//------------------------------// // The Rabbit Hole // Story: Between Needles and Knives // by Dancewithknives //------------------------------// “AAAAAAAHHH-” “RARITY!” The tailor sat up, darkness all but filled the room that she was in. She looked to her right, and saw a filly of a similar white coat and a curly mane that she had taught her to maintain by herself. “Is it too late to look over my paper for school?” Rarity, finally recognizing the shadows and shapes of the place she was in as her room, calmed down her racing heart and looked at her sister with confusion, “wait… what?” “Oh.. you know…” Sweetie Belle said, rubbing her hoof on the floor as she tried to downplay the significance of waking up her sister in the middle of the night like it was nothing, “that paper that I have to write for school?” The Mare rubbed her eyes, “Sweetie Belle, Its kind of late, what are you doing up at this hour?” “Oh, it’s not that late.” They both looked at the clock, 1:15 AM. “Alright,” she admitted, “I forgot about it and woke up and finished it.” Rarity sighed, “You shouldn’t allow yourself to forget about schoolwork, Sweetie Belle. This is a very bad habit to start.” “I know,” The little filly grumbled, stepping away from the bed and walking towards the door, “Will you help me, still?” Rarity gave another pout, this was an oafish thing that her sister did. She didn’t want to start making a trend of her little sister waiting for the night prior for school work and waking her while she is making such good sleep… or not. Rarity gave another huff, Sweetie Belle had come to HER for help with her silly elementary school paper… that really meant something to her when she thought of it. Rarity would only wish she had an older sister to help her with her homework assignments. Whenever she asked for help, Father was often too busy and Mother… well, for as much as she loved her, Rarity’s mother was the key reason why the seamstress valued her education so much. “Alright, I’ll be down in a second.” “Yay! Thanks!” she squeaked before shooting out the door and down the hall. The white unicorn slipped out of her bed and onto the floor, she did not bother fixing up her sheets… especially after that terrible dream that Sweetie Belle’s carelessness ironically saved her from. Thank Celestia for procrastination. The mare turned on a light and walked towards her wardrobe, slipping her pajamas off and placing them on the shelf. She was about to turn around and make her way downstairs to her awaiting sister… but her dream had been nagging in the back of her mind, making her feel the uneasy twists and turns of panic from only a few seconds earlier. She walked to the far side of her wardrobe, up to a particular rack of clothes, and pushed them all aside. There, hiding behind the foliage of garments, was a safe. She looked towards the door and ensured that no little pony was about to turn the corner before she stuck her horn into the lock. It opened, and the young artisan pushed past bags of golden currency and other valuables until she found a particular scrapbook that she had recently been giving too much attention. Rarity opened up the book, and taped to the first page was a sign-in sheet from a few days ago. Partway to the bottom of it was a name circled in red pen, “Esproc”. A few years ago, when the Carousel Boutique was about to close its doors for the night, a strange character walked in and made an appointment on the spot. Rarity smiled and tried to give this late arrival as good of manners that she would do for any other pony, but even from the beginning, it was apparent that there was something off about him. From the first time they met, he did not speak very much, only choosing to answer in as few words as possible, or altogether leaving the mare in silence over her questions. The name that was circled on the paper was what he went by, Esproc. Undoubtedly it was an alias, for as Rarity found out later, it spelled “corpse” backwards. He did not ever want to sign his name. Every time he entered, he would allow Rarity to sign for him, and ever since his second visit, Rarity made a habit of making an illegible scribble on the signature sheet. She flipped the page, coming to the next evidence that she had gathered. On this page, taped at the corners, was a copy of one of Rarity’s size sheets. As with every other one of these sheets, an outline of a generic male pony was outlined like it was a page of a coloring sheet. Numbers were placed on blanks that pointed to various parts of the subject’s anatomy. The first time Rarity met the pony who called himself “Esproc”, she thought that he was a unicorn. She had prepared the sheet of a unicorn and was about to take measurements for the three piece suit that he wanted her to make. He had entered her store for the first time wearing the ripped and battered remains of an old tuxedo, so she had assumed that he was just a normal unicorn. But, as he pushed the changing sheet away and revealed all of his navy blue body to her, she realized that her customer was very special. He was a winged unicorn, a hybrid of the two species and had a genetic lottery of their traits. She was no doctor; the only knowledge of genetics she had was from a biology class in school. If she wanted to know exactly what traits he had and did not have, she would have to hire a professional or inspect him closer… which were both out of the question. The few things that she knew for sure was from what she had observed up close. He had a horn that was in the range of a normal unicorn would be, a little on the shorter side, but by no means an abnormality. His wings were definitely shorter than that of a normal pegasus. She assumed that he could indeed fly, but she would