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by Thornquill

Chapter 12 - Art

The first thing Rarity realized was that she was cold. The second was that her head hurt like she had been hit with a sack of bricks. The third was that the faint, high-pitched noise she was hearing was making the pain much, much worse. Instead of going away, however, the noise was steadily getting louder and clearer.

Rarity drew in a shuddering gasp, then started to cough violently. After a few more long, deep breaths, she was able to blink and bring the objects around her into focus. Icy flakes drifted erratically down from the dark sky above to stick to Rarity’s coat, but there was a rich, golden light emanating from two street lamps nearby. She was lying in the snow, and a long, messy track stretched out behind her through the powder. And in the road, zipping back and forth like a mentally-unhinged chicken, was Pinkie Pie, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Will somepony call a doctor already!” she bellowed. “I know none of you are asleep anymore, so quit pretending! We have a fading fashionista over here!”

“Pinkie... please...”

“Do I have to do everything myself? Hellooooo, is there anypony living in Ponyville at the moment?”

“Pinkie, shut up!” Rarity yelled, but she regretted it instantly as the pain surged. She groaned and hugged her head with both forehooves as Pinkie whirled around and bolted to her side.

“You’re alive! Oh thank goodness, I thought you were a goner!” Pinkie exclaimed. “I looked into the window, and at first I didn’t see anything, then I saw you come in from the kitchen, and you were all like, ‘blaaaaahh,’ and then you were like, ‘gaaaaahhhh,’ and then you wouldn’t get up, and—”

“Pinkie,” Rarity said, shoving a hoof in Pinkie’s mouth, “For the love of all things textile, slow down, and above all, quiet down. Please?”

“Mmhmm!” Pinkie managed, nodding slowly. Rarity pulled her hoof away and slumped a little lower in the snow. “Ugh... I feel awful. What happened?”

“You... you left all your gas lines open,” Pinkie explained, her face a fearful frown. “I came by to tell you I heard from one of Maud’s art professors, but when I knocked, you didn’t answer. I was about to leave and try again tomorrow, but then I saw you come out of your kitchen acting all weird.”

“Gas lines...” Rarity mumbled, her memory slowly returning to her. “But how did...”

“I... I got scared,” Pinkie said, sniffing a little. Rarity realized Pinkie’s knees were shaking violently. “I yelled, but you didn’t hear me. So I broke in, and I heard all your gas lines running, and you... you wouldn’t wake up. So I dragged you out here.”

“You did?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie nodded. “Yeah... sorry about your door, by the way.”

Rarity looked over to where the trail in the snow led, and her mouth fell open. The door had been split in half, and the pieces lay several feet inside the room. The window glass was spread in all directions, and the hinges had been torn out of the frame, leaving huge, splintered holes behind.

Rarity couldn’t hold back a shocked, shaky laugh. “Pinkie... you know something? I really, really hated that door.”

Pinkie smiled, but her eyes were still fearful as she joined Rarity in a slight, halting laugh.

“Rarity... why were all your lines open?” Pinkie’s smile faded as an almost heartbroken expression rose onto her face. Her ears lay back and tears stood in her eyes. “You weren’t...”

“No, Pinkie,” Rarity said, slowly pulling her hurting limbs under her and standing with a loud groan. “It wasn’t me, I...” she paused, unsure of what to say, but Pinkie’s eyes slowly grew wide and her jaw fell in horror.

“...You’re not staying here,” she said firmly.

“But... Pinkie...”

“Are you crazy?” Pinkie exclaimed. “You almost died tonight, Rarity. I can’t let you stay here.”

Rarity looked up at the tall, dark shape of her home, its monolithic spire rising into the empty night above them. “I can’t just run, Pinkie. If I don’t make this work out... I’m done for. Everything is done for.”

“You can start somewhere else, you can...”

“No, I can’t, Pinkie,” Rarity snapped, turning back to her friend. “I’ve put everything into this shop. If this doesn’t open, it won’t just be on me. When I can’t pay back what I owe, it’ll fall on my parents, and even they probably won’t be able to cover everything. I can’t do that to them. They have another daughter to raise. I can’t give up on this, Pinkie. It’s gone too far.”

