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// Tempting Fate 
// Story: The Long Arm of Murphy's Law 
// by Posh 
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Anypony who didn't know her well would assume that Rarity was the type to dislike carnivals. Here was a lady of sophistication, wit, and taste, who loved fine dining, elegant soirees, and the glamorous company of the social elite. The carnival had none of that. Instead of delicately eating tiny hors d'oeuvres from silver platters, patrons scarfed down fatty hay fries served up in greasy paper baskets; instead of blushing debutantes and socialites swapping bon mots, excited foals laughed and toted balloon animals. In all, very much the opposite of your garden parties and your polo matches. 

And that was why Rarity loved them so. Deep within that sophisticated, witty lady of taste was a little filly who'd never grow up, who thrilled at winning stuffed animals thrice her size and spinning in circles on gyroscopic rides until her legs felt like jelly and equilibrium became a distant memory. There was nothing elegant about the carnival. It was just a morass of cluttered, cacophonous, filthy fun.

Perhaps that was just what she needed.

The carnival had been set up on a wide-open green just outside of town, the typical spot for large-scale events such as this one. A dirt thoroughfare ran through the center of the grounds, lined on either side by game booths and concessions stands and vendors hawking souvenirs. The greatest concentration was at the end of the thoroughfare, where it expanded into an organized mess of tents and stalls arranged around the carnival rides. The ferris wheel dominated the skyline, a massive marvel of engineering covered in flickering lights that winked in and out as it turned slowly in the air. A leviathan, it dwarfed Ponyville's town hall at its apex, and was almost of a height with Twilight's castle. 

As uncertain as she’d been when Spike asked her to accompany him, she had to admit that just being there, soaking up the atmosphere, helped to take her mind off things, as did the look on her companion's face, the happy, dopey smile he often wore in her company. She'd given Spike an hour to cheer her up; less than a quarter of that time had elapsed and he was already well on his way to doing just that. 

Until she chanced to pass two young mares who gazed at one another with a painfully familiar sense of adoration in their eyes. The shorter of the two, a yellow-coated, straw-maned earth pony, stood on the tips of her hooves to plant a tiny kiss on her partner's nose – a tender gesture that almost physically hurt to see. She might have been able to soldier on through that, though, had she not noticed the blonde's cutie mark: a gold-plated candlestick, half-melted, beneath a bright orange flame.

Rarity's eyes remained locked on the mare, even after she and Spike passed them by. How silly it was for that, of all things, to send her back into the doldrums, to make her heart drop and her blood freeze and her eyes well up again. And she was doing so well, too.

Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all, she thought with a tremulous sigh.

"Rarity? You okay?" Spike came to a stop. Rarity had kept her hoof looped through his arm as they walked through the carnival, and he patted it now to get her attention.

"Oh, yes, of course." Rarity faked a smiled, blinking back nascent tears. The couple, after an exchange of nuzzles, had started moving away, back down the road from which Rarity and Spike had just come.

Spike frowned a little, glancing over his shoulder to see what had caught Rarity's attention. "Were you just… ogling that pony's butt?"

Rarity blushed. Of course that's what it must have looked like. She didn’t want Spike thinking she was some sort of… of voyeur… but what was she supposed to tell him? Not at all, Spike; that mare's cutie mark simply reminded me that all affairs of the heart are ultimately empty and fruitless and that I'm going to die alone and unloved surrounded by empty wine bottles and probably a hundred and eighteen cats, who will likely gorge themselves on my carcass without a second thought.

Oh my, but that was morbid. 

Luckily for her, she hadn't been picked by the Elements for her sense of honesty. Rarity shook her head, coiled mane bouncing about. "Certainly not! I was simply… following my nose." Rarity sniffed at the air in a loud, overdone, theatrical manner, and in the process caught a whiff of something sizzling in hot oil. "And it just happened to turn my head in the same direction as that young mare. Speaking of," she continued, hoping to change the subject, "whatever is that tantalizing scent? You smell it too, yes?"

"Uh…" Spike sniffed the air. "Fry batter?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of a nearby concessions stand, opposite the way that Rarity had been looking. The line at the stand was short, but dense enough to obscure the pony running it. Beside the stand was a chalkboard which featured a drawing of a familiar pink-frosted cupcake, and above that was a message, written in bold, pink letters and arcing over the cupcake like a rainbow: 


"ASK ABOUT OUR FRIED ICE CREAM!"  



