//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: The Prince of Dust // by redsquirrel456 //------------------------------// Rarity didn’t even know Appleloosa had a barber’s shop. When she found out, she was beside herself. “This is so exciting!” she squealed as she settled into the cushioned chair at Ben Barette’s Mane Care. “To finally get to speak with one of my friends in a proper venue. The correct atmosphere is a must when discussing this kind of thing.” “But, uh, Rarity,” said Apple Tart in the seat next to her, “you haven’t exactly told me what we’re gonna be discussin’. Just kinda dragged me away kickin’ an’ screamin’ once the apple sortin’ was done.” “Well of course,” cried Rarity. “One thing you must learn about high society is that not a word must be said out of place. An apple orchard is not the place for what I’m going to ask you.” She held out a hoof to her side, letting it hover. “File, please.” Ben Barette came back holding a pair of shears in his mouth. “File?” he mumbled. “Yes,” said Rarity, staring at him. “Aren’t you going to start by filing my hooves? They’re getting dreadfully worn and ragged.” “Miss Rarity, this ain’t no fancy shmancy spa. Here we serve manes an’ manes only, s’why I made the sign so spee-cific. Mmhmm.” The bright lime earth pony leaned forward to peer at her hoof. “Sides, I ain’t seen nopony’s hoof as polished an’ well curved as yours. It’d put the local farrier to shame iffen she saw that beaut. Call that ‘ragged’ an’ I’ll call Chief Thunderhoof a sweet lil’ filly. Mmhmm.” “Well, thank you,” Rarity said, withdrawing her hoof with a faint blush, “but I really think if you take a closer look, you’ll notice it’s rather dirty and the toe has completely lost its shine—” “Ponies wanna get clean, they use their bathtubs,” droned Ben. “Ponies wanna polish, they go to the farrier. But if you’ll lie back an’ let me go to work, I’ll show you I’m no slouch with a pair o’ shears an’ a comb. Mmhmm.” “You’ll see Rarity,” said Apple Tart. “Ben here is a whiz at gettin’ the knots out of your mane an’ keepin’ everything straight after a hard day’s work. Mostly though we just come in for a little trim!” “A little trim…” Rarity whimpered as she saw the oversized shears Ben wielded like some psychotic killer out of Rainbow Dash’s horror movie collection. When the keen, hungry blades approached Apple Tart’s mane—a mane Rarity had become just a teensy bit possessive of after the last makeover—Rarity almost had a heart attack. “Stop!” she squeaked, making Ben lurch and wobble off-balance. Apple Tart raised her eyebrow. “What’s the matter, Rarity?” Rarity tapped her hooves together, grinning weakly. “You wouldn’t mind if I had a go with those instead, would you Ben?” Ben looked down at the shears and raised an eyebrow at Rarity, whose heart started to beat a little faster as inspiration bubbled up inside her. “I mean,” she began, “I could give you a few pointers! You have no idea just how many tips and tricks I’ve picked up over the years. I’m almost as much an expert in mane care as I am in clothes fashion. Why, with what I know, you could expand your business and become the most well-known hair stylist in Appleloosa!” “I’m the only hair stylist in Appleloosa,” Ben mumbled over the shears. “Got this store from my dear old Pappy, Celestia rest his soul. No real call for manes to go gettin’ dolled up when yer herdin’ cattle or buckin’ apples. Mmhmm.” Apple Tart gave Rarity a smile that was anything but reassuring. “Don’t worry none, Rares. Ben’s got us in good hooves.” Rarity slid behind behind the protection of her chair, peering over the headrest. “Y—yes, yes, of… of course. You go first, Apple dear, I’ll be fine!” Her heart broke a little more with every snap and click of Ben’s shears taking great chunks out of Apple Tart’s mane. Now now, she chided herself, one must be willing to sacrifice a few things to make a good impression. I mustn’t judge. Leaving behind a few idiosyncrasies is nothing compared to the goodwill of Appleloosa. She watched another lock of Apple Tart’s beautiful mane fall to the ground. Slowly but surely Ben was creating an aberration, all wrong for Apple Tart’s facial shape and size. But Rarity ignored the fashionable angel on her shoulder screeching for her to do something, and dreaded what she’d say when her turn came. “So what were ya’ll wantin’ to talk to me about?” asked Apple Tart, as if her mane wasn’t being mangled. The door swung open with a jingle of bells and the brush of desert air. Sheriff Silverstar strode inside, immediately drawing Rarity’s eye. He walked with measured steps that deliberately made his boot spurs clank, letting everypony know that he was in the room and deserved a second glance. Even though he was just walking into a mane salon, he had to showboat just a little. Ponies expected it. A leader who didn’t play their role usually found themselves booted right out of it. He trudged to the nearest empty seat and sat down, removing his hat and folding his hooves over his chest. “A plan,” said Rarity, following the Sheriff with her eyes, “to help your town. I’ve heard tell that many ponies are dissatisfied with the way things are going…” She glanced at Ben, who was doing an admirable job of being a background pony, prompting her