Figure 10: Air Cushion Restraint System
Figure 10: Air Cushion Restraint System
Rarity had put a great deal of time over the past couple of months dispelling the notion among humans that she was a “common animal”. As fashion writers had come to visit the circus, first in ones or twos but eventually in dozens, she had always strove to keep her temper and present herself as at least a well-trained pet, for the majority of visitors who bought into the illusion that there was a “real Rarity” hiding somewhere in the shadows. Even for the first two New Jersey fashion shows, which she won with ease, she kept her excitement in check. But now that the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel shone in the late afternoon sun, and the enormous city beyond beckoned...well, perhaps it was no coincidence that the Panapet was playing Gloria Gaynor’s cover to “Goin’ Out of My Head”.
“So...so many different buildings! Where’s the Fashion District? Is that the Statue of Independence? No, I suppose that would be on the other side of the island. So that flat area over there is Central Park? What about Equestrian Avenue? Or the Griffish Empire Building?” She was hopping from one side of the Pagliacci Bros. van to the other to take in all the sights through the small windows, the speaker strapped loosely to her back sliding this way and that. Draped on top of the speaker was one of her now signature capes, this one gold with the “swoop and eyes” logo of Carousel Boutique.
“Would you calm down?!” bellowed Julia from the driver’s seat. “I only got my license a couple days ago, and you’re not making things any easier.” As the lone member of the van not attending a formal event, she was dressed in a faded Coca-Cola logo tee-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers.
Rarity stopped, practically in mid-air, and settled down into the rear bucket seat. “Oh, well I’m dreadfully sorry about that little outburst. It’s just that I’ve been reading so much about your human Manehattan—via back issues of Cosmopolitan and Vogue, and now...” She gestured back at the rack of designs that were installed at the back of the van. “To finally have a chance to show my designs in one of the premiere fashion cities on your planet!”
“‘Manehattan’,” William said with a grin. “I suppose that is pony-ese for ‘Manhattan’?”
“That is the correct name for the part of New York City where we will be visiting, is it not?” Rarity asked, stretching her long neck around the back of the bucket seat ahead of her to try to see who she was speaking to.
“Well, I don’t believe that that island has been referred to as ‘Manhattan’ since the 20’s,” said William with an air of authority. “Everybody just calls it ‘The Big City’ now, or, if you wish to appear erudite, you could use the Greek form of—”
“Hey, nice conversation there,” Julia quickly interrupted, “but somebody needs to hand me a buck-fifty for the toll, pronto!”
“I’ve got it,” said Antonia, handing over a bill and coins that she pulled out of a gold purse. Her hair was freshly permed and arranged into a sort of cloud around her face, and she was wearing a thin black wrap over a gold lamé blouse, with red leather pants, gold heels and a string of pearls around her neck. Beside her, William was wearing brown shoes, brown slacks and a brown sports jacket, over a green dress shirt and a mustard-yellow bow tie. Antonia figured the chances were good that she would be let into a disco club with her current ensemble. Getting her husband in dressed like that? Not so good.
“And thank you once again for agreeing to drop us off and pick us up,” William said. “You know full well how hard it is to get overnight parking in the City.”
“Well that, and I don’t want anybody stealing or graffiting Benny,” Julia admitted as she paid the attendant.
“You...named the van?” asked Antonia.
“Well, I’m the one driving everybody around now that Piera decided to try being a normal teenage girl for a change, so I think that makes the van mine, more or less.” She looked over at the girl, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Piera was wearing a black and white speckled jacket with a fur-lined hood over a white gypsy shirt, striped black-and-white bloomers, and black-and-white sneakers. Under the sleeves of the jacket were located the necessary silver chains, and the equally-necessary electric blue ear warmers were also in place. The jacket looked more than a little out of place on this early August evening, but a fae’s blood normally runs quite a bit colder than a human’s, especially when her magic is being suppressed. Oh, and the original fur trims and linings had been replaced with synthetics, out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to Rarity. (“But darlings, animal fur provides the best materials! Just so long as they’re not intelligent and were treated humanely in life, you can use pony fur for all I care!”)
“You’re in the wrong lane,” Piera quietly pointed out from the passenger seat.
“Gaaah!”
& & &
Once in the city proper, the van slowly made its way towards the center of the island. Now everybody was gawking out of the windows, but it wasn’t to see the wonders of the city.
The Big City in 1978 had some resemblance to a bombed-out European city from 1945. At least one in every three buildings they drove by were clearly abandoned, with broken windows and fire-gutted interiors. Random spray-painted graffiti in a variety of colors covered the walls, but the most common motif was the letter “L”, rendered in a variety of styles.