"Y'know, something about that ad really speaks to me," said Spike with an impish smirk. "Whaddaya say we start this night off the right way?" 

Rarity's stomach, filled with bread though it may have been, growled. I never did get my comfort food… and I certainly can't go back there for it.  She started to wilt again at the thought of never being able to return to that restaurant.

"Rarity?" The smirk faded into another worried frown. "You still with me?"

"Sorry, yes. Just a little distracted. That would be lovely."

The look lingered on Spike's face as he watched Rarity, before it melted into a more cheerful look that suited him far more. "You got it! I'm buyin'." 

Rarity yelped as he dashed into the line, dragging her along by the hoof. The longer she kept her hoof locked in his arm, the more likely it was that he'd accidentally dislocate something of hers. She delicately separated herself from him; Spike, wrapped up in proselytizing about fried ice cream, showed no reaction. 

"Lemme tell ya, Rarity," Spike was saying, "you're gonna love this stuff. See, to make it, first you take the ice cream, and you dip it in batter, and then you roll it around in crunched-up cornflakes, and then you deep-fry it in boiling oil. Then, before you serve it, you slather it in chocolate sauce—"

Rarity's stomach growled again.

Spike snickered. "I know, right?"

The line, short as it was, passed quickly. "You know," said Rarity, as they stepped up to the counter, "I've been to many a carnival in my time, and I'm a little surprised that I've never had this before."

"Ah, well, heck, I didn't even know it existed myself until the other day when they needed someone to focus test it on. Came to me, specifically! Something about the dragon palate being perfectly suited to something that's ice cold and burning hot at the same time." Spike shrugged. "I was just happy for the free dessert."

"'They'?" asked Rarity, admittedly a bit surprised. She leveled an inquisitive gaze at Spike. "'They' who?"

"Give ya three guesses!" chirped a familiar, sugary sweet voice. "Not that you'll need more than one!" 

The voice drew Rarity's attention back to the counter, to the pink, frizzy-maned pony behind it, and she suddenly remembered why the cupcake was so familiar: it was a dead ringer for the one that crowned Sugarcube Corner. "Pinkie! You're working at this carnival?"

"Oh yeah! Not freelance, though. I'm representin'!" Pinkie Pie gestured at the cardboard standee. "The Cakes scored a deal to sell their products at this carnival as long as it's in Ponyville. They asked me if I wanted to run it, and I was like, 'um, do you even have to ask?'" Her pearly white grin all but shimmered in the light. "It was the perfect opportunity for the three of us to try out some new recipes in a more diverse crowd!"

"Recipes like fried ice cream!" Spike added.

Pinkie leaned impossibly far over the counter and ruffled the top of Spike's head. "That's my little one-dragon focus group!" The affectionate gesture got a boyish chuckle from Spike.

"Anywho." Pinkie leaned back and rested one foreleg on the counter. "What'll it be, folks? Fried ice cream? I figured that's what Spike brought you here for, so I was gonna just serve you up some, but then I thought 'gosh, wouldn't it be rude to just make that kind of assumption without even bothering to ask what you really wanted?' And then I thought 'Pinkie Pie, you'd make a terrible carnie!' But then I thought 'that's okay, because carnies are creepy and I wouldn't want to spend any more time around them than necessary!' But oh my gosh – please don't tell any of the carnies I said that!" She looked around frantically and hissed, in a whisper that was anything but whispery, "They're a very prickly bunch. They have their own code of honor and everything!"

“Er…”  Not sure how to respond to that, Rarity just coughed and changed the subject. "So, fried ice cream?"

Pinkie quickly straightened. "Fried ice cream!" She ducked beneath the counter and reemerged with napkins, spoons, and two paper bowls, each containing a lump of steaming, chocolate-slathered, golden-fried ice cream. 

I'll be, Rarity thought. It looks delectable! And… incredibly fattening. 

Her mouth watered.

"Thanks, Pinkie," said Spike. "What do I owe you?"

"Oh, Spike, your money's no good here and you know it. This one's on the house!" She met Rarity's eyes, and the sympathetic smile that crossed her face said it all.