to continue. “... I spoke with Braeburn about it. He agrees that I should do what I can to help. To that end, I propose the idea of a public expo of sorts, a gathering that will help all those ponies who want a slice of the pie—no pun intended—to learn that your town is more than land to be developed. It’s already been developed. It simply needs some tender loving care to be the kind of land ponies want to live on rather than pass through.” “Huh!” said Apple Tart, staring straight ahead through the cloud of hair falling from her head. “That sounds like a mighty tall order, Rares. What can two little ponies like us do about it? Or me, for that matter?” “Spread the word,” said Rarity, leaning forward to lend her words weight. “Be my support. My friend. Any and all ideas are appreciated. Anypony who you know who might be able to help us, invite them. You might not know it, but even just having you stand next to me could be the tipping point.” Her eyes kept sliding over to Silverstar. His ears were stuck in place, not giving off so much as a twitch to show his interest. She raised her voice just a titch. “Ponies in this town are frustrated and they have a right to be, but it’s mostly because nopony is doing anything. They’re balanced perfectly between those who want a brand new Appleloosa and those who want the Appleloosa they dreamed of when they settled this area. I intend to show them what they can have when they try to get the best of both worlds.” “What’s that mean, though?” Apple Tart asked, leaning forward and making Ben grunt with displeasure. He had to move all the way around her seat to keep cutting. “It means admitting that everything changes,” Rarity replied, leaning forward herself until she was nearly touching noses with Apple Tart, who regarded her with wide eyes and bated breath. “But just because it isn’t the change we want doesn’t mean that change is bad. Neither does it mean that we can’t make it into something that won’t benefit us all. If there’s anything living in Ponyville has taught me, it’s that no matter what change may come the help of friends will always make it bearable. And when those friends work together, well… they may just be able to make the best of that change.” She heard the sound of clopping hooves behind her and perked her ear, trying not to smile. It was the sound she had been expecting all along, but she was pleased to see she had left an impression on Apple Tart. She had tuned her voice to perfection, just the right amount of deep introspection combined with wistful hope to maximize the impact on another pony. “Nice speech,” said Sheriff Silverstar, spinning around in his chair to face Rarity, moustache waggling. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were practicin’ on little Apple Tart there.” “I was saying what she needed to hear,” was Rarity’s prim rejoinder. “What all of Appleloosa needs to hear, including you.” “Sheriff, if you ask me, this gal’s got it together,” Apple Tart exclaimed, her cheeks all aglow and eyes bright with new ideas. “We have got to let her speak to the town!” “Now hold on there,” Silverstar said, raising a hoof to beckon Ben over. “I haven’t had my weekly trim yet. Before I go an’ let you speak in public, I think it best we get to know each other. Besides, we ain’t been properly introduced, have we?” He tipped his hat. “Sheriff Silverstar, as you know. Been lookin’ forward to meeting you properly, miss Rarity.” “The feeling is mutual,” said Rarity as Ben went to work with small, practiced snips on Silverstar’s moustache and mane. “The reception I got on my arrival was... less than cordial.” She turned and smiled at Apple Tart, who beamed at her. “Present company excepted of course.” “I can tell you’ve gotten acquainted with the less than neighborly sentiment in this town,” Silverstar said with a disappointed sigh. “So I won’t bore you with more details. I’ll just say that while I don’t blame some of the townsfolk for feelin’ as strong as they do, I don’t necessarily share the feelings of one side or the other. I’m tryin’ to find out what’s best for Appleloosa in general—so it sounds like we’re on the same side.” “Indeed,” said Rarity. “I am not here to tell you how to run this town, but I can say that I have an outsider’s perspective that I think is sorely needed.” “She’s been to Canterlot, Sheriff! Canterlot!” Apple Tart gushed. “Most’ve us have never been further north than the Everfree Forest!” “I’ve been to Canterlot,” Silverstar grunted. “Mighty impressed I was, too. But I can’t say I got a feel for the culture of it like you obviously have, miss Rarity.” Rarity nodded somberly. “Most of the ponies here assume that everypony who isn’t a cowpony can’t or won’t understand them. I will show them differently by bringing the very ponies they fear here and showing them and Appleloosa that neither side is to be feared or loathed, but understood. I need everypony working with me, farmers and settlers and perhaps even the bison. There are riches in this land beyond apples, even I can see that, I just need help finding them. Appleloosa can grow without losing itself, but not without help from the outside world. No city in Equestria lives alone.” “You’re suggesting we expand outside apples?” Silverstar muttered, astounded by the