“Why would anybody do something like this?” Rarity asked incredulously.
“For the insurance money,” Antonia explained. “Most businesses have gotten so bad that arson’s the only alternative to declaring bankruptcy. They tried to apply for a federal bailout a couple years ago, and President Ford basically told the city to drop dead. Plus there was that blackout last summer—practically the entire city turned to looting every unprotected business they could find. And it’s not like there are any police around to stop it—thanks to out-of-control corruption, most of the city taxes end up being paid to the Families instead of actually making things better for the common people. Now Little Italy at the southern end of the island...that neighborhood looks like Paradise compared to this.” She spent a moment to reflect on what she just said. “Perhaps it’s right that the Family got kicked out.”
“Hold on, did I miss something?” Rarity asked, her attention suddenly drawn to the interior of the van.
Julia laughed. “Didn’t you notice all the people in suits wandering through the circus in the past week?”
“Well, um, yes,” Rarity admitted, “but I was so busy preparing for this show that I didn’t really notice, if you get my understanding. So that was the Corraglios? What happened?”
“They got evicted, is what happened,” Julia replied. “It turned out there was a balloon payment on the mortgage of the Coragglio Family headquarters, one that nobody remembered, but that’s been due since 1954. With interest, that came out to nearly a quarter million dollars and legally, the Corraglios don’t have anywhere near that amount of money, so they moved out, and some mega-corporation took over.”
“Legally...right,” said Rarity. “So, are they just living in the spare tents now? What’s going to happen to them?”
“Oh, I’ve been driving Papa around up and down the New Jersey countryside, putting up with his rants about getting revenge on the Luxite Redevelopment Corporation and looking for someplace for them to settle down. Of course they wanted Atlantic City, but there’s no way you’re going to get Atlantic City real estate on short notice. I figure we’ll wear them down in another month, and then they’ll settle for perfectly respectable digs...far away from us.” Julia made sure to put extra emphasis on the last part.
“Well, alright,” Rarity said reluctantly. “I am sorry to ignore your worries at a time like this. If there’s anything I can do to help, feel free to ask.”
“No, I think we can handle this just fine,” Julia said. “They’ve accepted my takeover of the ‘reject’ branch of their family, and that’s enough to keep us safe from any of their more outrageous plans. Right now I think you’d just be a complication.”
“Well, if you insist...oh, I do believe that is it!” Rarity tapped a white hoof on the window, at the multiple story building they were now approaching in the center of the Big City’s Garment District. The first floor was tall enough to allow for a performing theater, which was to be the performance venue for the “Fashion America Competition”, as proclaimed by a small banner. “The YSL Building. That stands for Yves Saint Laurent, world-famous fashion—”
“Yes, yes,” Julia said, pulling in to parallel-park. “Less talking, and more unloading. I don’t need a parking ticket added to my criminal record.”
Without a word, the four passengers jumped out of the nearest doors of the van. Piera removed a diamond-studded leash from her pocket, which she expertly looped around the silver collar that Rarity was wearing.
Already waiting for them was a young man in a black tuxedo and an oversized top hat. He had a large blue carnation in his button pocket and an oversized silver ring on his right hand. “Hurry, hurry!” he cried, consulting his ornate pocket watch. “You only have a few minutes to check in!” As soon as it was lowered to the street, he grabbed the garment rack and wheeled it into the building.
“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Julia asked Rarity as she tried to get her bearings, the setting sun making it impossible to read several of the nearby street signs.
“Positive. Now you get the Martins checked into that hotel and then back to the front side of this building. I’m pretty sure you can make it before the show begins.”
“Goodbye!” William and Antonia cried out in chorus. “See you in a few!”
The man in the tuxedo emerged just as the van drove away. He gazed around him with a disinterested expression. “I am Ford Trelaine,” he announced, with a tone that expected a crowd of admirers instead of the two measly witnesses to his grand speech. “I am the organizer of this particular show. You may call me Mr. Trelaine. Now may I ask who is the designer here?”
Rarity stepped forward, opened her mouth, and...nothing came out. Of either her mouth or the speaker. She sat down in confusion.
Piera looked down with some concern at the pony. “R...Rarity,” she finally said in a low rasp.
“What was that?” the man demanded.
“R..Air...iTEE!” Piera croaked, her voice shifting nearly an octave up and down.
Mr. Trelaine’s response was to put a pinkie finger in one ear and twist it around. “Rarity,” he repeated. “Admission fee,” he then demanded.