She knows. Not that Rarity was surprised. It took Spike seconds to deduce how her date turned out, and as far as she knew, all the telltale signs were still smeared across her face. "You are a true gentlemare, Ms. Pie," said Rarity.

Pinkie waved the compliment away. "Oh, pshaw."

Spike, having decided to forego the spoon and just bite into the thing like an apple, had half of his serving shoved into his mouth already. "Fanks Pee-kee," he mumbled around a mouthful of fried dairy.

Pinkie grinned. "I'd say 'go in good health,' but c'mon. It's fried ice cream. Health doesn't even enter into it." She giggled and waved her hooves at the two of them, shooing them away.

After some final parting words, Spike and Rarity left the concessions stand. Spike tossed the last remnant of his order into his mouth and swallowed it whole, sighing with satisfaction. "That's the stuff that makes life worth living."

Rarity hadn't touched hers yet. The bowl and spoon floated in front of her, shimmering in the grip of her magic. The chocolate sauce poured over the ice cream had formed a tiny lake at the bottom of the bowl, and the ice cream itself stood as an island in the center. Rarity spooned up some of the sauce and ladled it back over the ice cream, watching it run in rivulets through the jagged crags and canyons of its shell.

"Well?" said Spike. "Aren't you gonna try it?"

"Just appreciating the artistry, darling." It was only halfway a lie – Pinkie really had outdone herself, after all. But her brain, damnable traitor that it was, couldn't help noting the similarity between the runny rivers of chocolate and the dripping wax of the melted candle at the restaurant.

Oh, enough maudlin rubbish from you already. Buck up and eat your ice cream, Rarity.

Rarity pushed the spoon into the lump, cracking its shell and delving into the creamy center. Ah. It's vanilla. She scooped out a portion, and rubbed it in the lake of chocolate sauce before lifting the spoon to take a delicate bite. Her eyes widened at the burst of flavor and the queer sensation of hot and cold warring in her mouth. Oh my. She swirled the ice cream around with her tongue, savoring the way the chocolate accented its flavor instead of overpowering it, and daintily crunched the crispy outer shell. Oh MY.

Spike watched, wringing his hands with anticipation. "Well?"

The bowl danced in the air, an expression of Rarity's delight, as she dug the spoon once more into the ice cream. "This is the stuff the angels sing of," she whispered, moaning blissfully as she took another bite of her dessert.

Spike, grinning, did a little hop of joy as Rarity spooned another bite into her mouth. "I can see my life playing out before me," she continued in a breathless voice. "Getting my cutie mark, graduating from school, opening the boutique…it all seems so trivial now. I finally realize that everything up to this point has just been a slow build-up to tasting fried ice cream for the first time." She pushed the spoon in again, met Spike's gaze, and smiled. "I am a changed mare, Spike. Thank you for sharing this revelation with me."

Spike blushed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Heh, shucks…"

Rarity shut her eyes and shuddered a little as she savored another bite. She could die then, and happily, she decided.

"Hey! You git back here this instant!"

Rarity heard the cry in front of her, the rapid hoofbeats, the yelp of distress from Spike, the sharp clack of teeth snapping shut, but none of it registered, lost as she was in bliss, until suddenly, something very cold collided with her chest. In her shock, Rarity lost her magical grip on the bowl, and it fell discarded to the ground. Her eyes flew open and she looked down to see what had happened.

A mortified Apple Bloom stood in front of her with a bright red balloon hovering over her head, its string held between her lips. Spike had his hands in front of his mouth and was staring at Rarity's chest, eyes wide with horror. Rarity saw why when she glanced down at herself and beheld the mushy remains of her treat stuck to the front of her dress.

Well. That’s disheartening. 