very idea. Rarity struggled not to roll her eyes. “Well,” the Sheriff continued, “I guess it wouldn’t be unheard of. An’ it’d help if we ever get a year that wasn’t a bumper crop… heh, not likely with the kinda hooves we’ve got workin’ around here. Ya’ll met Bona Fide, I assume?” It was a statement more than a question if the way Silverstar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes was any indication. Rarity fluffed her mane nervously. “A few times, yes.” “Then you know what you’ll be up against come the town meeting. Ponies here love their apples, miss Rarity. They don’t take kindly to what threatens ‘em. I expect you to be ready for it.” “Give me until tomorrow afternoon.” “You got it. Bring us a show, miss Rarity, and bring your best. You’re gonna need it.” ---------- Her ears rang with the sound of crinkling paper and worried pony voices. Ever present was the noise of her quill scratching the night and morning light away. Coffee covered her lips, scalded her tongue. She took a break from coffee only when Coldcock offered a cold cider to take the edge off her now sweltering “creativity corner” as she called it. She had stuffed an inordinate amount of easels, papers, and posters scattered around her bedroom, all of them covered in notes, drawings, sketches, and half-formed ideas. The crumpled corpses of a hundred rejects stuffed a wastebasket to overflowing. Her mane was frazzled beyond redemption. And yet when Braeburn came inside he had the presence of mind to say: “Goodness Rarity, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” “Am I?” she said through the marker in her mouth, not looking up from the flowsheet she was developing. Normally she’d return the compliment but she was in the zone where flattery didn’t have the mileage they might otherwise. “I understand I’m a sight, but a good one? Probably not.” “No, really. What with the council meetin’ comin’ up this afternoon, Apple Tart told me you were gonna be part of it.” Rarity’s shoulders drooped as she felt the weight of responsibility lie on her. Apple Tart seemed so excited, and yet Rarity couldn’t work up more than a drudging, stoic buzz for the task at hoof. “I’ve had her running back and forth all over town, the poor dear. She’s collecting information on who’s doing what, what goes where, what sort of businesses might be invested in if this town expands…” She finally turned around and put the marker down. Braeburn was fanning himself with his hat, which reminded her of the disgusting sweat on her coat. She had stayed in here all day with the window open and she didn’t really notice the heat until just now. “In essence, trying to map out this town’s future.” “Anythin’ I can do?” “Besides keep the town from tearing me apart for suggesting even half of this? I don’t think so.” Braeburn chuckled and stepped inside, taking a peek at all her sketches. “Are these all just for the meetin’?” “That they are—don’t touch that!” Braeburn sprang back from a particularly comely sketch of a Western-style dress. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t know what it was!” Rarity huffed and picked up her marker again to finish her flowchart of who would do what kind of business with out-of-town commerce. “It’s not so much what it is as where it is. I know it looks a mess, but it’s a creative one! I know where everything is right now, so it all must remain right where it is.” She caught Braeburn eyeing the haphazard post-it note collection she was gathering. “Uh, even the stuff that looks kinda useless?” She turned around, eyes wide as saucers and probably bloodshot beyond belief. “Every. Last. One,” she whispered harshly, and spun back to her work. She heard Braeburn shuffle awkwardly on his hooves and sighed. Very gently and with all the aplomb she could muster, she laid the marker down again. "I'm sorry," she stuttered as her senses came back to her. The creative clutter in her mind, replaced by the sight of Braeburn standing there forlorn and forgotten. "I'm being a terrible hostess." "You're busy tryin' to help my home," Braeburn said in a soothing voice and that lovely, cares-too-much smile. "It's okay by me if you're a little frazzled." Rarity stopped short and set the marker down again. “I shouldn’t be so frazzled,” she said as much to herself as to Braeburn. “I’ve been down this road many times before, but it seems I never learn my lesson.” “How so?” She turned to face him, dropping down onto her flanks. The wooden floor was uncomfortable, but her legs were nonetheless grateful. “A time not so long ago keeps coming back to me when I get like this. It was well before the first Grand Galloping Gala I’d ever attended—the one that was ruined by an animal stampede—” “Heard about that one,” Braeburn snickered. Rarity gave a long-suffering shrug and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, trying not to let shame creep up on her. She still considered it a minor miracle that her reputation hadn’t been ruined that very night. “My friends needed dresses. I wanted to give them dresses. I started making dresses and I became so caught up in the minute details that I lost focus of what I was originally trying to do. My friends, bless them, didn’t know how tiresome their demands got as it became clear it was less about