Rarity's Accent
Rarity sighed silently to herself, eyes not caring to even look at the red piece of fabric stuck in her magical grip as she busily pushed and pulled a string of bright yellow thread through it -- it was nearly a pitch black in the room, the only light flaring to life in the boutique coming from Rarity's sparkling blue magic, so she suspected it wouldn't quite matter even if she did happen to watch what she was doing. Her mane was frazzled, she hated to say, and sticking out wildly from her normally beautifully and fabulously placed purple curls were little stringy hairs, some of them shining an ugly gray in her eyes as she looked upwards every now and then, up to a picture frame standing up at a nearby table. She didn't know when she had gotten those pesky graying hairs, exactly, seeing as she was still relatively young and, while in a fairly foul mood, with a perfect bill of health. But... but again, she decided that the fact didn't matter anyway at the moment, and simply put her eyes back down to the linoleum. No, the only thing that mattered now was what had happened. What she had done.
And, the more she thought on it, the more obvious what she had previously learned seemed to become. Some ponies didn't even have to think about the right answer to this particular problem -- they were simply naturally forgiving and thoughtful, and could tell that what they were doing was wrong almost immediately. Fluttershy did it all of the time, maybe too well, always thinking ahead and imagining every terrible thing that could happen before she allowed herself to act on anything -- it scared her right out of her skin, but made her a nice, lovely pony overall. But with Rarity... Rarity supposed that she was never even close to that way as she twisted her head around to look into the direction of her bedroom, where an incredibly different portrait hung in the shadowy darkness -- of a mint green pegasus filly with lightning-colored hairs as a slicked-back mane and tail, and a hoof slung over Rarity's shoulder.
Rarity sighed to herself yet again, this time letting the high-pitched noise fill the pregnant silence of her workroom, and gently laid the fabric and thread in her levitation spell back to the floor beside her hooves. She should be working after the break she just got, she knew, but those eyes staring at her from that worn photograph just wouldn't seem to let her go tonight. Not after she had learned a lesson like this one. Not after she had finally realized the severity of her actions. That would be something to take a hold on her for quite some time.
Maybe, though, if she just set the picture down for the night and went out for some fresh air...
Rarity picked herself uneasily from the hard, linoleum ground a shaky and achy hoof at a time, taking a moment to realize what exactly what that meant -- this floor hadn't been swept or mopped in at least a few days by either Sweetie Belle or herself -- the two both off in separate places in order to make an important visit -- and now all of those specks of dust had lodged themselves all in her pristine coat and mane -- and she was about to walk right out the door, all of the neighbors and her customers able to simply peek their heads out the bedroom window and see her! After giving herself a good shake and brush before the mirror in order to make herself look fairly presentable, Rarity walked herself to the front of her store and home. The picture standing against her dresser still stared burning holes into the back of her skull as she trotted away from her workroom and it, but she couldn't dare bring herself to face it back downwards against the wood of either the work table or in a tiny drawer beside her bed as it had been for just too many years now. To her it would almost be even more like running from this problem than what she was currently doing now as she stepped out of her door and onto a dusty dirt track, the thing only barely illuminated by clumps of fireflies flitting about in the absolute darkness.
So beautiful and tranquil. Exactly just what she needed to clear her head of these horrible thoughts. She tried her best to let the scenery do its job, and looked around at the shadowed buildings in the town as she walked past, her horn flared in order to help her see. A thoughtful hoof resting against her white chin and struggling not to run jaggedly over her eyes, she took a second to realize how much different the town of Ponyville looked compared to Canterlot -- anything to think about, really. Almost anything at all could help in this situation.
She noted immediately the cleanliness of the town as compared to her old home -- she had gotten used to the rustic feel of Ponyville and had embraced it after a while, though it still had a way of getting under her skin whenever she happened to think of the masterfully paved roads of Canterlot. Where in that city was smooth, hoof-polished stone and large, intricately designed buildings sprouting from every corner -- sometimes even grand playhouses branching off into signs of advertisements and photos of handsome actors -- here was dirt paths and small huts. Every now and then was a rather pretty house which stood out, but for the most part just the normal shadowed street covered in closed market stands.
She remembered the smell. The whole place had its own smell to it -- sweet yet bitter at the same time. A nice, identifiable smell which always had her nostrils flaring as she walked through the door with a beam on her face. She had tried her very best over the years to bake up a treat that had that warm and earthy aroma to it... but nothing could really match it.
