//------------------------------// // Chapter Three: Rolling Popsicle // Story: We'll Meet Again // by unipie //------------------------------// Chapter 3 – Rolling Popsicle Four Years Later “Next stop Appleloosa!” I squished my muzzle against the frosty glass, instantly regretting the act. If Tartarus did ever freeze over I can only expect the temperature to be somewhere in this region. I was completely freezing my tail off. Surely, the locomotive operator could have spared some coal for actually heating the train, in substitute for powering it? In retrospect, it wasn’t that big of an issue. The faster I travelled back to Canterlot, the faster I could depart this rolling Popsicle. The vapour coiled and hung in the air, when I gave a satisfied sigh. I was still in wonderment about it all. You know? Moi, being accepted into the most prestigious university in Equestria, and on a fashion degree no doubt. Yes, I’d only been attending two months, but I was one step closer to my dream. Not bad for a mare from a backwater town in the middle of nowhere, right? I scrunched my neck further into the warm lining of my coat. Oh, it was a blessing. Thank Celestia, Mother had insisted on me wearing it when she’d escorted me to the station. “Put cha’ coat on, honey. You’ll catch your death of cold, don’t cha’ know?” I remember her say in an assertive tone. Father and Sweetie Belle had accompanied us of course, wanting to bid me farewell. I do wish I could’ve stayed longer and on my mother’s Birthday furthermore, but disappointingly my studies called. Also, I really had no choice; Father had practically pushed me out the door upon my suggestion of staying another day or two. Naturally, I’d kissed my father and mother goodbye, trying not to keel over in shame when Mother started bawling her eyes out, alerting everypony in the station. Sweetie Belle tackled me in a hug, nuzzling into my mane. I know she’s unbelievably annoying sometimes, but she’s still my sister. I seemed more curious to whether the hugging was a result of my departure, or because I’d let her have my bedroom when I’d moved. She was positively grovelling for the darn thing. I wiped away the window’s thick condensation with a hoof, checking if they were still on the platform. I couldn’t see much, it was terribly dark outside, just odd flickers from a station worker’s lantern. Father was probably squealing like a little colt, inspecting the stream train. Before you ask, yes, I do think he has some kind of obsession. Being the last train, it was overflowing with passengers. I felt like a freshly packed sardine, being crammed in that table section. Across from me was a business stallion in a smart suit and tie, so immersed in his copy of the Ponyville Express, I couldn’t see his face. Next to him was an old mare knitting a scarf of some kind. I didn’t have the heart to say that her technique was off. The garment jogged my memory that I had hours to waste. I levitated out a sketch book and pencil from my saddlebag. At least I could get a head start on my next assignment. I tapped the eraser against my chin. Perhaps, a nice jacket or blazer? It would suit the current sub-zero climate perfectly. While I proceeded to write a list of potential fabrics, the carriage door slid open. An orange earth pony wearing an old, battered Stetson stepped inside; she spun back to talk to other in the previous carriage. A whistle sounded, the stack spluttering out smoke, while the train inched forward. Most of the conversation was inaudible. Not that I was eavesdropping or anything. Above the train’s chugging, all I managed to hear was, “That one’s full, I’ll jus’ be in here if ya need me.” Earth ponies are incredibly strong, but this mare was a machine. After plodding a few paces, she lugged the heavy suitcases from her back to the overhead compartment in a single swing. I concealed my muzzle into the sketchbook, which I’d just been peeking over. Whatever the heck was I doing? I coughed, awkwardly. Get back to work, Rarity. Me, ogling at other mares, that’ll be the day. Wait? I wasn’t ogling; I just really liked her … hat. Yes, that! Rustic was in this season. My artistic eye tents to wander and I was just paying particular attention to her style. Strictly platonically. Judging by it, she was probably a resident of Appleloosa or Dodge Junction. A lot of farmers and country folk resided there – and they all wore Stetsons. You would think the things were stitched to their ears. Even in her the short time present, I could’ve sworn I’d seen the mare before. One might suggest it was all simply in my head. However, she struck some sort of mental note within me. I did have the tendency to scrutinize a tad too much, so I let the thought slide. Holding a Farming Weekly magazine in her teeth, she sat down beside me. I scooched over, burying my undeniable shame into the page. Oh great, just sit next to me why don’t you? Only two seconds ago, I was staring at your -- well that’s not important. I suddenly felt a lot warmer. Celestia spared me when a waiter from the dining car arrived. He was superbly dressed. I adored his bow tie. “Good evening,” he greeted in a charmingly, smooth voice. “May I interest you fillies and gentlecolts in tonight’s complementary menu?” “Sure,” the Stetson mare chimed. The business