the dresses and more about just pleasing whatever whimsy overtook them. We all learned a lesson about humility and creative freedom when I finally cracked under the pressure and put on an absolutely hideous fashion show. The entire town was disgusted with my creations, which were less dresses and more aberrations of invention!” “It was that bad?” “Worse!” Rarity gushed. “I saw Berry Punch nearly vomit and I know for a fact that all the punch we served for the event was non-alcoholic. I was aghast, me and my friends were humiliated in front of the whole town, and I contemplated going into exile! Can you imagine? Me, exile!” “But there’s a happy endin’, right?” Braeburn asked suggestively, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. Rarity noted he had very clean, expressive eyebrows. “Certainly,” she said. “My friends pulled me back from the brink and my next line-up knocked it out of the park, as they say. There wasn’t a single doubter in town after that.” “If anypony can pull that kind of stunt off, Rarity, it’s you.” Rarity felt a twinge of something resembling sadness in her chest. She looked away from his wonderful eyes and toward some random idea for a bonnet she’d dreamed up in the midst of this creative maelstrom. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” she whispered. “What?” She waggled a forlorn hoof in his direction. “Being so… you.” She heard Braeburn chuckle. “Can’t hardly help that.” Rarity sighed and closed her eyes, letting her head hang low for the first time in a day and a half. “I know, I know… I’m sorry. I’m not doing a good job of explaining myself. It’s just that… Braeburn, do you ever feel pressured?” “Darn near every day,” she heard him say. Her mind’s eye drew up his concerned expression, his hooves flat on the ground and ready to raise him up to carry him to her. “Rarity, what’s the matter?” She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she wanted to say anything. She remembered Sweetie Belle back home, probably burning Ponyville down without her guidance, realized she missed her more than anything right now. Her guileless manner and straightforward desires contrasted so heavily with what she found in the outside world, in Canterlot or even here. She realized that no matter where she went, she longed for home and its simple comforts in the end. Back home nopony expected her to be a success or a failure. She was a staple of the town. She was simply Rarity, nothing more and nothing less. But in Canterlot, in Manehattan, even here… “I want so much to be successful,” she said suddenly, opening her eyes wide like she had just had an epiphany. “But when I try to get there, when I try to grasp what I want… I feel like recoiling. I feel like it would be selfish. Or I wouldn’t be able to get it in the first place. I get nervous.” “Stage jitters?” She found it terribly fitting, portentous even, that he would chance upon that metaphor, especially in reference to herself. It made her chuckle behind her hoof. “Perhaps that is a good term for it. Or the only one. I am going to be performing today, am I not? I am going to be presenting ideas to a committee and asking them to pass judgment on me? I should be ready for this, but it always feels like a completely new situation.” “Because it is,” said Braeburn, stepping forward. His voice had lowered to a pitch Rarity hadn’t heard from him since that night on Applejack’s farm. It was the sincerity she longed for, and as she watched him come to her she felt her heart beat a little faster and her chin raise up a little more proud than before. “Because this is somethin’ even I ain’t familiar with. Not even our spat with Little Strongheart’s tribe was the same issue. But you know somethin’ Rarity?” He came close enough that she couldn’t look away unless she turned her head, but if she did she’d feel his breath on her cheek and that would just make her blush. She held his gaze and waited patiently. “I think,” he said, taking the time to measure his words, consciously putting a stopper on that neverending flow he sometimes struggled with, “that bein’ how you are—afraid of puttin’ on a show, not seemin’ genuine—makes you more qualified than most.” He bit his lip and looked up with a half-smile. “Lemme tell you somethin’. How I am when ponies first come here, with the whole Aaaaaappleloosa hullabaloo?” “What about it?"   Braeburn looked somewhere far away. “I guess mostly I do it because I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I don’t,” he said with an almost pained sigh. “I love this town dearly, and I want ponies to be as happy here as I am. So even if I’m not quite feelin’ it sometimes I’ll just jump an’ try to surprise ‘em with a smile. But that of course leaves the possibility of them seein’ through the disguise. Realizin’ I’m not who I said I was. So I just try harder. An’ you know what?”   He paused, clearly baiting Rarity. She obliged him by asking sweetly, naively, “What?”   “It don’t work none. Honesty’s the best policy. So I learned to just… be happy. With myself an’ my town. That way the smile is always genuine. But it works both ways. I’m not happy with my town today, not at all, an’ sometimes seein’ me without a smile does more wonders than all the ‘Aaaaaapleloosa’s in the world. Ponies know things are serious when I don't smile. So you go on out there an’ tell ‘em what you need to say. No more an’ no less. We respect ponies who do that. If you do that, come what may, I believe things will turn out for the best.”   