//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: Her Sense of Beauty // Story: Post-Traumatic // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// Rarity had laid out her most urgent job -- a full wardrobe of summer wear for Honey Moon, one of the leaders of Canterlot high society, and a second cousin-in-law to Twilight Sparkle -- and set to work on it with even more than her usual demoniacal energy. When Rarity worked really hard, she entered an altered mental state -- she thought of it as her "work-trance" -- in which nothing existed but the job, in its arrangement a puzzle to solve and in its execution a path to follow. She knew what she wanted and had to do; her telekinesis translated this into action almost without the intervention of conscious thought. Fabrics, scissors, needle and thread all moved in a synchronized symphony, flashing so rapidly that the clothes seemed to be forming from the empty air. Her telekinesis was so precise, and she so adept in its use, that Rarity could handle up to six simultaneous operations, and perform them flawlessly. This was why she could run the Carousel Boutique alone -- Rarity could do the work of half a dozen highly-skilled mares, all by herself. Now, she took comfort in her competence. The world of young mares and younger drakes, of desire and conscience, of self-esteem and social approval; that was one she full well knew how to navigate, but it was complex. Compared to that, the world of fabrics and their assembly into clothing was soothingly simple, complicated as it might have seemed to somepony without her signal capabilities. Deep in her work-trance, she did not at first notice the soft rapping at her door. When she did, she knew whom it almost certainly was; no official, and only one of her friends, would knock so diffidently. "Fluttershy?" she asked, reaching across the room with her aura and opening the door. It was, in fact, the pink-and-yellow Pegasus, merely a bit damp under an umbrella most Pegasi would have scorned to carry in such a light rain. But then, Fluttershy was decidedly not an average Pegasus. "Darling, come in," Rarity urged her friend. "Let's get you dry," she added, as she floated in a towel. "I'll put some tea on for you." With another flourish of telekinesis, Rarity reached into the kitchen, drew out two of the newfangled pre-measured tea bags she'd purchased on her last trip to Canterlot, positioned them in her teapot, filled the teapot with water, turned the gas on to a burner on her stove, lighted that burner with a match, and put the pot on the burner. She did this all blind, feeling with her aura, and did it perfectly, without even paying the task more than cursory attention, save an exploratory touch of telekinesis to make sure that the burner was safely lit. Most Unicorns couldn't have done any of this. But then, Rarity was decidedly not an average Unicorn. "Oh, thank you," Fluttershy said, as she stood just within the door, towelling herself off with deft motions of her mouth and wings. She did not, Rarity noted with approval, shake herself dry, as many Pegasi would have done. But then that would have been inconsiderate and unladylike, and above almost all, Fluttershy was considerate. And a lady of the absolutely highest breeding. Rarity conducted Fluttershy in to her parlor, where they made small talk. In due time, Rarity telekinesed in the tea and some biscuits and jam -- she had nothing fresh in the house, as she'd been away for the last week; she'd really have to go shopping tomorrow. Rarity deemed it rude to launch right into serious conversation, save in an emergency, without first providing refreshments. And she had a very good idea why Fluttershy had come to check in on her, and Rarity wished to postpone that serious conversation until she had marshalled her own wits for that engagement. Finally, though, Fluttershy had been made comfortable, and Rarity had no more excuses available to avoid facing the music. Which, perhaps, might not be so bad. The others had no doubt sent Fluttershy to check in on her after her own uncharacteristically-disgraceful conduct less than two hours earlier. They had sent Fluttershy, of course, because she was one of Rarity's two best friends -- and they couldn't have sent her other one, given the nature of Rarity's own actions. Rarity had actually been worried that he might show up on his own. That would have been embarrassing. Right now, she wasn't sure she could bear to face him. Though -- the work had calmed her. She was definitely less upset than she'd been before. It occurred to her that it was distinctly possible that she hadn't ruined everything. She wasn't sure about "probable," but definitely possible. First, however, she had to face Fluttershy. Which meant, of course, that first she had to draw her out. For it was an invariable rule that, if Fluttershy wanted to interrogate oneself, one first had to persuade her to do so. Fluttershy was quite expert at making one feel that doing anything but this was terribly cruel; and when one had finally persuaded her to ask her questions, one would find it almost impossible to lie to her, even by omission. This was a form of manipulation almost as powerful, in its own way, as was Fluttershy's Stare. None of this, of course, had escaped the awareness of Rarity, who in her more direct way was an even more capable mistress of social manipulation. Normally, she found Fluttershy's little social games rather enjoyable. None of this meant that she could actually resist Fluttershy all that well. Almost nopony could really resist Fluttershy, when she really wanted something. It was a very good thing that Fluttershy's desires were generally humble