her concerns and give vent to her pent-up emotions, so taking Chestnut in wasn’t a good idea. On the other hoof, Rarity was bound to insist on meeting the filly at some point, so why postpone the inevitable? Then again, she could always introduce her later on.
Decisions, decisions.
“It may take a while,” Fleur replied, “but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just—”
“Stay around and don’t get into trouble? Don’t worry, I can handle myself!” Chestnut said, her muzzle turning away from the café. “Hey, is it okay if I go to the music store over there while you’re doing your things here? I would like to see what kind of stuff they have. Maybe they’ll even have some cool Gemtrance goodies! I’ll be back before you know it, I promise!”
Fleur liked the sound of such a notion. Since the Maregots was a strictly indoor café with no good place outside to sit and wait, and Tribes’n’Vibes across the street had been endorsed by none other than Octavia Melody, Fleur’s closest musical acquaintance, Chestnut was probably going to do fine on her own. Fleur craved for some quality time with Rarity—she could always count on the Royal Guard to intervene in case of any disturbance, anyway.
“I can’t see why not, and indeed, don’t get into trouble,” she said, even though her first thought was to say ‘don’t cause any trouble’ instead. Before she entered the café, she looked back. “Oh, and try to think of that dream you’d like to pursue!”
The supportive undertone of her own words surprised Fleur to the point she struggled with the door a while longer than it was reasonable. Why did she add that last bit? It wasn’t going to matter in the long run, now was it? In just a couple of days Chestnut was heading back to the Orphanarium, yet Fleur wondered what dream would suit her best, as if those were ensembles the filly could wear. A lawyer, or a botanist? An elegant vest, or a pair of charmingly rustic overalls?
Wait, so was it going to matter or not? No, certainly not. Well, probably not. Strange.
Counting on Rarity to solve that unique fashion conundrum, Fleur entered the café.
A plethora of scents tickled her nostrils. Whether they came from the fragrant teas and coffees, richly sprinkled cupcakes, glazed donuts, or a no small variety of pies, they all interweaved with the classy jazz ambiance filling the interior. Fleur inhaled deeply, savoring the atmosphere in a moment of bliss. She proceeded further inside to that one booth she and Rarity considered their own.
They had never made any formal arrangement with the manager, of course, but a hefty dose of dumb luck would always seat the mares in ‘their’ booth whenever they were meeting at the Maregots. All others, or at least those with a good view on both the counter and the entering guests, were usually occupied. Like the two wooden salespony statuettes—the Maregots proper—mounted on one of the pillars, Fleur and Rarity would be watching the exquisite clientele while commenting on their decent or terrible fashion choices.
“Fleur, my dear!” Rarity exclaimed, getting up from a seat only a shade darker than her pearly white coat. She locked the other mare in a firm hug. “How is my favorite Queen of the Catwalks doing on this fine day we’re having?”
“Aw, she’s done walking them, and you know it!” Fleur replied. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, Rarity! How long has it been? Two, three months?”
“Far too long! I’m dying to hear what the refined ponies of Canterlot have been buzzing about lately!”
“Oh, you have no idea! Just let me order something and—”
“Now, now. I took the liberty of ordering that ‘something’ for us both,” Rarity said, then unceremoniously pushed Fleur into the booth and returned to her seat across the table. “Ah! Here you go!”
A young, elegant stallion wearing a black bowtie approached their table, carrying a silver plate with two hoof-painted porcelain cups of steaming hot coffee, a matching sugar bowl, and a dainty jug of milk along with a set of filigree teaspoons. Once he unloaded everything onto the table and was about to go, Rarity captured his attention with her captivating, adorned by long eyelashes blue eyes.
“Thank you most kindly”—she would put a sweet emphasis on the last word—“darling.”
The waiter trotted away in such a rapture he had to return seconds later upon realizing he forgot the plate. Red on his face, he murmured an awkward apology, snatched the plate, and fled like an abashed colt.
Fleur giggled at her friend’s innocent stare. Rarity had that effect on ponies, and even non-ponies to some extent, and bewildering stallions was one of her favorite pastime activities.
“You start,” Fleur said, pointing a spoon at the incorrigible flirt. “Any scandals in Ponyville?”
“Ponyville doesn’t do scandals, I’m afraid. When we’re not stuck in the middle of some momentous conflict that could very well change the fate of Equestria, we’re just your average town lacking the excitements the city has to offer. Everypony knows each other, and there’s hardly enough time for a gossip to grow into anything more, so the days are slow. Mundane, even.”