stallion waved a hoof in dismissal, not even diverting from his paper. I raised an eyebrow at the old mare, now asleep. Just what I wanted accompanying my meal - a lovely helping of bubbling droll. Fantastic. “Of course,” I uttered back, as the waiter waved over a menu with his magic. After a moment’s thought, the earth pony replied, “Err, I’ll take a number three.” “Excellent choice.” He nodded, jotting down the order. “And, for you mademoiselle?” “I’ll have the chef's salad with oil and vinegar on the side and the apple pie a là mode.” “Chef and apple a là mode,” he murmured into the note pad. “But I'd like the pie heated and I don't want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side, and I'd like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it, if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it's real; if it's out of the can then nothing.” He looked up in confusion. “Not even the pie?” “No, I want the pie, but then not heated.” I smiled intently. After a flash of awkward silence, and the waiter looking completely dumbfounded, he gulped an “Uh huh”, before scuttling off. My mouth hung open in mind sentence; the worse of it was I didn’t even get to order a drink. You call that service? The pencil nib hadn’t even kissed the paper, when I heard a snigger. I peeped over the brim of the sketchbook; the orange mare had lifted a hoof trying to contain her laughter. Oh, just what I needed – a four hour train ride next to a potential psychotic. I already had the pleasure of “the snorer” and “the hermit”. Who did this mare think she was? I flipped the book down. “What?” I hissed. Her eyes shot up. She looked like a filly whose hoof had been caught in a cookie jar. “U-uh, nothin’,” she pleaded. “Well, I didn’t know ordering dinner could be so amusing,” I replied flatly, returning to my sketch. “It’s jus’… 'on the side' is kinda a big thing for you,” the mare teased. A “big thing”. Please, you wouldn’t be laughing if the vinegar made your lettuce all soggy. Levitating the book away, I turned my nose up. “I just want it the way I want it.” This was going to be a long night, by all means. The earth pony chortled, “Like I’ve never heard that one before. You fancy schmancy, high-society ponies are all the same.” Fancy? High-society? I’m sure that remark was a hidden insult, but I couldn’t help but be delighted. She thought I was a sophisticated mare. Moi! You could say I felt rather complemented, proud even. It just goes to show, taking pride in one’s appearance and behaviour is beneficial. Nopony had ever said anything like that to me before. Why, I was so overjoyed I could’ve just kiss -- I mean, shook her hoof in a congratulative manner. Remaining unruffled and expressionless, I acknowledged her. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” She blew a raspberry, rolling her eyes. Immediately, I backed away from her spray radius. So uncouth. “ Oh yeah, when was the last time ya did somethin’ unexpected? Ya know darin’? None o’ that “on the side” stuff. Never I reckon.” What was she insinuating? I did spontaneous feats. Fashion was susceptible to the most change and unpredictability of any industry. As one would expect, I carried out every deed with beauty and grace. She wouldn’t know splendour if it bit her on the flank! Oh for the love of camomile tea, stop thinking about her flank, Rarity. “Now listen here,” I protested, twirling my hoof in emphasis. “I’ll have you know that only last week I … I- ” I didn’t do anything! I sat and made a dress all week. Think of something, anything. “- went to the market and … bought mung beans instead of runner beans!” Did I just say that? Perfect. Good heavens, I hated to admit it, but the sloppy mare was right! I planned for everything, new designs, hooficures, which day I allocated to wash my mane. How positively humiliating. My embarrassment was far from helped when she blurted out a laugh. “Oh yeah, ya a real “loose cannon”.” If anypony had looked at me then, judging by the way I was growling, they would’ve thought I was some kind of rabid dog. Lucky for her, the waiter arrived with our food. You can only imagine what … colourful language I might have unleashed. “Your food, mademoiselles,” he purred, giving me a anxious look. “Do enjoy.” The mare dived into her baked potato, managing a “thanks, partner” in mid chew. Repulsed by her lack of manners, I tended to my own meal. It was no surprise why the waiter had fled. I sat there looking at the vinegar riddled salad and the cold, vanilla ice-cream, pie mush. No sooner did it occur to me, this trip was an absolute nightmare. Oh, why me? Out of courtesy, I had a few ladylike bites and then returned to my design. Dinner could wait; I was on a “vogue” roll, so to speak. The silence had become awfully unsettling, even with constant clattering of the train. You could tell it was getting late by the stillness of the passengers. Since the lights had been dimmed, my horn continued to glow a soft blue. I’d been aware of the orange mare glancing over my shoulder and breathing down my neck for some time. She could’ve at least tried to be discreet about it; her unruly panting was so shrill it was on par with the train. “Can I help you?” I snarled, intruding into the mare’s personal space, just like she in mine. She didn’t