“We can figure something out,” Pinkie pleaded. “Just... for now... come on, just treat it as a sleepover. That could be fun, right? You can stay with me for a few days while you get your door fixed, and... and maybe we can figure out how to fix whatever’s happening here.”

Rarity paused, then nodded, her lips drawn into a thin, resigned line. “You’re right, Pinkie. This is... I don’t know. But I think you’re right.”

“Now you’re talking,” Pinkie said, striding firmly towards the broken door. “Now you just rest for a moment.”

“Pinkie, what are you doing?” Rarity’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Your gas is still on. We can’t just leave it like this—somepony could stop by and get hurt!”

“We’ll call someone to take care of it, you don’t need to... Pinkie, don’t go in there!” Rarity cried, but Pinkie had already sucked in a huge breath and hopped over the debris of the door, vanishing into the dark interior. Rarity sprang forward, but her shaky limbs gave out and she stumbled over as her headache and nausea surged again. She took a few deep breaths, then struggled to her hooves and prepared to chase after Pinkie. Just as she was about to go in after her, Pinkie sprang back out of the empty doorway and let out her breath in a long whoosh.

“Phew, almost didn’t make it!” she chirped. “All done! Bedroom, basement, and all. I found the main line in the kitchen and shut that off too.” With a flourish, she pulled a wrench from her mane, a brass valve handle gripped firmly in its jaws. “Let’s see it turn on the gas without this.”

“Pinkie, that was incredibly foolish!”

“I know.” Pinkie stuffed the wrench back in her mane. “But I’m cold and I want to get you home. Now come on, we have a sleepover to get to!” She grabbed Rarity and pulled her along the road, though Rarity quickly realized Pinkie was supporting her more than anything else. She relaxed and let herself lean into her friend. They walked up the brightly lit streets of Ponyville together, snow falling peacefully all around them as they left the dark, broken door of the old shop and its toxic air behind them.

* * *

By the time they reached Sugarcube Corner, Rarity felt almost normal again. The headache had faded to a slightly painful twinge, and although she still felt exhausted, there was no sign of the draining fatigue that had pulled her into unconsciousness at the shop.

The Cakes had asked no questions about Pinkie’s loud declaration that Rarity would be staying with them. They had simply welcomed her warmly and offered her some refreshments before heading back to bed. After heading up to Pinkie’s tiny attic room, Rarity mentally rescinded her belief in Pinkie’s ability to coordinate color as she beheld the most brightly-colored, clashing conglomeration of party decor imaginable.

As Rarity settled in, Pinkie gave her the letter that had brought her by the shop in the first place. Rarity sat on the edge of a thick, pink sleeping bag, nibbling on a flaky roll as she frowned down at what she was reading.

The stationary indicated that the letter was from a pony named Dr. Bristlebreaker, head of the Art Department at the University of Vanhoover. She was surprised to see that it was typed, not written, and the narrow, slightly splotchy characters crowded the page and made it difficult to read.

Pinkamena Pie
Sugarcube Corner
170114 Kent Road, Ponyville

Dear Ms. Pie,

This message is in response to your recent request to our department for assistance in your research. You will find enclosed copies of all the materials we have which refer to the artist in question, a Ms. Toola Roola last known to reside in Ponyville. I must apologize that the amount of information is limited, but there is simply very little documentation about her career. As it happens, I myself met her personally on a few occasions during my days as an art critic and reviewer, but the encounters were brief, and it was clear to me even then that her career was unlikely to be noteworthy.

We hope that this information is helpful to you, and are pleased to have been of assistance. Should you have any further need of information, the University would be only too happy to work with you.

Trusting that this letter finds you well, I am your humble servant, Dr. Bristlebreaker.

P.S. Regarding your other query, I do indeed remember your sister. It would be hard to forget somepony who managed to win the freshmen art competition with a fourteen-foot still life of a pebble.