Again, Rarity attempted to talk, and again she failed. She tried to gesture to Piera, and found even that act was difficult to accomplish.
Meanwhile, the girl pulled a fifty dollar bill out of her jacket pocket and handed it over with a neutral expression.
Ford Trelaine spent a moment examining the bill for authenticity, then quickly stuffed it into the breast pocket of the tuxedo. “The designer and designated assistant shall enter through this door for check-in.”
Piera began walking towards the door. She was surprised to find that Rarity wasn’t following her, and had to tug on the leash to get her to rise to her hooves. They then began walking towards the rear entrance.
“Now then...” Mr. Trelaine began, before looking down at the pony before him. “Oh, this will not do,” he said. “We will not be allowing any animals into the theater. This is a Big City competition, not New Jersey.”
Piera looked down at Rarity, expecting a rather loud rebuttal. Instead, she saw the pony’s eyes go wide as she tilted her head to the side.
With a desperate sigh, Piera turned back to face Mr. Trelaine. “R...arity,” she managed to say in a more-or-less even tone. She closed her eyes to concentrate. “You...invite...ed. Rarity.”
Mr. Trelaine looked at Piera in disgust, ignoring the unicorn entirely. “Yes, I invited Rarity, not her little pet/security blanket. If you are Rarity, then you may go inside, while I get Animal Services to—” And then he tried to take the leash away from Piera.
With a yelp, Rarity suddenly lunged at the man standing in their way, snapping her teeth an inch from the hand that was gripping the leash.
“Fine!” Mr. Trelaine huffed, yanking his hand away and deliberately turning his back on the pair. “In that case, you are hereby disqualified from the competition!”
“FIFty DOLlars!” Piera squeaked.
“No refunds!” And with that, he marched into the building and locked the door behind him, disappearing into the murky depths inside.
Rarity lowered her head for a moment, shaking it like a slobbery dog, and hit it a few times with a hoof in a much more human action. “What about my fashions!” she demanded, rearing up to pound her hooves on the glass. “You have no right to those! I demand you hand over my fashions this very minute!”
Mr. Trelaine re-appeared with a shotgun. “Who said that?!” he demanded.
Rarity collapsed to the ground as if she had already been shot.
With a laugh, the proprietor turned and walked back out of sight.
A few moments later, Rarity slowly and carefully got up and dusted herself off. She took a few steps down the sidewalk, until she was sure her line of sight into the building was broken before she decided to speak again. “This is not the end of this matter, Mr. Trelaine, mark my words! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”
“You don’t have a lawyer,” Piera whispered after they had turned the corner of the building to enter a narrow alley. “You could use ours...”
“I’d rather not,” Rarity said briskly.
“What happened?” Piera asked, worry evident in her eyes.
“It was nothing,” Rarity said lightly. “I’m just not used to intimidation.”
“Should we go back?”
“NO! I mean, no, that will not be necessary. It’s not like anybody else in the fashion scene is using capes, so there’s little chance that they can get anything from those clothes without being forced to admit they stole them from me. Let’s find someplace to wait for the Martins.”
The two of them made their way down the alley. As they did, Rarity would occasionally glance behind and around her, to make sure that Mr. Trelaine was nowhere near her. She tried her best to hide her terrified trembling from the girl next to her.
She tried to figure out what had just happened to her. In Ford Trelaine she had encountered a man so convinced that she was an animal that the conviction had started overturning reality—she had lost first her power of speech, then fine motor control, and in the end her thoughts had even been slipping into those of a domesticated animal.
She thought back to her first days on Earth, how she had to fight to establish her identity in her own mind every time she woke up, and how this process became easier the more friends she had who believed in her. Did all humans have this ability to shape the reality around them? And if that was the case, to be trapped in a place as miserable as the Big City surrounded by tens of millions of pessimists...
“Wait,” Rarity said via her speaker, suddenly stopping in her tracks. “That ring...was Mr. Trelaine fae?”
Piera nodded, then looked abashed. “I forgot that the rest of you can’t tell. Tell me the truth—did he do something to you?”
Rarity nodded sadly.
Piera scrunched up her features, and tried to get as much emotion into her whisper as possible. “Well, the next time one of them tries something, I’ll...! Undo it. Somehow.” She sighed. “The only powers I know how to use are the ones that hurt me more than anybody else. I’m useless.”
Rarity reached up a hoof to rest on the girl’s leg. “That is not true, Dear! You’re just don’t know what your purpose is. But someday you’ll figure it out and when you do, no one will be able to stop you! Just like my Sweetie Belle...Oh!”
