Paper.
Rarity had always respected Applejack. But, of course, that was very much a given; everypony respected Applejack.
Many ponies respected the farm mare for her boundless strength, which was coiled and bunched in her sheening muscles, ready to burst out when needed. Most ponies admired her persistent dedication, which ensured the crops that fed their children were healthy and strong. Others respected her honesty. While, not always called for, or even appreciated, it was always respected.
But Rarity?
Rarity respected everything under that rugged coat and unrefined drawl, underneath the toughness that struck the fear of Faust into liars big and small. One of which had stricken her like a hurricane strikes the palm trees in the far-east: her intelligence.
It was a shame how well Applejack hid it, really. The deep shimmering eyes that narrowed and focused on math problems, blazing through the budgets that kept Sweet Apple Acres afloat. The honed and sharpened ability to know just what to say, be it harsh, sweet, or fair. The third eye--which HAD to be beneath her hat--that peered through walls of deceit like magnified sunlight.
That third one always made Rarity smile. It was, after all, the same third eye that saw right through her thickly veiled flirting. Sure, Rarity could've called Applejack rude for grinning in her face, or tactless for swatting Rarity's every attempt to deny it, or chauvinistic to slap the unicorn's flank when she said 'Ya want me, don't ya'.
But who was she kidding, anyway. Those were things Rarity wanted in a pony, what she needed in a pony.
Applejack was smart... So one could possibly imagine the earthquakes in Rarity's head when the farm mare asked where paper comes from. Rarity, being the observant young lady she was, laughed as though it were a joke at first. But a narrowed glare and a swift hoof on her carpet ended that.
Answering the question was, of course, the reasonable and respectable thing to do. Rarity wouldn't chastise the poor thing. No. But seeing those green eyes bold in color and sheen with a spark that could dwarf the sun, seeing those golden eyebrows sink down with a force that could bring the very sky down with them, seeing the tight, lop-sided purse of those soft lips that could subsequently obliterate the western half of Equestria...
Rarity realized that answering that question wasn't very intelligent on her own part.
"Paper comes from what now?"
Next prompt: Stupidity.