Xenophilia: Shotglass Oneshots

by TheQuietMan

27: The Sisterhood of Stitches, Part 1 by FanOfMostEverything

The Sisterhood of Stitches, Part 1 by FanOfMostEverything

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Tourmaline took in the cloak. At first glance, it was nothing special. That was actually a point in its favor; far too many journeymares tried to dazzle with over-elaborate creations that nearly collapsed under their own ornamentation. This piece bore only a single piece of embroidery, a duplicate of Tourmaline's own cutie mark, a pear-cut green specimen of her namesake. Upon closer inspection, the green thread was actually magically verdigrised copper wire.

She smiled. That was actually quite clever. One of the rules of the Sisterhood of Stitches was that a masterwork could not lean on the crutches of gemstones and precious metals. A true master could work beauty from mundane cloth and thread. But nothing forbade the forms of gemstones, and copper was hardly precious. Besides, it was flattering.

Tourmaline telekinetically lifted the cloak, letting her magic seep in and suss out its secrets. The copper trumpeted into her third ear, the magical aging lending a rich complexity to the tone. The outer double-weave was, as she'd suspected, made from cotton grown using the methods of the legendary Irrigation Levy. It was clear not just from the signature blue color, but also the deep bass feedback from the incredible amount of earth pony magic that gave the thread its uncanny durability and, as a byproduct, its hue. Most incredible was the inner lining. Once Tourmaline's magic reached it, it sang in a symphony of instruments she couldn't name. She turned the cloak over and saw just why.

It had begun as silk, she knew that much. What had been done to it, she did not. Rainbows danced across a surface that rippled like liquid silver. To Tourmaline's astonishment, the prismatic patterns began to spread beyond the confines of the cloak, turning her viridian aura into a wondrous interplay of every color imaginable.

She placed the masterwork – and this was a masterwork, there could be no doubt about that – back on the ponnequin with something bordering on reverence. "My," she said, mostly to avoid just standing there slack-jawed. "My, my."

"S-so you liked it?"

Tourmaline nearly jumped. In her wonder, she'd nearly forgotten about the cloak's creator. She turned to the anxious young mare and smiled. "My dear Inseam, to say I merely liked it would be an understatement bordering on the criminal. It is clear that I am in the presence of a fellow master of the art."

Inseam gave her own smile, a huge grin that nearly split her face in two. "You mean it, Miss Tourmaline?"

Tourmaline tittered. "Dear, you have surpassed not just my expectations but my fantasies. Yes, I mean it."

Inseam was visibly shaking with joy by this point. It nearly broke Tourmaline's heart to raise a hoof and say, "However."

The newly minted master collapsed back into a bundle of nerves. "H-however?"

"There is one more task you must complete."

"What? Why?" A hint of indignity crept into Inseam's anxiety. "I'm a master, aren't I?"

Tourmaline silently approved. Such a timid girl. She had a sewing machine for a cutie mark, for Celestia's sake. Perhaps she'd start believing in herself now that she'd rendered her teacher all but speechless. "You are, you are, but that means you have earned the right to attempt this final challenge. Come with me, dearest."

The two headed into the back room of the Diadem Boutique. "Do you remember," Tourmaline wondered, "when you began your apprenticeship and you asked me about the Sisterhood?"

Inseam nodded. "I couldn't understand why somepony like Dame Rarity would bother to do something like run a guild. Compared to negotiating the Macintosh Hills Accord or stopping the Eater of Days, it seems so, so..."

"Trivial?" Inseam nodded, and Tourmaline continued, "Well, she had a bit of an ulterior motive." She approached an old ponnequin head. Years ago, it had been used to display headwear. It had been collecting dust back here for as long as Inseam could remember. The older unicorn flipped it along a hinge the younger had never noticed, revealing a button on the base of the head. When she pushed it, a section of wall no different from any other in the room tilted out a bit.

Slowly, cautiously, Inseam walked towards the hidden door. "What... what..."

"It's not going to bite, dear." Tourmaline swung it fully open without a care and proceeded down the revealed staircase. "Come along,"

Inseam came along. What more could she do? "What's going on, Miss Tourmaline?"

"Nearly two centuries ago, before she created the Sisterhood of Stitches, before she rose to the apex of fashion, scarcely after she became the Element of Generosity, Dame Rarity encountered a creature unlike any other." Tourmaline's voice sounded strangely far off, her words carrying the slight singsong quality of oral tradition. "He was a stranger in a strange land, the only one of his kind in all the world. When the rest of Ponyville shunned and feared him, Dame Rarity and the other Elements accepted him, befriended him, even loved him. And, in Rarity's case, clothed him.

"You see, Inseam, this creature came from a culture where all were expected to be clothed virtually all the time. For them, nudity meant either hygiene or intimacy. Though he came to Equestria garbed in naught but rags, he clung to them. Dame Rarity could not let such voluntary shabbiness stand, and so she made for him a wardrobe. In gratitude, he came to her and only her for all of his future clothing needs, and those needs were greater than any three ponies' put together.

"He was the ultimate customer: courteous, accommodating, understanding, inspiring, and insatiable."

The staircase finally ended. Inseam knew they were beneath the Boutique's basement; there had been too many steps for them to be anywhere else. She'd half-expected some sort of rough cave, but the room, while small, was as neat as the rest of the building, with a concrete floor and stuccoed walls. Magical lights had flicked on with the unicorns' movement, illuminating the only other object in the room, a ponnequin shaped nothing like a pony.

"The Sisterhood of Stitches was made to honor this magnificent stranger," Tourmaline said solemnly. "Every master is thus given this final project. I was given it by my teacher, and she hers. So I pass story and commission on to you, my dear Inseam." Tears were in her eyes, a look of heartbreaking pride on her muzzle.

Inseam's eyes went wide with wonder. "Do you mean—?"

"Yes. You must add to the wardrobe of He Who Must Not Be Nude."

Author's Note:

FanOfMostEverything:
Encouraged into existence from reactions to this comment on a Divided Rainbow preview, and using the idea from the side story Living the Dream that the Element bearers are immortal.

Comments

[master109]

he who must not be nude LOL

[WeldedSteel09]

He who must not be Nude. ...Sounds like a reference to the Harry Potter stories.

[Aru]

Yes. Voldemort clearly don't like to be nude.

[Rikmach]

2745435

Yes, the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nomenclature is ripe for parody. I've seen such zingers as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Looked-At, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-But-Only-Calculated.

[Wingnut]

Lol. WUT.

[Genesis1212]

2745060 i rofled at that as well xD

[AtlantisWolf]

I've seen reference to Tonks as She-who-must-not-be-named, referencing her response to those who call her by her first name.

[RaptorCalloftheShadows]

2755948 U WOT M8? XD Admittedly, that was my response to. I had a giggle, there. :3

[Snowy]

2746550

Another one? Good gods, man, that's eleven so far who Must Not Be Named. Not to mention the four who Must Not Be Looked At, the two who Must Not Be Spoken To, and the one who Must Not Be Toilet-Trained.

(thog got to use a mop!)

[Silentwoodfire]

Couldnt help but laugh at this one.