guess that it took more effort to do so. Even though she never was able to obtain a stray feather, she observed that there seemed to be a few less feathers on his wings in comparison to her winged friends. With her measuring sheet, she had documented his exact dimensions which could help identify him if need be, but for now, they served to make his garments. A purple scale was taped onto the next page, not specifically from him, but to be used as a reference. It was a dragon’s scale, she had obtained this particular one from her friend’s dragon assistant, Spike. The customer that she feared so much carried a large variety of weapons in a bag that he kept nearby when he would come in for a fresh ensemble after his previous ones became unwearable. She once had unfortunately allowed her curiosity to stumble into the grounds of his belongings and found the weapons he possessed. In the brief second she had saw them, he had many knives and syringes, tools that could easily find themselves used as weapons. She had no definite proof of their uses to this pony, but there was one that he seemed to favor. He carried around one large blade, it had been taped and caved around one end to be used like a grip. Although she had no actual proof to this idea, it seemed that this one had been used the most and was possibly the favored of the set. The majority of the blade was sharpened and crafted to have edges and teeth like a multipurpose knife. It was double edged, had a sharp point, and also had serrated teeth made into one of the sides like a bread knife. It was purple because it was not simply made of metal. It was a dragon’s scale; obviously from an adult. Dragons ate gems and diamonds to create their tough hide. Their scales were made of pure carbon, repurposed from the diamonds they ingested. It only made sense that a dependable and versatile weapon would be crafted from one. The next page, fabric samples and instructions were pinned to the paper. While she had suggested colors that would accent his coat and darker navy mane, he had insisted and practically demanded that she use colors that she would call generic, ordinary. While she wanted to use white, brown and blue, he demanded that she make his jacket and slacks out of black, grey for his vest, and cream for his shirt. She did not ever understand why someone would limit their attractiveness by limiting their custom fitted and tailored clothes to be colors that would suit anypony, but that discovery would come later. On the next page, he had provided instructions for her to make special compartments on the insides of his garments, and while she chose to be oblivious of their purpose, a feeling in her heart told her that it undoubtedly had something to do with the questionable things in his possession. On the page following her fabric samples and stitching instructions regarding secret inside pockets, she had the means to afford his expensive habit. Rarity loved making beautiful clothing, the move lavish and fancy the project the better. But, she was not putting on a charity, she was running a business. She did not ever intend to make her clients bankrupt, but she needed to charge them accordingly. Needles, rent, thread, fabric, and utilities all cost money, and her services as well as her products were the means of continuing the life of the Carousel Boutique. From everything he demanded in his suits, as well as the quality and pride that she put into them, “Mr. Esproc” had quite the expensive habit to maintain. But, of course, he had a means sustaining that habit. From the first time he stepped into the doors to the last time he nearly caused Rarity to have a heart attack, he always paid in the same way. Not in specific cash, like she had assumed, but in checks. But these were not just the standard checks that she would receive every now and then as payment for her services or refunds on her taxes, these were personal government checks. In the corner was the illustration of a crown, the same crown that she had noticed on the promise of payment that she had done to very important individuals in the hierarchy of Equestria. One was from Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, another from Princess Celestia, Lord Stormback- Her Majesty’s Secretary of State-, and… Mr. Esproc. To say the least, he was not in possession of an ordinary checkbook. She turned the page, and from here on out, the little scrapbook of hers turned from a nervous black book of breadcrumbs in the event of her demise and into an extensive dump of all information she had ever amassed involving the “Mr. Esproc”. It was not too long ago from when she finally made some progress in finding out his activities were outside of her shop. Every time she would find him in her store, with his current suit ripped to pieces, and demanding another one, she was all but helpless in determining their fate. But that all changed one morning. She was looking through a newspaper, and she saw something completely out of the blue. It was not him, the “Mr. Esporc”, a winged unicorn of the color navy blue, but a green unicorn stallion. If he would have walked past Rarity on a normal day, chances were that she would not even notice this seemingly random pony. But, at the same time, it was as if fate itself had laid the pieces out for her to finally make this connection, to link a series of random ponies to her one customer. Though this one stallion was out of sight and out of mind from Rarity Belle…But his suit wasn’t. Like the bond between mother and infant, there was a subliminal connection between this self-employed tailor in Ponyville and every single one of her garments. She could recognize them, she could remember them, she left a piece of herself