A few minutes later, Rarity had settled down one of blankets laid under the shade of Driftwood’s front porch, taking a few minutes to watch the ocean while the stallion in question ‘cleaned up’. When he reappeared those few minutes later, cleaning up had apparently amounted to running a towel through his mane and coat and then quick brushing to dry off and dislodge any salt before he came out with a wooden tray which he deposited between the two blankets. Immediately, the two glasses resting on top of the tray, filled with dark tea, a few ice cubes, a thin wedge of orange and a straw each delivered to Rarity a firm surprise.
“It’s cold,” she said, very much surprised.
“Well, it’s iced tea, so it’d better be cold,” Driftwood replied. “Now, we can get to the matter of that crossroad you seem to think you’re not at.”
Rarity afforded the stallion a look of exasperation. “Are you still going on about that, even after I’ve confirmed I am at no such place?” she asked.
“I’m no fortune teller, Rarity, but I like to think I have an eye for this sort of thing,” Driftwood replied as he settled onto his own blanket. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think that you’re avoiding the topic because it’s something you’re ashamed of or angry about. I think you’re avoiding the topic because you think it’s insignificant and not worth bothering other ponies with, or that you think it’s something you should be able to handle yourself and asking for help feels like saying you’re somehow not a grown mare.”
Rarity was silent after he’d said that, looking straight ahead out at the water. After a moment, she adopted a sad frown. “I suppose that might be it,” she said before frowning deeper. “That must be it. Oh, I haven’t even been able to tell my friends. I love them so, but this is something I’ve fought with before. I shall overcome it. I just don’t know how to, this time.”
“Why not tell me, then?” Driftwood suggested.
Rarity looked at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously. “I can’t bring myself to tell my closest friends. Why would I be able to tell a pony I’ve known not even an hour?”
“Because you’ve known me not even an hour.” Driftwood propped his elbow onto the porch and rested his head on his hoof as he watched her. “We all have things we’re only comfortable talking about to our friends, but then we have things we’re not at all comfortable talking about to our friends. Sometimes the pony we need to talk to most is not a friend, but a complete stranger. Somepony who doesn’t have any past experiences to frame your attitude in, and who isn’t afraid to be unkind if that’s what you really need.”
Once more, Rarity was silent, although she watched her tea this time, rather than the ocean. After a moment, she look up to Driftwood, who sat silently watching her with that same friendly smile he seemed to be fond of. “I’m a modiste,” she decided to say. “I rather think I have exceptional skill, but I still need ideas, and while I have those, it’s as if the portions of my brain which devise them and then transcribe them to a design aren’t communicating.”
“Artist’s block, in other words,” Driftwood replied. “The ideas are there, but you aren’t sure how to express them to the world.”
“In a way, yes, and as I said, I’ve fought with this before.” Rarity’s already crestfallen face fell further. “But I don’t know how to conquer it this time. I’ve tried everything that’s worked in the past, and even some other ideas which I thought were silly, but what else can I do? That’s why I came to Portside in the first place. I thought that if I could see new sights, new arts, without distractions, it may provide the kindling I need.”
Driftwood hummed briefly, before taking his straw in his mouth and sipping his tea.
“Oh, and I suppose you already have something in mind to set me straight,” Rarity said, leveling a suspicious glower at the stallion.
“Sometimes it’s that easy, but usually it’s not,” Driftwood replied after his finished his drink. “Sometimes the first thing works, and sometimes it takes a few tries to figure out what the ticket is. How about this? Tomorrow, follow your schedule. I’m sure you have one already, so follow it. There really are a number of wonderful things in town, maybe even some things you can appreciate that others wouldn’t, coming from a different perspective, and that may be exactly what you need. But whether that’s what you need or not, come back here afterwards for dinner, just as the sun starts to set. If it doesn’t wake up your muse, I may some some other thoughts, and if you don’t need my help after all, I’d like to hear what you think of Portside after you’ve had a chance to actually see it, all the same. Local hospitality.”
“I think that is more than amicable,” Rarity said. A moment later, she managed a smile of her own, small though it was. “Thank you, Driftwood, for lifting my spirits.”
They conversed a time longer, and when the sun had gone down enough, bade each other farewell before Rarity returned to her hotel, feeling renewed confidence for the next day.