Another thought was the noises of each place, something which came to Rarity as her hooves quickened in pace against the near-silence covering Ponyville and her eyes squinted to match the dull lights of the fireflies and the occasional lamppost. In Ponyville came what she simultaneously hated and loved about the area so much -- the complete lack of hustle present in larger cities. She quite enjoyed the rush stuck in the large, morphing entity that was the crowd, with the constant excitement and buzz radiating off of each pony on their way home from work. It had a sort of life to it, promoted her to get things done, and often during rushes she was able to sell off dresses to stallions wishing to surprise their mares -- rather good for business, she had to say. Still, as it got tighter and more compact, something Rarity was forced to go through everyday, it became a different affair. Every body pressed together, life squeezing out the fun of it as ponies were jolted, Rarity having to jot down orders and dart back and forth for hours on end... the quiet dullness of the country became welcome and peaceful, working absolute wonders on those pesky wrinkles Rarity had started to notice.
She remembered the colors. Not so much what the place looked like -- it had been too long -- but she could remember the pale yellows and purples of the walls that clashed horribly and yet was so comforting and warm. Whenever she thought of crying it seemed that those colors were the ones draped over her dresses, and whenever she realized her horrible mistake and felt herself tossing a now ruined project into the trash bin... into the back of her closet it went.
Rarity's hooves quickened again, her head shaking and trying to ignore the picture which she swore was still behind her. She shouldn't be letting it get to her so much, she knew, and should have been working on her client's dress instead -- enough hard work would surely get this off of her mind. It always had, and her work was what had gotten her into the situation, right?
She remembered the sounds, though they were always a bit different as she looked back on them, as, instead of the noises of the actual place, she heard the ghost of echoing clacks and thumps of a cart rolling over tiny dirt paths. Eventually those sounds would morph into that of a smooth swirling and squeak, only on short occasion riding over a bit of litter on polished ground before the cart arrived in a blurry place of loud noises and bits of conversation. Every now and then she would hear the opening of a familiar joke in Ponyville, one which would take her back to that place, and she would have to excuse herself... lest they hear her finish it for them.
Or perhaps some sleep? She hadn't had much over the past few days, what with the picture not letting her go. M-Maybe this time she wouldn't dream about it.
She could remember the feel, if only very faintly. Not of the place itself, or even that crowded area of noise and twittering ponies -- but of the doorknob underneath her hoof and the burn and sting of her sore throat as she screamed back at them. Them, as in not only those ponies behind the door, but the ones in front of it, miles away, sitting at desks inside of a large, elegant building topped with a giant copper bell. She could remember the thud of the wood and shiver of ground as it pushed up her spine and filled up her eyes. Whenever this came back to her...
Or perhaps if she simply ran. That was what she was doing now, at least, what she had been doing for years on end without realizing it. Now she was glad she spruced herself up for a walk -- at least now if her neighbors looked outside and thought she was insane she would be absolutely fabulous-looking.
She hated it. Them. Remembering those things. Well, hating wasn't extremely lady-like, so she supposed she simply strongly disliked it, but the point still stood. She strongly disliked the way those memories brought her comfort or maybe even tears -- it was a sign of weakness to her for quite some time. Whenever she found herself experimenting with sweets she just gave them to Sweetie Belle and her little Crusader friends, scrubbing away at her cooking utensils until every speck of that disgusting filth was greased from them. Whenever she stumbled upon those wrinkled and ugly dresses at the back of her closet she immediately pulled them out, delicately tearing them apart stitch-by-stitch in order to know that there was absolutely no chance she had made those dresses in the first place. Whenever she had herself ending one of those terribly bad puns she refused to stomp her hoof in a childlike manner, instead repeating a mantra over and over again in her head as if to expel it from her memory.
Whenever she thought of the way she had screamed at them she smiled, tipping her head up and having an elegant sip of her tea as she let out a harrumph. It was there faults, after all, that this had happened. The way they dared speak about her in front of the other foals, the barriers they created in the path of her career. They... They...
Rarity had knocked on Applejack's door. Her eyes shrunk to pinpricks as she realized this, her flaring horn, which had been flying a shimmering sapphire-blue ray of light through the thinning leaves of the trees in the orchard, dying down and sending a blanket of darkness falling over her. She didn't quite understand how she had gotten there -- though as she felt her graying mane fall over her horn with a fluff and her hooves and lungs start to tingle and burn she began to get an idea. But... had she really ran such a distance? Rarity couldn't recall making that decision, only a blur of houses, trees and carts pushing past her as she moved -- even that was a bit of a blur. So...