Fleur took a greedy sip of her coffee, then another one. Oh, how much she needed that. A cup of warming beverage and a friend who knew her tastes inside out.
“I hope that’s not hindering your sales,” she said. “Ponyville has never been too keen on clothing, after all.”
“Heavens, no! We, the ponies from the provinces may be reaching certain standards only now, but luckily I can rely on other markets that are, shall we say, more lucrative. Actually, I have some news in that regard! Are you ready? I’ll be opening a brand new boutique in Trottingham this spring!”
“So I’ve heard! I’ve had a chat with Sassy Saddles at the Carousel, oh, when was it, last month?”
Rarity’s excitement faded. “Oh. So you knew.”
“Surprised much?”
“No, I-I was just hoping to surprise you, actually.”
“Well, that’s what you get for having me on your list of customers with additional, friends-only privileges. Sassy mentioned you’d be sending her back to Trottingham for the first few opening weeks. I understand it’s only temporary?”
“Her heart is with Canterlot, much like mine stays with Ponyville,” Rarity replied. “But it seems that I’ll be the one running the local Carousel while she’s away,” she said, then added at a hushed tone, “Drop by so I could get you something fabulous at my special, friends-only price.”
“What about Ponyville? You’re going to leave the business unattended?”
“Of course not. I’ll have Flickerflight take care of it.”
“Flicker-who?”
Rarity gloated. “A-ha! So there’s something you don’t know about Carousel Enterprises after all!” She gathered the excess of foam off the rim of her cup and licked the spoon clean. “She’s my new assistant from Hoofington. A lovely young mare, has some great designs, though she keeps selling herself short. I don’t think you two have met. On second thought… maybe? She’s been training under Sassy for some time. Pegasus, wavy mane. No?”
“Non, still nothing, sorry. You’ll have to introduce me someday.”
Fleur put the cup aside. The coffee tasted great but she didn’t want to run out of it too soon. A dessert would keep her pleasantly occupied, some sort of a vanilla sundae with fruits on the sides and whipped cream on top, all covered with a generous dose of sprinkles. Unfortunately, the Maregots was too refined to have such a caloric bomb on the menu. She’d have to go somewhere else later to really treat herself.
She turned back to Rarity.
“So, you’re storming Trottingham now. Next stop: Cloudsdale, I presume?”
“I wish! The rental prices for hard clouds don’t ever drop below Cloudsdale itself!” Rarity said. “No, I suppose I’ll be focusing my efforts on my friends as well as on myself. Between coming up with the new line for the winter and managing the businesses, I think I slipped into a social backlog, if you will,” she admitted. “You have no idea how glad I am that we could meet today!”
“But I’m doing it only to retain my friends-only benefits!” Fleur replied with a wink. “Sounds to me like you could use a break. I know it’s easy for me to say now, but have you considered taking some time off, away from the big and bad world of haute couture? Rainbow Falls isn’t too far. And it’s gorgeous in winter.”
“Mhm, I also heard they’re opening a new resort in the Crystal Mountains. Clarity Peak, I believe,” Rarity said. A playful spark shimmered in her eyes. “About the Empire, did you know that indigo is vogue again? Oh, I simply cannot wait for it to come to Canterlot!”
Fleur’s muzzle shot to the ceiling as she turned her head away. “Keep reminding me of their mockery, and I shall insist that you take some time off, and I will be firm, for you have clearly lost your fashion sanity already.”
She couldn’t hold her pretended frown for long, but her attempt was enough to elicit a giggle from Rarity.
“Apologies, my dear,” Rarity said. “Here you are, asking me about my recreational plans, and all I can think of is whether I should use a backstitch or a topstitch on a certain casual get-up I’m working on back home. I guess that means I’m married to my work, doesn’t it?” She sighed. “Oh, how I envy you, Fleur. Sometimes I wish I had something special like you and Fancy.” She looked at her with rekindled interest. “Which reminds me! How are you endeavors progressing? Your big retirement plans with relatively child-sized beginnings, so to speak?”
Fleur glanced back and onto the street where the unmistakable thestral was trotting there and back again, likely awaiting her return.
She cast down her eyes.
Rarity tried to belittle her not so subtle inquiry, but Fleur needed her interest. She needed to get what she had learned at the clinic off her chest, because however supportive Fancy Pants or Doctor Hugs were, they weren’t exactly, well, mares, and only a mare could fully understand her loss and her pain.
So she told Rarity everything. About the diagnosis, about how she felt, about what it meant to her.