The envelope contained only a few other items. Two were reprints of articles that had appeared in the Canterlot Art Review, written by Dr. Bristlebreaker himself, though he had lacked the academic title at the time. The third was a short article that had appeared in the Manehatten Times sometime between the first review and the second. Scrutinizing them more closely, Rarity noted that the first review had been written not long after Toola had opened her gallery in Ponyville.

Art Review: The Landscapes of Toola Roola

Ms. Roola’s art is, in a word, quaint. To be sure, she demonstrates a high degree of competency in the basic forms and techniques of her medium, and her oil landscapes are at least pleasing to look at. There is a certain quality in her use of lighting that gives an almost otherworldly glow to her scenes when viewed in the right luminance, but sadly, this is as far as her imagination has taken her to date. There is little to her work that anypony would find challenging, and the air of melancholy she habitually suffuses her work with render them poor choices for even casual decor. We hope she will continue to develop her art in the future, and look forward to seeing the ways in which she broadens her horizons to more worthy subjects.

“Not a very complimentary piece,” Rarity said to herself. The news clipping came next in the chronology. It had been printed a few years later, and it took a decidedly less favorable tone.

Chaos Erupts at Art Exhibit

An independent art event was greatly disrupted yesterday when one of the vendors, a rural landscape painter named Toola Roola, was arrested following a violent outburst in the display gallery. Witnesses informed us that Roola simply “went berserk” following a confrontation with local art critics, and became violent.

“She just started screaming at everypony,” one of the visitors to the gallery informed us. “Yelled that nopony knew anything about good art, that she didn’t even know why she bothered to bring her work if all anypony wanted was abstract, academic trash. Can you imagine telling a gallery full of art enthusiasts they don’t know anything? Talk about a country nut.”

One of the patrons, believed to be a friend of the artist, was seriously injured when she attempted to restrain Roola, who then turned on her instead. Several patrons recalled Roola kicking and stomping on the mare repeatedly before authorities could intervene, yelling all the while about their friendship being a sham. The mare’s name has not been released, but she is expected to make a full recovery before returning to her home in Ponyville.

Roola, meanwhile, faces several charges for assault and disturbing the peace, and will be held in the Manehatten Regional Courthouse pending a preliminary hearing.

“What in Equestria happened to you?” Rarity asked, laying the article aside.

“Sorry, what?” Pinkie asked, raising her head from where she lay sprawled on her bed.

“Oh, nothing darling. I was just reading what your art professor friend sent us. Do you know, I think Toola attacked Ms. Dog-Ear when they were younger?”

“What?” Pinkie exclaimed, rolling over to stare at Rarity. “Who would ever want to hurt Ms. Dog-Ear? She was the sweetest, most kindliest lady you could ever meet!”

“I’m not sure.” Rarity tapped the floor with a hoof as she frowned in thought. “But... from the sound of things, I’d speculate Toola’s gallery wasn’t doing well, and she took it personally. I think she started taking everything out on the ones closest to her, including Ms. Dog-Ear.”

“How do you know that?” Pinkie asked.

“Well... I think I’ve been in a similar position,” Rarity answered grimly, and turned to the last article.

Monthly Gallery Review

December 965.

Roola Art Gallery, Ponyville. Final Rating: Very Poor.

This review was conducted by request of the gallery owner. The gallery itself is a little-known establishment in the village of Ponyville, a small but charming hamlet located in the shadow of Canterlot. As the artist had submitted work for our review several years prior, we were excited to visit in the hopes of discovering a local gem.

Unfortunately, we cannot under any category recommend that art aficionados add Ponyville to their list of destinations. The gallery itself is a run-down, dismal affair, plagued by atrocious lighting and a malodorous air. The artist herself, while claiming to have reinvented herself and found new inspiration, has taken her work in a disturbing and lamentable direction.