Rarity squinted playfully. “And you just… believe that? So simply, so easily?”   Braeburn chuckled at some hidden punchline. “I never said it was easy, Rarity.”   Rarity made a noncommittal noise and looked at her notes. “But you’ll be there?” she asked in earnest, getting her point across with tone if not her gaze. “You promise this time?”   That wiped the smile right off his face. It almost made her feel guilty for asking. But he straightened his back and puffed out his formidable chest anyway, “I’ll be there sure as the sky’s blue.”   “Good.” Rarity levitated over a few parchments. “In that case, let me run a few of my suggestions by you…”   --------------   “Run that by us again,” the burly orange mare said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You want to do what?”   Rarity was sweating bullets and not because of the heat. From her seat behind the long table at the front of town hall she saw everypony who was anypony in Appleloosa glaring up at her. Few of them looked bored or indifferent, but at this point she’d have preferred total apathy over the wall of negativity that loomed before her. Apple Tart stood silently behind her, shivering like a leaf with indignation and nervous energy. What few townsfolk she’d been able to gather in Rarity’s support were scattered through the room. A few friendly farmers and water-bearers, but not nearly as many as she hoped. The rest were here to be swayed by one side or set firmly against her. Sheriff Silverstar lounged off to one side, his back hooves up on the table and his forehooves crossed over his chest. He chewed on an apple and only gave the crowd passing glances. He hadn’t said a word so far, which made Rarity think he was either very circumspect or very lazy. Braeburn sat near her, giving her worried glances every so often as he chewed on a gavel. He was a mediator here and subsequently said little. At least everypony saw he wasn’t against her. A few other mares and stallions of varying age sat alongside her, the founders and movers and shakers of the town. They weren’t exactly a council, but they would make the final decisions along with Silverstar. The entire hall reeked of ill-temper and she wasn’t sure she could turn the crowd around—in spite of Braeburn’s hopefulness many of them had come determined to stick to their guns. Some ponies, she knew, only came out in public to make sure that everypony else knew exactly what they were thinking and why they were right. She hated ponies like that, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate these ponies. Even when they glared at her and snorted at every other word that came out of her mouth, she knew what she was getting into. She couldn’t expect a beautiful corset when she wasn’t even done with the sketch. “I would like to put this town’s best hooves forward, miss Autumn Gold,” she told the irate mare, remembering her name from Apple Tart’s list of all the important ponies in town. “As I said, we can set up a perfectly pleasant route starting here.” She held up her pointing stick and gestured to a map of the town, singling out an open area near the orchards. “This will allow the guests to get a look at what makes you exceptional: your apple orchards. We’ll walk them down the buffalo stampede lanes while all your finest apple experts—Bona Fide, Braeburn, Jonadel, Hampshire, and so forth—talk them through your annual output and what kinds of business plans you have already. They’ll probably try to say they can offer much better opportunities if they privatize and set up land tenancies. It’ll be your job to convince them otherwise; they must invest instead of overrun. Once that is done we scoot them along to the main street starting at the west entrance and walk them down the public exhibition booths here.” She delicately tapped the areas she’d circled on the map. “This is why I said we encourage them to bring their families. Trust me, when they see their children and spouses enjoying all the sights and sounds of Appleloosa, they’ll realize what a gem it is and why they must preserve it.” “We’re not dealin’ with ponies who wanna preserve anythin’, miss Rarity,” spoke up a grey-maned stallion. “We’re dealin’ with ponies who make a livin’ by snappin’ up land with no regard to ponies on it. They’re nothin’ but land sharks, the lot of ‘em!” “There is no doubt,” Rarity said with no small amount of stridency, “that modern business tends to favor those with a lot of bits and those with the ear of the Crown. But the Royal Sisters, I know, do not suffer predatory and illegal practices. If we treat those who come to deal with you with honesty, generosity, and kindness, then they will have no choice but to treat you in kind! If they want to press the issue in court they will have to deal with royal mandates, which expressly forbid the kind of treatment you’re expecting. When Princess Celestia asks them if they have any valid complaints they will have no leg to stand on if they have nothing to accuse you with. Don’t you remember your conflict with the buffalo? Wasn’t