and modest ones. Had she been malign, or even just normally-ambitious, those sweet, innocent-seeming blue eyes might have conquered their owner her own Realm. Besides, Rarity really needed to talk it over with somepony, and Fluttershy was one of her best friends. Also, having spent time in that horrible little room with her, and being herself far from conventional in her affections, she was also one of the few Ponies who might understand. "So, Fluttershy," Rarity asked, taking a sip of tea, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your renewed company this evening? "Oh," said Fluttershy, "it's really nothing ... maybe I should just go ..." "That would be quite rude of me," pointed out Rarity, "since you've gone to the trouble of traipsing through this chilly night to see me." As well you know, on some level, or you would never have given me that out. Rarity had known Fluttershy, increasingly well, for going on fifteen years now -- most of both of their lives. She was fairly sure that, as the 10-year-old filly Rarity had first met, Fluttershy had not been aware that what she was doing was a form of subtle social manipulation. Now, Fluttershy was almost 25, and Rarity was fairly sure that she did at least some of it with full conscious purpose. Not that Rarity, of all Ponies, saw anything immoral in this. She manipulated Ponies too -- the main difference being that her own machinations were generally far more direct and energetic. Also, Rarity had been doing it on purpose since -- actually, she couldn't recall any time before she knew she was manipulating other Ponies. "I guess ... well I suppose ... if you don't mind me asking ..." Fluttershy wavered on the edge of posing the question that she had obviously meant to form ever since she had stepped out her door into the chill rainy night. "I certainly don't mind you asking," Rarity reassured her. "Indeed, I positively insist that you do." "Well ... um ... it's just that we all noticed you acting very strangely when you got off the train. You kind of, well, went into some sort of trance. And then you hugged Spike ... and, well, then you ran away." Fluttershy looked at Rarity expectantly. "Yes," nodded Rarity. "I did these things." She wanted to talk to Fluttershy about what she was feeling, but a certain perverse pride made her insist on being directly asked first. She supposed it was rather like the rules of a formal dance. Rarity liked formal dances. Fluttershy waited for more information, and when it did not follow asked "Are you all right, Rarity?" Her big blue eyes gazed into Rarity's with obvious concern. Direct, honest caring from a friend, thought Rarity. My one weakness. Well, that and ice cream. And fine clothes. And beautiful gemstones. Which Spike's dear precious scales so resemble .. no, I mustn't think those thoughts. All right, one of my many weaknesses. I'm a shameless hedonist. Rarity sighed. "All right?" she asked. "Well, I suppose that by many definitions I am all right. I am young, healthy, in the prime of my life; I am intelligent, well-educated, attractive, and successful in my chosen career. I am widely known and respected, and I have some very true friends, yourself being not the least among them." She smiled warmly at Fluttershy at that last part, and Fluttershy returned that smile, blushing slightly at the compliment. "These are not things that all Ponies can honestly say about themselves," Rarity continued. "So, looked at one way, I am more than merely 'all right.' I am, in point of fact, quite fabulous." As she said this her muzzle rose, her ears perked up, and she broke into a dazzling smile. For just a moment, she really did once again feel fabulous. But for just a moment. Then she remembered that terrible little room, that insidious voice, the way the world had been dim and dreary in there; and now shined too brightly, as if she were lost in a fever dream -- and she remembered exactly why she no longer felt fabulous at all, and the smile vanished from her face. "And yet I am not fabulous," said Rarity, ears once again drooping. "I am actually very ordinary. I have been fortunate in many things, and the self I show the world, even to my dearest friends, is in a sense a lie and an illusion. I am selfish and vainglorious and lecherous. I am weak, not strong -- and I fear that I may be broken." "Rarity ..." said Fluttershy softly, then paused, expressing with her eyes the caring for which she clearly could not find the words. "Yes," stated Rarity, "I've attuned with Generosity. I am generous -- perhaps my only real virtue. but having one virtue -- and some talent, and power -- does not make me good. Nor, I fear, all that sane." She looked down at the floor, formulating her thoughts very carefully. "A good Pony does not attempt to molest an innocent colt. A sane Pony does not do this to the younger brother of her dear friend, right in front of that dear friend. Whom, parenthetically, I would now expect despises me almost as much as I now despise myself." She looked back up and met Fluttershy's gaze. "Do you now despise me as well? I would not blame you for it." She tried to say this last part calmly, but she could hear her own voice quavering, and feel a moistness in her eyes. "Rarity ..." repeated Fluttershy, her own eyes glistening, but her gaze now very direct. "How could you ..." Rarity cringed. "How could you imagine," Fluttershy continued, "that I would possibly despise you?" She reached out and stroked Rarity's cheek with one hoof. "Rarity," she said, "you are one of the best friends I have ever known, and the only other Pony who really understands me. You ... when I was at my lowest, you raised me back up again, helped