flinch, staying only inches away. “Nah, but perhaps I can help you with ya fancy drawin’,” she said, keeping a hushed tone. “Drawing? Excuse me, but this is a highly calculated visual conception in which several aspects are considered,” I announced. “And in regards to your suggestion of 'help', I can only expect anything a pony –” I looked her up and down coldly “- of your sophistication would propose will just result in uttermost disaster.” Oh goddesses, I was on a social inhalation winning streak tonight. Talk about the cold shoulder, Rarity. “Huh. Well, if ya’ll are gonna be fussy, I ain’t tellin’,” she argued, glancing away. Not to worry, I did have a heart, although I had a strange way of showing it. Help is help, no matter from whom it originates. Huffing, I floated the page between us. “Fine, tell me,” I whined. “Alrighty then,” she smirked, pointing to the design. “Ya see this here part?” “The fore leg sleeves? Whatever’s wrong with them?” Everyone’s a critic – literally. “Yeah. Nothin’, it jus’ got me thinkin’. Now don’t get me wrong, it looks awfully pretty, its jus’ it’s not very practical like. Ya know?” “I’m afraid I don’t follow.” “Well, alotta my family members work the fields and orchards in the winter, so they need t’ keep warm wearin’ jackets and such,” she explained. At this point, I was still sceptical. “But, workin’ up a sweat ain’t exactly healthy for ya outfit. Luggin’ hay and buckin’ apples causes a heap o’ rips and tears. Every winter my kin has t’ fix up their clothes, especially those there sleeves.” Still baffled by the mare’s advice, I answered, “I see. So, what to you propose?” “Heck if I know. Jus’ somethin’ t’ stop the knees rippin’ after all that tough grindin’. I’m sick o’ stitchin’ them up.” I looked out the black window. I couldn’t believe it, that rowdy mare was actually onto something. I did so love a practical accessory, and I’m sure country folk would be of the same opinion - a jacket that was durable, but gave a sense of refinery. Not too sophisticated mind you. I needed to consider the interests of my customer demographic. Maybe, in a tweed fabric? Definitely an autumn colour, grey or brown, perhaps green. This was ingenious! I had a target audience, the freezing weather, a niche market opening, I needed an assignment garment and rustic was in! “I’ve got it!” I cheered, which was so unexpected the mare flinched. “Huh, got what?” “I-de-a!” I sang, while the mare joined me in looking at the page. “How about this?” I waved the pencil to craft two oblong patches around each knee, adding more fabric samples and stitching techniques. “Each sleeve has a knee patch made out of a durable fabric such as, leather or suede. This will be a different fabric to the initial jacket of course, but it will still remain stylish.” Impressed, she whistled keenly. “Woo wee, that’ll work jus’ swell I reckon.” “Oh, you’re just saying that,” I jested. She smiled pleasantly. “No I ain’t. I would buy one. You look like an amazing fashion designer.” Fine, I admit it, I had been entirely wrong about this mare, she was … charming. “W-well, thank you,” I stuttered, shyly. What the heck was wrong with me tonight? One would think I was having a nervous breakdown. Like I was ever nervous around anypony. So … why was I now? For all I know the orange mare could have continued that conversation, but I’d become completely obsessed from that point onward. I needed to think of a pitch, differences between mare and colt designs. How ecstatic I was, like a filly on their birthday. Overall cost and profit margins, pros and cons of fabrics. Oh my, it was going to be a long (but fabulous) night! I awoke with a shudder, smacking my horn against the overhead compartment. How unladylike it was to sleep in public. Looking around dazed, I rubbed my aching forehead. Please say nopony saw that? Apparently not, as the carriage was empty. How long had I been asleep? Sitting alone at the table, I collected my belongings up in an aura of magic. Before I flipped the sketchbook shut, I glanced at it briefly, only to see a message. What, pray tell, was this? The note was written in quite sloppy mouth writing, next to my design. ~ Dear Miss Fancy Fashion Designer Mare, I saw how that waiter got your crazy order all wrong, so before I got off at Appleloosa, I left you an apple fritter and some syrup. I didn’t want you to go hungry. Don’t worry though, I put it “on the side”, just how you like it. My granny made them, they’re real good, trust me. I would’ve woken you up, but you seemed kinda tired doing all that work for your big project. (And you were murmuring fabric samples in your sleep, so I guessed you were having a good ol’ dream) Anyways, hope you get to Canterlot just fine and dandy. It was nice meeting you. From “Sophisticated” Mare P.S. I’m hoping to see one of those pretty jackets in every clothes store in Equestria. Maybe you can send me one? After all, I did think of it. (I’m joking) Good luck. ~ I read it over twice, not showing a flash of an expression. Putting down the book, I eyed up the fritter, floating it to my lips. After I took a bite, I stared out the window to the orange glow of the rising sun. I chewed silently, getting lost in the beautiful scene forming before me. “Charming,” I whispered. “Very charming indeed.”