that dealt with through nothing more than a willingness to open up and share what you have?” “That was a different problem an’ you know it,” Bona Fide’s voice cracked like a whip from the front row. Figured she would only speak her mind if only to interrupt Rarity. Rarity glanced over at Sheriff Silverstar, who only continued to lounge in his chair and watch. She struggled to keep her temper in check as Bonny went on. “The buffalo live on this land same as us. They understand us. They understand what we might lose.” She stood up and drew in a deep breath, trying to puff herself up in front of the older crowd, who Rarity knew looked at her with fondness and respect. Nothing like a young pony protecting old values to get the most stodgy citizens on their side. “We understand Appleloosa. We have been fine with Appleloosa so far. We built this town with our bare hooves, Rarity. No amount of gee-gaws an’ fancy shindigs is gonna make a bunch of suits from Canterlot or Manehattan understand what we are.” Apple Tart shot up to Rarity’s side. Normally she’d welcome the support, but she could tell tempers were running high, and so was Apple Tart’s. “We’re ponies is what we are!” she shot back at Bonny. “Ponies of Equestria! Rarity’s right! This town won’t stay isolated forever. An’ if it does, is that what we really want? Is that what we want for our kids? To just stay cooped up here an’ wonder if there’s even an Equestria beyond those hills?” “You’re one to talk,” Bonny said, rolling her eyes. “Everypony knows about you, Apple Tart, an’ how you favor the railroad so you can catch the first ticket to Baltimare.” “That’s enough!” Braeburn thundered, banging his gavel on the table. “Rarity’s got the floor here. I won’t be havin’ ponies gettin’ personal with each other while I’m in this room. We’re all civil here, ain’t we?” “Coulda fooled me,” rumbled Coldock from the third row, fanning himself with his hat. “I said enough!” snapped Braeburn. “We gathered here to make progress. Least ya’ll can do is try an’ be reasonable. Stayin’ deadlocked like two duelin’ minotaurs isn’t gonna get us anywhere.”   “Neither is playing nice when the future of the town is on the line!” shouted a voice from in back. Rarity covered her eyes with her hooves, felt a bubble of despair building in her stomach, ready to burst and spew unladylike invectives. These ponies were worse than Rainbow Dash when she wanted to try out a dangerous stunt: all guts and no sense.   “We’re Appleloosans an’ Appleloosans we’ll stay!” declared Bonny, her vicious expression unable to hide the smug sense of victory Rarity felt rolling off of her. Voices took up support of her or denounced her in turn while Braeburn stood up and banged his gavel, his high alto pleading doing little to calm the crowd.   All of a sudden it was just too much for Rarity. The heat, the noise, the angry words, all of it coalesced into an oppressive shroud that flopped over her head.  As the weight pressed down on her face and shoulders she threw her hooves up and waved them wildly to try and clear the air.   “You’ve only been here a year!” she added her voice to the tumult. “Why are you ponies being so stubborn about this place? It’s not like you’ve done that much with it!”   She almost clapped a hoof over her mouth, blushing furiously and praying with all her might that Braeburn hadn’t heard her faux pas. Bless him, he was red in the face too with trying to restore order and hadn’t even noticed her jump from her seat. Coldcock looked ready to come to blows, Apple Tart and Bonny were in a shouting match about something involving ‘high society ways.’ Rarity had no idea what to do. Her heart ached with every beat as she saw her hard work, her hope for a better future, unraveling before her eyes.   But just as it all seemed ready to come crashing down, the door flung open. Framed against the afternoon glare was a trio of massive buffalo who had to crowd each other just to peek inside. Between their mountainous frames squeezed a smaller, lithe, yet still brawny creature who Rarity recognized on sight.   “Little Strongheart!” she gasped. “Miss Rarity?” the little buffalo asked, hurrying down the center aisle between surprised ponies. Rarity went to meet her, grateful for any distraction. They met in the middle where Rarity found herself looking up to meet Little Strongheart's eyes; she wasn't quite so "Little" anymore. Her guileless smile did wonders for Rarity’s spirits. Though they didn’t know each other well, Rarity counted her as a friend, and to her relief it was clear Little Strongheart thought the same. “Miss Rarity, it is so good to see you again! What are you doing here? Did Rainbow Dash come with you?” the young buffalo asked. Rarity noted her grasp of Equestrian had improved, but she still spoke in that endearingly slow and deliberate manner as before, making sure all her words were correct. “No, just me. I was just visiting but I managed to get swept up in… well, it’s a long story! We’ll catch up later. What brings you here with such an impressive, er, entourage?” She looked over Little Strongheart’s shoulder at her massive escorts, who took up almost the entire back of the room. They had brought a few flies in, and one of them sneezed, kicking up a cloud of dust from his