There are few words to describe our dismay at the utterly vile and loathsome work on display in the Roola Gallery. The artist appears to have attempted an interpretation of Equestria’s early fantastique period, which any educated connoisseur will know as an unfortunate period for art in any sense of the word. As such, to see it imitated would have been bad enough, but Ms. Roola has taken an already bad art form and given it a truly distasteful, macabre turn. We would hazard that even veterans of the medical profession would have found themselves sickened by the abhorrent paintings we were shown.

In response to the utterly distasteful direction she had taken her work, Ms. Roola had only this to say:

“It’s not my fault if you don’t like what you feel when you see my work. No artist can make anypony feel anything; what a pony feels in response to art is what they already have inside them. So if you look at these and you feel something dark rising to the surface—wrath, melancholy, maybe even a slightly carnal response—it’s because you have that in you, and you don’t want to acknowledge it. My work is like a mirror—and you can’t blame a mirror for what you see when you look in it.”

As much as we hate venturing into territory that would be considered character assassination, we would be remiss in a review of the gallery as a whole if we failed to mention that Ms. Roola's conduct as a host was singularly unpleasant. Far from feeling welcomed, we found our ability and integrity insulted at every turn, and on one occasion, suffered a verbal threat to our physical safety.

Upon inquiring further with residents of Ponyville, we learned with very little surprise that the Roola Gallery is now almost totally shunned by the community, and Roola herself regarded as an eccentric and possibly dangerous hermit.

“You go there, all you’re gonna be told is that you’re an idiot and some kinda monster,” a local farmer who asked to remain unnamed told us. “To tell the truth, that one’s just a rotten apple, and the town would be better off without her.”

Pinkie looked over Rarity’s shoulder quizzically. “So what’s it say?”

“Well, it certainly seems that Toola Roola led an unpleasant life,” Rarity said, tucking the papers away, “but I don’t see anything here that would give me a clue about what could be happening. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost be inclined to say it wasn’t magic, and that she really was...”

Rarity shook her head. “Whatever’s happening, I think it’s been using Toola’s past to mislead me. Something must have happened even farther back, and Toola Roola got caught up in it.”

“But didn’t you say you’d done research on it before Toola bought it, and nothing odd seemed to be happening?”

“That’s the puzzle,” Rarity said, frowning and settling lower onto the sleeping bag. “But what other explanation is there?”

“I don’t know,” Pinkie said, rolling over to face the ceiling. “I think you were on the right track before. There could still be some weird magical happenings related to her. Earth Pony magic isn’t like Unicorn or Pegasus magic, you know. Unicorn magic is all, ‘Pow! Whoosh! Zing! Flash!’ And Pegasus magic is all tied up with the weather and the sky and stuff. Earth Ponies though...”

Pinkie trailed off, her expression thoughtful as she looked at the ceiling. “Earth Ponies become a part of things. When we work on or make things, we can get connected to them in a way I don’t think other ponies quite understand. We get all tied up in it. That’s why we’re such good farmers, and why we get so attached to our farms. We become a part of them, and we can feel what’s going on in them. My sisters could probably tell you what granite field is ready to harvest from anywhere in Equestria. They’re that close to it! And when we put so much of ourselves into our work, we get so much more back from it, too. We get a kind of energy from it after a while. It’s almost like we grow off each other, you know?”

Rarity was looking at Pinkie with a look of dawning comprehension. She scrambled up and snatched a sheet of pink stationery from a little desk nestled in the corner of the room, sitting down and levitating a quill over to it. “Pinkie, I want you to repeat everything you just said to me, and then I need you to teach me everything you can. I think everything is starting to make sense.”

* * *

Rarity paced nervously around the perimeter of the showroom, her hooves thudding softly against the warm carpet. She had lit the lamps that morning in an attempt to make the place more warm and inviting, and the attempt succeeded to some extent. The bright glow of all the lamps combined brought out the rich colors and textures of the decorations, and the single rack she had managed to fill with mock-up designs shone brightly in one corner. Unfortunately, the lamps had also once again made it significantly hotter inside, and it worked together with her nerves to keep her in a perpetual light sweat.