me see that I was good, that I wasn't unlovable. You have encouraged me, given me the confidence to face the world. You have always been there for me. Well, I'm there for you, too." Rarity's eyes misted over, and she practically fell into Fluttershy's embrace. "Oh, Fluttershy," she sobbed. "Do you understand? You were there with me -- you were all there with me -- but do you understand how it felt for me? I know you suffered too -- I know I'm being dreadfully selfish, but I need to tell someone!" Fluttershy held her, wrapping her long forelegs around Rarity's withers and forward barrel, stroking her gently, sheltering her friend. "You can tell me," said Fluttershy. "I'll understand." "It was so gray," said Rarity, turning her tear-streaked face toward her friend. "So bleak." She wept a bit longer, then said "I suppose I'm not explaining myself very well. Let me try again." She gathered her wits, partly regained her composure. "All my life," she said, "I've had a certain sense of beauty -- of pattern -- of harmony, I suppose. It may be arrogant, but I think I can see the Harmony in everything, see how it all fits together to make a greater Harmony. Do you see what I'm saying?" "I think I do," replied Fluttershy. "I can look at a thing of beauty," continued Rarity, "and be almost mesmerized by it, drinking in and tracing and learning the patterns that make it beautiful, until I know it so well that I've put it into a sort of mental storehouse of patterns that I can recall and look at whenever I will, view it and take it apart and put it back together with other patterns, to make everything beautiful, make it all better." She looked at Fluttershy. "I believe I've explained some of this to you before." "You have," replied Fluttershy, nodding encouragingly. "But I don't mind if you do again." "I'm accustomed to beauty," Rarity said. "I see it everywhere. If what I'm looking at isn't beautiful, I can see how it could be made beautiful, and I want to make it beautiful. Clothing, buildings, Ponies -- did you know that there are no truly ugly Ponies? Because, even if they're really fat or skinny or even sick, there's something beautiful inside them, and I can see how to present them to bring that beauty out. That's what I do. That's what I'm meant to do. Do you understand?" "Yes," said Fluttershy softly. "I do understand." "Only," Rarity said sadly, "there have been a few times in my life when I've lost it. My ability to see beauty. Once, when I was around ten, I was very sick -- a bad flu -- and at first I was a bit delirious. I could see patterns everywhere, but they made no sense. That was frightening enough, but then my fever got really high, and my aesthetic sense simply stopped working -- I still have no notion why. I would doubtless have been very depressed, if I hadn't been near-dead -- I fell faint, and when I woke up about a day later, my fever was down, and the world was normal again -- by which, I mean beautiful. "I remember when you got sick," Fluttershy said. "I didn't know you nearly died." "I didn't really know either, at the time," Rarity admitted, laughing at herself. "I was only ten -- I simply took for granted that one fell ill, and recovered. It wasn't until years later that my mother let slip that I had almost perished." "I'm very glad you didn't," said Fluttershy. "Likewise," agreed Rarity, and smiled. "The next time I lost my aesthetic sense, it was when I was fourteen. In Fillydelphia." The smile vanished from her face. "I -- my little Diamond -- you know what happened ..." "Yes," said Fluttershy. "You don't need to go into it." "What I never told you," Rarity said, "was that after that happened, there was a period of days during which I could see no beauty in the world. None whatsoever. Everything was ugly and base, and I felt as ugly and base myself. That's why I wanted to ... not experience anything any more. Because I knew my world would never again be beautiful, or good." "But you were wrong," Fluttershy pointed out with unusual insistence. "You had your whole life ahead of you. A life full of beauty and all sorts of goodness." "True," Rarity agreed. "Though at the time, the reason I chose to live was more due to the awareness that if I destroyed myself, Rush Rocks would win." Her eyes narrowed. "And I was not about to permit a cad such as him any sort of victory. "I regained my sense of beauty when I decided to live," Rarity continued, "though it was muted for awhile. It was when I returned to Ponyville on summer vacation -- when I told my parents what had happened, and found to my happy surprise that they neither despised me for my folly nor had lost faith in my ability and general worth -- that the world once again became really beautiful, as it had been before. "I know, of course, why this happened to me. I am, perhaps, a somewhat moody Pony. Normally, I am cheerful and creative. That is the Rarity most Ponies get to know, and want to know. But there are times when I am in -- well, an extremely dark sort of mood. I despair, and when I despair, I cannot see the beauty in the world as clearly as I otherwise might. "Despair is a terrible emotion for me. When I despair, everything is muted and gray; I feel worthless; life seems pointless. It might drive me mad, if not for two things: I know from experience that it will pass; and I know I am not alone." Rarity looked affectionately at Fluttershy. "I know that I have friends. That I am loved." "I'm glad I can help," Fluttershy said softly. "You do help, darling. You're one of my two best friends in all the world; I am really glad that you are here." Then Rarity's smile faded, as she realized that she must explain her worst fear to Fluttershy.