Piera pulled out an ornate handkerchief to wipe at Rarity’s eyes. “There, there,” she whispered with a loving smile. “You don’t want to mess up your mascara now, do you?”
Rarity laughed. “No, of course not.” She waited until Piera had put away the hankie. “Shall we continue?” she then asked, a hoof outstretched.
Piera nodded, and with a few more steps, the pair of them emerged from the alley.
& & &
What they found at the front of the building was a near-riot.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Trelaine told the crowd via a megaphone from a second floor window, “but world-famous designer Rarity has decided to cancel at the last second. Said something about rather being caught dead than to set foot in New York City.”
“The nerve!” declared Rarity, rather quietly, so that neither Mr. Trelaine nor the crowd would notice. “I ought to step to the front of that crowd to correct things before they get entirely out of hoof. A...after Mr. Trelaine leaves, of course.”
Piera held up a small flier that she had found on the street.
“Come one, come all,” the paper read, “to see the un-masking of the mysterious fashion designer Rarity! Only $25 admission.”
Rarity groaned. “On second thought, let’s just wash our hooves of the whole thing.”
After a moment’s thought, Piera took off her jacket and draped it over Rarity’s shoulders, flipping the hood over her head.
& & &
Rarity and Piera waited on the corner of 6th and West 36th for nearly an hour, long enough for the crowd of gypped fashion fans to disperse. Rarity found that growling like a rabid dog did a good job of keeping the curious from getting too close. The whole time, Rarity would wince every few minutes as her sensitive ears picked up the screech of truck brakes on the nearby streets, and Piera would wince from the occasional groan of poorly maintained window unit air conditioners in the high-rises around them. The pair tried to keep their eyes out for the Pagliacci Bros. van, but in the end it was the Martins who found them first.
The first thing Rarity asked about was the van. “Is there any chance we can just go home?”
“What happened?” asked Antonia, kneeling down to peel back the jacket’s hood and take the pony’s head in her hands.
“And no, you’re too late,” William added. “There was a traffic jam near Penn Station, so Julia dropped us off. She’s probably halfway to the Tunnel by now.”
Rarity took a moment to collect herself. “The fashion show turned out to be a bit of a sham, I’m afraid. We lost the clothes, and the money, but I don’t really care about either of those right now.” She decided not to trouble the pair with the more disturbing news until they got home. “How about if we see the view from the city’s tallest building before heading back to the hotel and calling it a night? I’m sure we can find something interesting to see tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Antonia said, gently removing the jacket and returning it to Piera. “And then we can order something nice from room service. But first we need a taxi.”
& & &
It turned out that getting a taxi was easier said than done.
It wasn’t that it wasn’t hard to hail a taxi in the middle of the Garment District, but none of the drivers were willing to let Rarity ride with the humans, no matter how much all four of them protested about how well trained she was. One of the drivers even had the nerve to require that the pony wear a diaper before he would allow her to ride in his vehicle.
“This day is getting worse and worse!” Rarity proclaimed, raising a hoof dramatically to her brow. “It appears that this place resembles some of the worst stories I’ve heard about Manehattan back home.”
“Well, we’re in luck,” William said just then, walking back to the group after talking with a number of different drivers. “I found somebody who actually knows who you are, Rarity, and is willing to take us.”
“On what condition?” asked Antonia.
“An extra $20.” He pointed at the lone yellow Toronado in a sea of Checker cabs. The driver was standing outside, holding the passenger door open.
The group walked over to take a closer look.
“Well at least it looks somewhat luxurious,” Rarity noted, lightly touching the body of the vehicle with one hoof. “Anti-lock ABS, catalytic converters, power steering, brakes, windows and door locks, air conditioning...even driver and passenger air bags, not very common in this day and age.” She looked back towards the Martins. “Well I don’t think we’re going to get anything better tonight.”
“Oh very well,” Antonia said with a sigh. After checking to see that she still had sufficient cash, she squeezed past Rarity onto the small rear passenger seat. She was soon followed by William, Rarity and Piera.
“Where to?” asked the driver, a heavy-set man wearing dark sunglasses, after settling in.
“The World Trade Center is too far away,” Antonia said. “How about the Empire State Building?”
“Empire State, coming right up,” the driver said, pulling into traffic.
& & &
“So,” William asked Rarity a few minutes into their drive, “how does the Big City measure up against this Manehattan of yours?”