A firm knocking sounded on the front door. Rarity took a long, deep breath in an effort to quell the spike of adrenaline she felt wash over her. She paused for just a moment to reaffirm her resolve, then walked over to the door. It was a brand-new, stable-style door with clear, diamond-shaped windows, and it opened soundlessly as she lifted the latch.

“Hello Applejack,” she said, holding a weak smile on her face. Applejack regarded her with a blank, stony expression. Only a slight crease between her eyebrows betrayed the suspicion with which she regarded Rarity.

“Got your letter,” she said bluntly. “Fluttershy here yet?”

“Not... no, not yet,” Rarity admitted, her ears falling back. “It’s a little early though, so I’m hoping... anyway, won’t you please come in?”

Applejack shrugged and allowed herself to be led inside. Rarity noted with an irritated pang that she didn’t remove her winter boots from her rear hooves, but decided it would be a bad idea to press the matter. “Can I get you anything?” she offered instead.

“No thank you,” Applejack said curtly. “You invited me here because you said you had something say. Well, you might as well get on and say it.”

“Oh... yes. Well, I was hoping to speak to you and Fluttershy at the same time, but...”

Rarity was interrupted by a barely-audible tap from behind her. Turning quickly, she pulled the door open and smiled when she saw Fluttershy standing on the doorstep, head low and only one eye visible behind her mane. Rarity’s smile wavered and nearly failed when she saw the look in Fluttershy’s eye. It was a clear mixture of fear and suspicion.

Rarity forced herself to stay optimistic and said, “Hello Fluttershy. Thank you so much for coming, really... I don’t deserve it.”

“You got that right,” Applejack said behind her.

“It’s... it’s ok.” Fluttershy stepped carefully inside and took off her boots. Her eye never once left Rarity.

“Please, sit down,” Rarity answered, gesturing to the antique couch. Fluttershy made her way over to it while Applejack pulled her lip back in slight distaste. When Fluttershy sat down, Applejack opted to lean against the armrest and faced Rarity with her guarded, stony look.

Rarity took another deep breath. “I owe you both an apology,” she began, looking from one to the other. Her head was bowed and her ears laid back flat. “Especially you, Fluttershy. The things I said and did when you visited were totally inexcusable. You were trying to be kind to me, and I... I lashed out at you with everything I had. I don’t deserve your friendship after acting that way, I know that. And Applejack, everything you said in the market the other day was completely true. The things I said in response were also inexcusable.”

Rarity swallowed and closed her eyes. “I was wrong. I only hope that I can start to make a few things right.”

“Fine talk,” Applejack said. “But what about Pinkie? I hear she’s back, so why ain’t she here?”

“Pinkie and I have already talked,” Rarity explained. “She found me the day she came back.”

For a long moment, no one said anything more. Applejack huffed, looking critically at Rarity as if trying to decide how to respond. Before she could, however, Fluttershy whispered, “...why?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Rarity asked, her heart beating fast. She had been dreading that one of them would ask that very question.

“Why did you say those things?” Fluttershy asked. Her voice was nearly emotionless, and she also kept it carefully paced and even. “I don’t understand what I did wrong. Why did you yell at me?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, darling,” Rarity said, closing her eyes again and bowing her head further. “I wish I had a better explanation to give you. The truth is, I don’t really know. I don’t have any excuse for what I did. I can only tell you that leading up to it, I felt like my whole world was falling apart. I was so, so angry, and I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was also tired and not thinking straight. And while you were here, I...”

She paused, unsure of how to describe what she remembered had happened next. “...I don’t know if I fell asleep or if something worse happened to me. But I thought I heard you tell me that my work wasn’t any good and that I was just trying to suck up to everypony... and I thought I heard you tell me I should just give up.”

Rarity looked up and saw Fluttershy’s confused frown. She almost looked angry. Applejack just looked baffled. “I don’t know if it was a dream or a delusion or what, but I remember it so clearly, even now. I can’t imagine how I didn’t think to question how... how stupid it was to think you would ever say such things. But then you were beside me, and I let all of my anger and indignation out on you. I was utterly in the wrong, and I know how weak that explanation sounds, so I can only hope you might forgive me one day.”