"Li'l sister, don't run off like that," came Applejack's chiding voice as she trotted into view. "Now, we can always get'cha another balloon, but if you get lost out here, it'll be a little harder to—" She froze when she saw Rarity and the mess on her chest and cringed, drawing a sharp breath that hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

"Rarity, I'm so sorry!" Apple Bloom started babbling an explanation; as she spoke, the balloon in her mouth started to drift away, and she had to periodically hop into the air and grab it before it could get too far. "I lost my balloon, an' I chased after it, an' – dangit – an’ I wasn't watchin' where I was goin', an' – dangit! – an’ when I jumped up to get it I knocked into your bowl by mistake, an' – gaddangit, stop runnin' out on me you little—"

Spike cut her explanation off by rushing forward, wielding napkins. He hurriedly brushed the ice cream off of Rarity's chest. The largest remnants of the portion Pinkie had served her slid off her chest and splattered onto the upturned paper bowl.  "Hang on," he said, "it's not that bad. We can fix this!" He rubbed the napkin in circles over the mess, soaking some of it up but inadvertently smearing ice cream and chocolate across a wider portion of the dress than before. "We can… we can… uh…" He stopped when he realized he was doing more harm than good.

Applejack trotted forward and gently pulled Apple Bloom aside. She bent to examine the swirly mess of white and brown coating the front of Rarity's dress more closely. "Er… y'know, it ain't all that bad. Might even think of it as a new trend. Y'know?" With a nervous grin, she said, "I'll bet every high-falutin' high society pony's gonna be smearin' ice cream all over their jackets an' dresses a month from now, jus' to be like you!"  

Rarity didn't answer. She was fixated on the melted vanilla that dripped from her dress onto the quickly disintegrating pile of ice cream on the ground. There was something oddly hypnotic about it – calming, even. She felt like she should be shrieking, or fainting, or dramatically bemoaning the calamity that had befallen her. That was probably what her friends were expecting from her right now. But the urge to do so never came. She couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

I spent all week on this. Hours of sewing and stitching and hemming. Sleepless nights on Tuesday and Wednesday, subsisting wholly on coffee. 

Fitting that something she put so much time and effort and heart into would turn out this way, on this night. 

And here I thought I was done being maudlin. So… why aren't I crying?

Applejack leaned toward Spike and whispered "Thought she was on a hot date. What's she doin' out here with you?"

Spike glowered at her.

"Rarity…" Apple Bloom was hiding behind her sister’s foreleg, and peeked out. "I'm real sorry, Rarity."

"Accidents happen, darling." Rarity's voice was quiet and emotionless.

Applejack looked tense – no doubt she was still expecting some emotional outburst. "All the same, I'm willin' to pay to have it cleaned, if you want."

"Me too!" Apple Bloom blurted. "Take it outta my allowance, okay sis?"

"Sugarcube, you read my mind," Applejack muttered, shaking her head. To Rarity, she said "You jus' lemme know. 'Kay?" When Rarity gave no immediate reply, Applejack tipped her hat to her by way of farewell. "Sorry again, Rares. Spike. Y'all have fun now. C'mon, Apple Bloom."

With a last regretful look at Rarity, Apple Bloom followed her sister away.

"You were right; you should have gone back and changed. I'm sorry." Spike's voice was high, anxious. "Are you alright?"

A curious question. The truth was, she didn't actually feel bad, at least, not toward anything or anypony. Not Apple Bloom, who'd irresponsibly ruined her dress; not him, the good-for-nothing lout who'd started this all by standing her up. Not even for herself. She'd bottomed out on negativity and self-pity altogether, it seemed. A first for her. 

Then again, she didn't feel particularly good, either. At best, she was not not okay. That was an evasive double-negative, one that she didn't even buy. It certainly wouldn't do as an answer. 

Well, Rarity. When in doubt, lie your little heart out.

Rarity shoved her ill feelings to the deepest pit of her stomach she could find and summoned her most dazzling smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon – I was just mulling how I might best remove this stain, and I seem to have become lost in thought. So sorry for worrying you." She gestured at the mess. "This is nothing that a bottle or two of club soda and a good, vigorous scrubbing won't resolve. I shan't allow it to ruin our night out." Her smile dropped to a self-deprecating smirk. "That said, a trip to the facilities is no doubt in order. I'd like to at least try making myself presentable again."

The answer seemed to satisfy him – at least, she thought he looked a little more relieved. "Bathrooms are over this way," he said, pointing down a little road that branched off the main thoroughfare.

Rarity fell into step beside him. If she couldn't be happy, truly happy, then it was the least she could do to pretend for his sake. She'd keep him smiling, even if she couldn't herself. It was a queer little reversal of roles, considering the way the night began. 

Queerer, still, was how seeing Spike cheer up made her fake smile feel a little more genuine.