“Hard to say, really,” Rarity replied. “Since I’ve never been there in person before. Manehattan is sort of like the anti-Canterlot, for better or for worse.”
“I’m afraid that comparison is not going to help much,” said Antonia.
“Right, of course,” Rarity said with a smile. “Canterlot is the capital of my land, the place where royalty lives. It is a place of splendor, of tradition, the place where the aristocracy is at its strongest.
“Manehattan, by contrast, is place where individuality shines. It was independent from Equestria for nearly eight centuries after the NLR Riots, and even now, it is said that Princess Celestia is made to wait for a cab there just like anypony else. Ponies, griffons, diamond dogs and even a few utterly unique beings all live together there without prejudice, and anyone with talent has the chance to rise to a position of influence and power. It is the place where Equestrian fashion truly lives, because what is fashion but the vision of artistic individuals, their sole goal to make everyone from peasant to duchess as beautiful as possible.”
“So,” Piera commented “what you’re saying is that Canterlot is Order, while Manehattan is Chaos.”
Rarity took a moment to think this over. “I...never really thought if it that way...Equestrian teachings tend to label ‘Order’ as an absolute good, and ‘Chaos’ as an absolute evil. But more realistically, then yes, I suppose within the limits of what a pony would consider harmonious, Canterlot is on the side of Order, and Manehattan is on the side of Chaos. But of course, Discord took chaos too far, and now Buttercup II is taking order too far.”
Antonia looked outside the windows for the first time since she had gotten in the cab. “Excuse me,” she said, knocking on the partition between the driver and passenger compartments, “shouldn’t we be at the Empire State already?”
“Yeah, if that was where I was taking you,” the driver admitted sinisterly as he pulled over. Turning around in his seat, he opened a panel in the partition and pointed a large pistol at his passengers. “Now start shoving all your valuables through the slot, and nobody gets hurt.”
“Unbelievable!” exclaimed Rarity, clambering over Antonia to take her place behind the robber. “I don’t suppose you’re in cahoots with that horrible Mr. Trelaine?”
The robber put on an evil smile.
“I knew it!” Rarity declared. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
“I’d like to see you try anything,” the robber bragged. “You can’t unlock those doors, no matter what you try—that’s why I picked this particular luxury car to steal and disguise as a taxi.”
“You stole the car as well?!”
“Look, will you just shut your horsey up?!”
“I am a lady, dear sir, and don’t you forget it!” And with that, she reared around and bucked the partition hard enough to send the would-be robber falling towards the steering wheel.
At the same moment, Rarity ordered the car’s airbag to deploy. The quick combination of motions knocked the man out. A second later, the passenger doors unlocked themselves.
“There, that was easily enough solved,” Rarity said with a toss of her head. “With a little effort, I can probably use the radio to contact the police to handle this ruffian. After that, we just need to find...our...”
Waiting outside the doors of the fake taxi were nearly a hundred young men armed with everything from switchblades to semi-automatic machine guns. Absolutely none of them were armed with Star Wars laser pistols, or anything else electronic that Rarity would be able to control. Most of the men had cursive L’s sewn onto their shirts or baseball hats, appearing to be a form of gang identification.
“Nice applique work,” Rarity said deadpan, pausing for a moment before turning her mood to outrage. “Now where has that scoundrel taken us?!”
William gazed around at the collection of theaters, both musical and pornographic. “I’m afraid we’ve been taken to the worst, most crime-ridden spot in the whole of New York City: Times Square!”
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Since I already referenced Star Wars in this chapter...
semi-automatic machine guns
Who's Buttercup II?
7327727
Buttercup II was the pony that Rarity replaced in the circus. It turned out that she had mind control powers, which she used to take out Discord in Equestria and institute a reign of terror.
You know, when it's spelled out like that, this subplot seems just a bit ridiculous.
Oh. Oh wow.
What's with the massive ambush? Seems like a lot more than you'd organize for a mugging...
So since we're in Times Square, is the extra-dimensional cavalry coming, or are we about to pull that cliche in reverse to end the story?
7329653 Just a little bit.
Anyway, I'm so excited for the end!
Well, I mean that I can't wait to see what happens with it!
7331489
Oooh...I so want to answer that right now...but I can't. So you'll just have to wait.
I'm going to really try and get this next chapter out faster than this one took.
7332554
I'm sure you'll manage. After all, you remembered to renew your card-carrying genius certification, right?
Buttercup II is a fine and just ruler, perfect in every way!
“ you va t unlock those doors “ uh such a feature oh exists In Cop cars otherwise there always a Manyal switch