fur coat even the Appleloosan ponies shied away from. “I have come to bring news to the ponies of what is happening outside. Sheriff Silverstar told us to come today because of the powow!” Rarity blinked. “The… oh! The meeting! Yes, we are…” She glanced around at all the staring ponies and gave them an equanimous grin. “Standing right in the middle of it.” “Seemed only fair to invite ‘em,” Silverstar said, finally uncoiling himself and giving a little stretch. Rarity found his irksome indifference almost too overplayed. Had he planned for it to get this messy before calling in the buffalo as a distraction? Was he simply blessed with some force of luck that let him be so lackadaisical? “You didn’t tell me, Sheriff,” said Braeburn, pursing his lips. “Woulda liked to know a friend was in town.” He and Little Strongheart shared an awkward wave. The buffalo frowned and ducked her head. “I would have sent a messenger ahead, but the news we carry was grave enough that we decided to hurry here ourselves.” Silverstar nodded like a patient sage. Whatever his game was, Rarity certainly didn’t appreciate him undermining Braeburn in front of the entire town like that. Perhaps he really did think this was an amusing game; a pastime to break up his boring career as Sheriff in a no-crime town. “Figured we’d need a second opinion on the whole issue,” he continued, strolling around the table and coming to a stop in the center of the platform. “But I’ll let the buffalo be so kind as to tell us what their news is first.” “Oh, yes,” said Little Strongheart. “It happened just a few days ago. My people were stampeding near the hills to the west. A few of our scouts passed closer than the rest of the herd and reported seeing strange creatures among the rocks. They were not pony or buffalo, but something else entirely. They had spears with stone tips and great shaggy coats, and though they walked on all fours they could rear up on their back legs just as easily.” Rarity fidgeted. Slowly, surely, her mind was drawing a terrible picture in her mind, imposing and familiar and comical all at once. She saw the slavering maws, the ridiculous rags, the mangy fur coats... “And,” said Strongheart, “they smelled something awful.” “Diamond Dogs,” whispered Rarity, the image of her one-time captors now all too clear in her head. Everything from their slobbering maws and buggy, beady eyes to their hideous posture and nonexistent fashion sense crystallized into one awful memory. She stared into the distance, blinking owlishly, and shuddered. “Diamond Dogs smell awful.” “Diamond Dogs?” squeaked a mare in the crowd. “Are those monsters? I thought there weren’t supposed to be monsters around here!” The fear in her voice quickly spread to other ponies in the crowd, and a great murmur of wild speculation swelled up. “Diamond Dogs,” Rarity interrupted the growing furor before it could erupt into hysteria, “are hardly a threat to we civilized hoofed people. I had a run-in with them once before and dealt soundly with them. But where there are Diamond Dogs, it must follow there are diamonds. They have a unique obsession with valuable stones and minerals, Celestia knows why. I’d bet the sole reason they’re there is to set up a mining operation.” She felt a jolt of excitement that ended in her tail and made it swish as the seed of an idea sprouted in her mind. If Diamond Dogs had been attracted to the middle of the desert, it must have been a rich cache of gems indeed. And that meant... “Oh, great,” groused Bonny, making sure everypony saw her roll her eyes. “So we gotta be miners now? We’re gonna waltz up there an’ start pluckin’ out rocks? Is that what the next big plan is? Give up on apples an’ sell out the town to gem hoarders!” “Yeah!” shouted a random pony in the audience. “Why not just run out these critters like the Guard ran out all the others? What’s stoppin’ us?” “Perhaps,” Rarity shot back, “the fact that you should all remember that just trying to ‘run out’ anything from your town is ill-advised and wrong. I thought Little Strongheart’s presence here would be proof of that.” Her eyes drifted over the audience, noting with satisfaction the chastened, embarrassed looks many of them had adopted, and locked gazes with Bona Fide. The earth mare stared back without flinching, but Rarity didn’t want any of them to flinch now. She needed action and she needed to direct it. “The big plan,” Rarity spoke aloud, “should be to contact these creatures and make sure they are no threat. I think we should all agree this throws an unexpected wrench into our collective machine, yes?” “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” said Little Strongheart, her face downcast. “But know that we are here to help, as you have helped us by preserving our stampede lanes.” Rarity turned and put her hoof up, stopping further complaint. Already her mind churned with new ideas. Audacious ones, bold ones, ideas anypony might call her crazy for. But she’d been party to too many crazy ideas already to decry them at face value. “Don’t say that, Little Strongheart. While some ponies here might see this as misfortune, I know that misfortune is just as often opportunity. After all, if Chief Thunderhoof had not attacked, he never would have tasted your delicious