Her friend listened patiently, holding and caressing her hooves in her own. Fleur wasn’t too thrilled about summarizing the worst three days of her life, but she brought together enough heroism not to burst into tears as she was speaking. She counted it as a personal success.
“How are you holding up?” Rarity asked.
“I’m better now,” Fleur replied. “I mean, it happened so unexpectedly, and I had to pretty much throw out some of my best laid plans, but I’m definitely better now. I don’t want to give up on my dreams, if that’s what you’re asking about. In fact, Fancy and I are considering expanding the family via some, uhm, non-conventional means.”
“I think that’s a marvelous idea!” Rarity said but curbed her enthusiasm when she spotted hesitation written all over the other mare’s face. “Oh, but you don’t. Have you two visited any orphanages or adoption centers?”
“We have, actually, but it all felt so weird to me! We had a chance to see some wonderful colts and fillies, but in the end we couldn’t decide, so we asked the doctor in charge for help. We had a talk, then we filled in some of his questionnaires and, long story short, we ended on a week-long trial period with a thestral in our house.”
Rarity patted her muzzle. “A thestral, you say? How quaint. I’m ashamed to admit that I do not know much about them, well, besides that there’s a certain appeal to their traditional garments which, if I do say so myself, could use a little variety. Something a bit brighter, perhaps, because all those blues, all those purples, oh, they’re just so boring!”
The strangest of thoughts came to Fleur’s mind: maybe blues and purples were boring and dull, but grays and browns certainly weren’t.
“Boring is the last word I’d use,” she said.
“I understand you’ve had a chance to get to know a dashing colt, or perhaps a charming filly of their kind? What are your impressions?”
“That’s exactly my problem. I met her only yesterday and I don’t know if I could ever accept such a filly as my child. I’m trying not to be biased against her, but I think the more neutral I try to be, the colder I appear. The problem with her… my problem is that she’s not what I expected.”
“You want my advice? Don’t be neutral. Engage yourself, show interest and care. Fleur de Lis I know is many things, but she’s certainly not a cold-hearted, well, you-know-what.”
Fleur snorted. “I’m not sure I can do that. You see, if she was a little filly of my own, I’d be more than happy to care for and raise her because I’d know what to expect. Chestnut, being much older and from a different race, is a wild card.”
“Chestnut! What an intriguing name for a thestral!” Rarity exclaimed, beaming with undisguised blitheness. “No night-shadowy-dusk individual, but simply: Chestnut. Oh, I bet she’s a real cutie!”
“She has certain, how to put it… redeeming qualities?” Fleur admitted. “My point is—wait, what are you doing?”
Although her cup was still half-full, Rarity sprung out of the booth. Her azure scarf with thick fringes followed, held by the mist of her magic, and obediently tied itself around her neck into a stylish knot.
“Dear, if you want to hear my opinion whether or not you’re a good mom material, I need to see you both in action,” she said and chuckled. “Some inter-action, at least. So buckle up, as we say in Ponyville! We’re heading to your place. And you’re going to introduce me!”
“She’s actually right outside.”
“Ooh! That’s even better!”
Much like she had seated Fleur in their booth, Rarity pulled the mare from her cozy spot without asking for a second opinion and led her towards the exit. Fleur threw a yearning glance at the table shrinking in the distance. There were still a couple of sips in her cup, lost forever, condemned to the kitchen sink.
“But, the receipt!”
“Already taken care of!”
“What—wait! Non, non, non!” Fleur almost bumped into a café employee carrying an empty bucket. She stepped in Rarity’s way, pressing her hoof against the mare’s chest. “Do you remember our last? We agreed that I would be the one paying for treats next time! And today is the next time!”
Rarity took on a sympathetic expression.
“Well, that’s just too bad, darling.” She sent a couple of shining bits to a tip jar, then gave Fleur a nudge. “Come along!”
Rolling her eyes in disbelief, Fleur followed her friend outside. She would be a fool if she didn’t accept the offer of somepony so busy yet so generous with her time, and apparently eager to help her. It was happening a bit too fast, much like everything else in Fleur’s life lately, but if there was anyone that could help her out, it would be the designer from Ponyville.
“Well then,” Rarity said as she stepped to the sun-soaked street. “Where is that charming young lady you’ve been talking about?”
Fleur looked around. From the exclusive Acquarellion to her left, to the five-star Hotel Daylight to her right, the filly she had been entrusted with was nowhere to be seen—and disappearing like that was, in itself, quite a remarkable achievement in the city full of regular ponies.
For the first time in her life, Fleur felt bad for a reason she could not yet fully comprehend.
“She’s… gone.”