She looked up and saw both of them watching her. Neither seemed to want to say anything. She bit her lip and turned, walking towards a large box she had left on her sewing table.

“That’s what I wanted to say,” she said shakily. “And, I also wanted to give you both something, if you’ll accept it.”

“You trying to bribe us now?” Applejack asked, an acidic bite in her tone. Rarity felt her pride swell at the scorn, but she pushed it firmly back.

“It’s not a bribe,” she said evenly. “It’s just a gesture of goodwill. It’s the only thing I know how to do... the only thing I’m good at. So...”

She carried the box back to the sofa and sat on the floor in front of them. Opening it with her magic, she first pulled out a small square of folded cloth that was dyed in a warm orange color, and moved it toward Applejack. “I thought your little sister might like it. Sweetie Belle has a pink one, and she practically won’t let it be taken off,” she explained, smiling nervously.

Applejack took the blanket in her hooves and partly unfolded it, her sculpted expression falling away slightly as her eyes widened. “Whoa nelly, it’s so soft. What is this?”

“Canterlot Cashmere,” Rarity replied. “It’s big enough to grow with her for a little while.”

“You even put her name on it,” Applejack said, running a hoof gently over the thick, rope-shaped yellow embroidery spelling out “Applebloom” in a slightly rustic cursive script.

“And just an afterthought I had this morning,” Rarity added, pulling out several broad, bright pink ribbons. “I have a feeling hair accessories are going to be in for foals this season, and I thought she would look just darling with a bow or two in her mane. I’ve put a little magic in them so she can’t pull them out and chew on them, in case she’s so inclined.”

“Gosh darn it Rarity, do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to keep Granny from gussying up that poor filly?” Applejack asked, but she smiled reluctantly and took the ribbons nonetheless. Then her expression sobered and the hard look returned to her eyes. “This is all awful nice stuff, Rarity, but I don’t know that I can accept it.”

“Let me finish before you decide, Applejack,” Rarity said, reaching into the box again. “Fluttershy... I can’t make up for what I did, I know that. This doesn’t even begin to, but...” she pulled out a brilliant teal scarf with dark blue stripes and held it out. “I never returned this after you lent it to me the other day. I couldn’t help but notice it had gotten a little battered here and there, probably from a little critter having a nibble or two, I expect. I’ve touched it up and given it a good cleaning, so it’s good as new.”

“And,” she continued, pulling a heap of teal blankets of all different sizes out of the box and laying them on the floor, “I’ve made an entire set of blankets and bedding for all the animals you might host at your cottage. I know winter is nearly over, but these should hold up for years.”

Fluttershy took the scarf and stared at it, but aside from a slight frown, she didn’t react. Rarity’s heart fell.

“I... just wanted to show my apology in something more than mere words,” she said haltingly. “If... if you don’t want to accept, I understand perfectly. Just know that I am really, truly sorry, and I will work hard to ensure nothing of the sort ever happens again as long as I live in Ponyville.”

Rarity stood up and backed away a few steps. “That’s... all I have.”

She felt like she ought to say something more, but everything just sounded repetitive or empty. Applejack looked over at Fluttershy, who hadn’t moved since taking the scarf. Then Fluttershy stood and walked to Rarity. Both of her bright, springwater-blue eyes were locked firmly on her.

“Rarity... what you did really hurt me. I was so confused and scared. I... I do remember hearing you talking in the other room that day, but I couldn’t hear what you said. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong, and I didn’t want to come out for days.”

Rarity swallowed and glanced away. She had nothing she could say in response. If I’m to be alone again, at least I’ll know I tried.

Rarity felt a gentle hoof pull her chin back up. Fluttershy was staring at her with an intensity she had never seen before. “Are you really sorry?”

Rarity nodded, feeling tears burning at the edge of her eyes. Her throat felt painfully stiff.