behind in every single stitch that she made. And, on a photo taken halfway around the world, adorning the frame of an ordinary green unicorn, she saw one of her suits, the three piece variety that she made for only one client, “Mr. Esproc”. Taped to the page was the cut out newspaper clipping of the picture and summary of the story that went with it. She told herself it was a coincidence; but the truth was the contrary. In a scrapbook fashion, the next pages had similar articles. A clip from a newspaper that she bought from the local library’s archives, a matching story, and a pony circled in pen somewhere in the background. A blue Pegasus here. A white pegasus here. A black unicorn mare here. A lavender earth pony there. A red pegasus stallion here. And so on and so forth. And on every single one of them, be it the suit, the shirt, the jacket, the vest, or a combination of any, her pride and joy was always with them. Rarity closed the book and slid it back into her safe. She needed to get down before Sweetie Belle became suspicious over what was taking so long. Rarity walked down the stairs from the second story and down to the kitchen, happy to not find four identical clones of a certain stallion waiting to kill her. Sitting at the large glass kitchen table was her sister. She had pulled the bench over, her mane needed to be combed in the morning, her school bag open, and a piece of paper was right before her as she fixed a few things. Rarity slipped beside her on the bench and gave a large opened mouthed yawn, “Now... what is this again?” “I just have to write a small summary of an old fairytale that Ms. Cheerilee had us read in groups two days ago.” “Okay, sounds simple enough.” Rarity skipped the documentation and went straight to the main body, marking errors and translating her sister’s thoughts into comprehensive sentences. “The Story of Mr. Hawk is set in a nameless realm of pegasi, and thus every character is a pegasus. The story opens with a poor old cloud farmer who lives alone with his daughter who he wishes would be wed. One day, a stallion by the name of Mr. Hawk arrives at their house, claiming to be concerned with flying in a storm, and seeks refuge with the farmer for the night.” Rarity crossed out the next section full of superficial information and made a note of just saying, “Mr. Hawk seemed to be well off and willing to marry the farmer’s daughter. ” But, as she did so, she could not help but imagine her customer. Even though it was not consistent, she imagined herself as the poor farmer’s daughter who had a stranger enter her home. “By the end of the night, the farmer’s daughter and Mr. Hawk are engaged to be married, and the story jumps forward to the night before the wedding.” Another odd occurrence. Rarity felt as if she was unintentionally bonded Mr. Esproc by her work like this nameless farmer’s daughter and the stranger that she met and was scheduled to marry in a night. “Sweetie Belle, I thought you said this was a fairytale, where are the kings, and fairies and other mythical creatures?” “It is a fairy tale, Ms. C is making us read boring old poems and stuff to develop ‘Critical thinking’, since when could a ‘think’ be critical?” Rarity let the poor grammar slip and continued reading, “ On the night before the wedding, the bride comes to her dad and says that she is worried because she rarely sees Mr. Hawk, and does not even know where he lives. She thinks twice about the marriage, but her father does not listen. She decides to go and find the house itself, which is supposed to be on the top of a hurricane.” Once again, the uncanny resemblance hit a sour cord in the tailor that made her feel incredibly uneasy. For as much as he knew about her, her shop, her name and worst of all, that she had a little sister. She knew next to nothing about him. “The Farmer’s daughter flies up and into the hurricane, and finally reaches the house. Mr. Hawk has a mansion, and she slowly sneaks into it. She enters the mansion and follows the tracks in the clouds until she finds the gallery, and enters silently. The room is dark, but when she pulls aside a few blinds, she finds herself in a very bloody chamber.” “What in the world!” Rarity shouted as she blinked and reread the latest section of the paper. “That’s what I said! Keep going, Twist’s mom came in yesterday and tried to make Ms. Cheerilee make us read different stuff.” Rarity’s heart began to beat hard within her chest, it was almost as if this tale was meant to warn her. Her curiosity may get the better of her. Being in business with this partner put her life and the ones of her family on the line. They were all liabilities, and her book that she kept in the safe upstairs may put them all in danger. The scrapbook was like the entrance into the dark house, and its contents were like what this character’s soon-to-be husband kept up in his gallery. Rarity took a deep breath. It was just a story, it wasn’t real, and nothing in it could hurt her. “The farmer’s daughter is about to flee from the mansion when she hears something and hides. As she does so, Mr. Hawk walks in carrying an unconscious mare across his back in a fine white wedding gown. He sets her on the table and proceeded to chop her up.” Rarity, for the sake that her sister was subjected to read this macabre story, felt sick to her stomach, but continued anyway, “As he chopped her away, he began to sing out…” Rarity’s blood ran cold as she became transfixed on the paper before her. “Be bold, be bold, but never so bold that the blood in your heart runs cold.” Rarity’s vision black out. The pencil she was holding in magic fell to the table with a light *click* and was soon followed by her forehead as she lost all control and fainted.