pies.” “We know our own history, thanks!” barked Bonny. “So what are we, as a town, gonna do about these here ‘Diamond Dogs?’” She waggled her hooves and drew out the name in a mocking tone that only a frigid mare like her could reach. Silverstar cleared his throat. “I believe we take care of this problem first before movin’ on to our would-be business partners. New critters near the town is an immediate issue. Now I move that we get a delegation together in order to figure out what these Dogs may want an’ whether we can convince ‘em to leave. Last thing we need is them stirrin’ up trouble while we got, er… guests. Volunteers?” Rarity opened her mouth just as Braeburn sprang from his chair and spoke. “I’ll go.” Rarity turned to him, trying to catch his eye, but he looked straight at Silverstar. The intensity of his gaze surprised Rarity. A chance to escape this madness, Braeburn? Or something else? “Lemme go, Sheriff. You know I’ll treat ‘em fair. Tartarus, I’m so friendly I’ll probably have ‘em visitin’ the Salt Block by the end of the week!” “Don’t doubt that,” rumbled Coldcock. Silverstar smiled under his moustache, pointing at Braeburn like a teacher congratulating his student. Rarity’s ears went back at the hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, not a bad idea at all, Braeburn! Thank you so much for volunteerin’. But you’re gonna need help. I think miss Rarity here is a good candidate.” Immediately the mood shifted, and Rarity felt it. It was like seeing a tree suddenly bend one way and then another in a strong wind: invisible, but all too clear. “She’s dealt with these creatures before, clearly. Might be the only one qualified to help out.” Rarity’s tail twitched as her mind whirled. All of this happy coincidence: a problem she was intimately knowledgeable of, one she was being singled out in front of town for to solve, and especially the lecturing, know-it-all tone of Silverstar’s voice. It all added up to an uncomfortable epiphany that Silverstar was trying to play the ponies in the room, her included. Perhaps, Rarity realized, he saw more from his silent perch at the end of the table than she thought. "I am happy to be able to do so much for your town," she said. A demure bow brought more condemning stares than she meant it to. “But, but,” Silverstar said, raising a hoof as some murmurs of discontent ran through the crowd, “I ain’t sayin’ she an’ Braeburn should go alone. Naw, we’ll need some other pony, or ponies, to keep an eye on ‘em. Worry about their safety.” He paused, letting the moment of silence swell with anticipation. Rarity almost smirked. This was a performance. A stage. And she had suddenly become an actor instead of the director. Silverstar spoke as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and bewildered ponies listened, their herd instinct making them putty in his hooves. “I recommend Bona Fide.” Rarity almost fainted. Bonny exploded. “What?!” she yelped. “Me? Why would—I mean, um… I guess so, but I ain’t exactly qualified, Sheriff—” “You’re young an’ smart an’ capable. They need ponies of quality like that up in the hills,” Silverstar intoned in a grave, solemn voice. “We need a firm voice of Appleloosa out there. Three heads is better’n one. Strongheart, would you be willin’ to accompany them with a few of your buffalo? See 'em safely there an’ back?” “I would be honored,” answered Little Strongheart with a deep bow that still kept her head above Rarity's shoulders. “Excellent!” chirped Silverstar before anypony could object. “All in favor?” It started slowly at first. Rarity suspected most of the ponies were just plain confused and needed a moment to sort out what was happening. By the cold pit in her stomach she believed she needed to gather her composure herself. Having Bonny along, she suspected, would be either a great blessing, a time to get to know her… or a terrible curse to drive them apart. But then Apple Tart raised her hoof, her eyes clear and determined. “I believe in ‘em,” she said. “All three of ‘em. Let ‘em try at least, not like we’re goin’ anywhere. We should extend the hoof of peace afore we start slingin’ pies all over again.” Coldcock raised his hoof, along with the rest of his little posse. Then others, and still more, until well over half the room had raised hooves. “Opposed?” Silverstar asked, with the clueless tone of a pony who was only pretending to not actually be in control. Rarity knew it well. A few hooves went up and right back down. Many abstained, utterly thrown by how fast the decisions flew. Rarity watched Silverstar with renewed interest… and caution. The wily stallion had suddenly proven himself if not a firm ally then a wild card not to be underestimated. Bona Fide chewed on her bottom lip, at a total loss. Rarity’s heart went out to the young dear—clearly, she had been stuck into this position against her will, and now the only way to save face was to stand up and accept the burden Appleloosa imposed on her. And why wouldn’t they? Along with Braeburn she was this town’s pride and joy. Silverstar grinned. “Well all right then. I got a good feeling about this one.” He went to Braeburn and took up the gavel, bringing it down with a noise that reminded Rarity of a great door slamming shut. “Meeting is adjourned.”