Fluttershy glanced away for a second, then let out a heavy sigh and pulled Rarity close with one foreleg. It wasn’t a tight hug; in fact, it felt more like a polite gesture than anything, but Rarity hooked her foreleg around Fluttershy’s and clung to it like a lifeline.

“We all lose control of our emotions sometimes,” Fluttershy said, almost more to herself than to Rarity. “You don’t need to bottle them all up from others. That’s what made you lose control, I think. I want to trust you to not let that happen to you again, Rarity.”

“I won’t,” Rarity promised. Then she gave an ironic laugh. “I’ve had a few good ponies drilling that into my head lately.”

“Good.” Fluttershy drew back and gave Rarity a weak, yet decidedly warm smile. “Then I accept your apology. And thank you for the gifts; that’s really very nice of you.” Fluttershy wrapped the scarf around her neck and picked up the bundle of blankets, heading toward the door. As she opened it, she turned back and said, “You owe me a trip to the spa, though.”

“Fluttershy,” Rarity said with a weak smile of her own. “I owe you twenty trips. Thank you.”

With a soft click, Fluttershy closed the door and was gone. Rarity turned to Applejack, who had gone back to looking at her with an unreadable expression. The little crease above her nose seemed to be gone however, and Rarity took that as a hopeful sign.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing to me,” she finally said. “You didn’t do anything to me.”

“I said something utterly wrong and hurtful out of spite,” Rarity said firmly. “And I hurt your friends. That demands an apology.”

Applejack nodded once. “Fair enough.” She turned her head, giving Rarity a careful look. “I don’t know that I’m as inclined to hug and forget as Fluttershy. For all I can tell, you’re still just playing with everypony’s emotions. But, since Pinkie and Fluttershy seem to have made up their minds, I guess I owe it to you to give you another chance.”

She held out a forehoof, and Rarity bumped it gently with a small smile.

“Good enough for me,” Applejack said, and headed for the door. Rarity followed her and let her out. As she stepped onto the doorstep, Applejack turned back and gestured to the blanket and ribbons on her shoulder. “That said, I got some idea of how much you could’ve sold this here blanket for, and I know you’ve had some struggles to keep this place above water. I’m a big enough mare to admit that this is a right nice thing for you to do, Rarity. So thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, Applejack. Take care of Applebloom.”

“Don’t gotta worry about that. And you look out for that little sister of yours too.” Applejack nodded and started walking down the road. As Rarity made to close the door, Applejack turned back one more time and asked, “By the way, why’re all the mirrors in there all covered up?”

“Oh, no reason. I just have something to finish up.”

Applejack shrugged and made her way down the road. Rarity watched her go for a moment, then stepped inside and closed the door. She knew Applejack still didn’t like her, and perhaps never would. Rarity had the notion that first impressions went a long way with Applejack, and she had made a terrible one. The enmity was gone, though, and Rarity could live with that. As for Fluttershy, Rarity knew it would be a long time before their friendship healed and returned to the way it had been. The important thing was that it had a chance to heal.

“Just one more thing to finish up,” Rarity repeated, and turned towards the room. While Fluttershy and Applejack had been there, the oppressive aura of anger and vigilance had faded to a prickly, nudging presence that poked at her from the faint shadows in the room. Now, it hung all around her, thick and vehement, pressing on her mind from all sides as if she were underwater. She knew it was looking for a gap in her defenses, a glimmer of sympathetic emotion that it could pour into and inflame. But she knew what to watch for now, and she could hold out for a little longer.

It was time.

She walked to the dais and stepped up between the mirrors. She took a long, deep breath, then grabbed each of the three shrouds and pulled them gently away.

She could see the room reflected perfectly in the silver glass. The sewing table, fainting couch, ponnequins, and display racks were all where they should be. The row of vanity mirrors behind her remained covered. Two of them, Rarity knew, were now broken—the one she had broken herself, and the one that had shattered the night Toola attacked her.

But of all the things she could see in the three mirrors, she could not see herself. It was as if she didn’t exist. She pushed her face as close as she could to the glass without touching it. She shouldn’t have been able to see anything but her face staring back at her, but all she could see was an empty room.