Rarity's ears twitched as the thumps of hooves could be heard beyond the door in front of her, and her heartbeat flew into her throat as the thought came to her that she wouldn't be able to run away from this in time. Sweat beaded down her forehead and horn, the warm liquid matting into her newly-brushed fur and leaving her in a huff -- after this marathon she had subjected herself to she would no longer be anywhere near presentable, and after an embarrassing talk with Applejack she would have to take another shower! Still, she stayed, and before long a sleepy-looking Applejack unlocked the door and stepped out.
Her eyes immediately went wide.
"R-Rarity? What are ya'll doin' here?" she stammered, before placing her Stetson upon her head and giving a smile through wrinkled and dark eyes. She rubbed a single hoof over those tired eyes, lips parting to make a large, toothy yawn which made Rarity flinch backwards almost as much as the stringy hairs poking wildly away from Applejack's mane and the smudges of dried saliva splattered on her cheeks. "You should be glad that Ah'm a pretty light sleeper. Mighta' been out here a while. Somethin' ya need?"
She then looked up at Rarity, a hospitable smile placed on her lips and her eyebrows drawn upwards. Rarity in turn took a moment to think about this -- should she really drag Applejack into this affair? This early in the morning? She supposed that it probably wasn't the wisest decision to do so -- she herself didn't very much feel like talking about this, to herself or to another pony, and Applejack had already worked an extremely hard day on the farm. Would it be fair to either of them to bring up the subject now? Surely she could just play this off as a freak accident, suffer silently and hold her head up as a lady should until a more decent time?
She thought up a story just seconds after she felt the fatigue that light spell had placed on her when combined with a run.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, dear," she said, placing a hoof to her chest and studying Applejack's face for a reaction. She didn't much of one, just a quirk of an eyebrow and a stretch of a frown. "You see, I was just working on a dress when my horn started up. It picked me up and dragged me all of the way here, I'm afraid -- I suppose magic does work in mysterious ways." Rarity twisted her body to the side, smiling as she did so. "Now, I really must be off. I know that you must be tired and I wouldn't want to disturb your... beauty rest."
She honestly didn't intend the remark as a barb -- though the spittle on Applejack's muzzle sparkled against the light of Luna's moon.
Applejack's face turned downwards and for a second Rarity thought she had taken offense, though once the mixed expression stopped, mouth a flat line and green eyes topped with two similar ones, Rarity's sweating started up again. She just wanted to put this night behind her, wallow in her misery upon her hoof-sewn sofa. Why couldn't that happen?
"Uh-huh. And Ah s'pose yer horn made ya knock on the door too?"
Applejack talking was making the sensation worse, the burning of those painted eyes set in a picture frame. It was almost as if the thing -- surely now much too far away to see her, right? -- was sentient itself, or held them inside it. As if it was aware hat it was going to be spoken about, and was trying to make her slip, spill it--
"Mysterious ways. Now, surely you wish to go back to bed, and I, for one, wish to do so as well."
-- tell Applejack how foolish she had been, why exactly these things still haunted her--
"Listen, Sugarcube, if ya need ta tell me somethin' then tell me somethin'. Ah've always got time for you girls. Yer startin' ta sound like Fluttershy."
"No, really. It's all perfectly fine. I'll just be going now. Good night."
-- that she fully expected them to never accept any apology she could give them, that she acted absolutely dreadfully, that she didn't deserve their forgiveness--
"Yer sure?"
-- that in the end it wasn't just because of a simple, petty fear that she couldn't even dare to try to fix things--
"Entirely."
-- but instead the fact that deep down, somewhere hidden in the recesses of her being -- whether it be her brain or heart -- she still blamed them, and perhaps even strongly disliked them. That she hadn't gotten over the childish grudge that they hadn't even caused in the first place, and every time she spoke of or even saw them in the portrait which stared into her she was terrified that a foal or client would be waiting around the corner.
"Well, I can't just leave ya out here in the dark. If ya don't want ta tell me what's wrong then at least let me--"
"AH TOLD YA'LL AH'M FINE!"
Rarity gasped, a single hoof flying up to her forehead and resting flush against the dull edge of her horn as the other clasped against her mouth. Sweat was pouring down now, the stinking fluid practically dripping from her horn -- and as she snapped her eyes downwards, away from Applejack's own, she tried her hardest not to pull her sofa up to her side and flop downwards onto it. Her mind twirled and heaved, the ground underneath her spinning and her stomach pinching, and Rarity could guess the surprised look on Applejack's face without even looking up to see it. This... this couldn't have been happening, surely! -- it just couldn't be! She had faltered, she had slipped, she had failed, the worst possible thing was unfolding! She had... had...
Rarity sighed, and then shakily looked upwards.
"Th-Though I suppose a cup of tea couldn't hurt."