“I know you saw that,” she said gently, pulling back and standing a few paces away from the mirrors. “That... what I just did for them. That was me. That’s how I want to use my art.”

She turned and looked at the door her friends had walked out of, and smiled a little. “I don’t think I always understood it, but I do now. Clothes and accessories, they seem frivolous, and even a little cruel sometimes. Some ponies use them to make others feel bad about themselves. Some of the big firms even tell ponies they aren’t good enough unless they’re wearing a certain line.”

Rarity turned back to the mirrors. “But that’s not how I want to use my art. I want to make things that bring happiness and draw ponies closer together. But even more than that, clothes can help ponies express themselves, to show something of themselves off with pride and confidence. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I think it’s what I’ve always wanted to help others do. I want to make things that make other ponies feel their best.”

She glanced at her cutie mark. “It’s not just about making something that looks good. It’s about bringing out something important for everyone who experiences it. I’m not saying all art is like that. We all do what we do for different reasons. That’s where it gets its own kind of magic.

“But you lost your reason somewhere along the way, didn’t you?” She looked from one mirror to the next with a sad expression. “At some time or another, you started to only see the worst of everything around you, and you stopped seeing anything good in it. You drove everyone away. You convinced yourself that everyone, everything was wrong somehow.

“And then you poured all your anger and despair into your art. You drowned yourself in this poisonous miasma of evil emotions. And I don’t know how, but somehow you managed to trap all of that darkness inside your paintings.

“And it’s still there,” Rarity continued, stepping a little closer. “It’s filled this place for years, hasn’t it? Your art started to feed off of you and you off of it until the cycle drove you down so far, you couldn’t see any trace of light anymore.

“And I think... I think you still haven’t gotten free of it. Even now.”

On the other side of the room, a tiny spot of movement caught Rarity’s eye. A pink hoof had appeared in the kitchen doorway, and a moment later, a pink Earth Pony had stepped onto the showroom floor. She moved jerkily and awkwardly, as if she kept trying to use different muscles, but all of them hurt equally.

She walked up behind Rarity with limping, uneven steps, and as she drew closer, Rarity could tell that all her proportions were just a little bit wrong; a shoulder was too wide or a leg too short, as if Rarity was looking at her from the wrong angle. Her fur had a stiff, wet look to it, and her multicolored mane was filled with thick, oily ripples—exactly as if she had just stepped out of an oil painting.

She looked at Rarity through the mirror, and her eyes were without depth or spark. Simple, flat black pupils were surrounded by dry, cracked white. They were vapid façades of what the real Toola Roola’s eyes had been like.

She stepped onto the dais, and Rarity fought every instinct inside that screamed at her to run, to smash the mirrors and end the impossible scene she was witnessing. She could smell the curious odors of damp leaves, bitter grittiness, and astringent, mineral pine all around her: the same scents that rose from the bottles of turpentine and crushed metal tubes of oil paint abandoned in the cellar.

Toola Roola moved timidly forward until she was standing right where Rarity ought to appear in the mirror. Rarity fought down a heave of revulsion and stood calm and still, looking at Toola Roola with unblinking eyes.

Toola regarded her with an expression that was a mask of quiet despair. She lifted a single, shaking forehoof, and pressed it against the mirror in a desperate, reaching gesture. Her lips didn’t move, but Rarity could almost hear the words “help me” bleeding from every movement the painted mare in the mirror made.

But there was still something else, something hidden behind the painted face and the desperate gesture. No amount of oil could cover the darkness and malignancy Rarity still felt all around her.

“No,” Rarity said, shaking her head sadly. She felt her lips pulled down as tears came to her eyes. “I can’t. You know I can’t. It’s too late for that.”

The mirror bowed outward like it was under an immense pressure, as if it alone was holding back an incredible tide of incomprehensible feelings that would pour out and fill the very lungs of anypony it caught, saturating and drowning them. Toola’s face shifted just slightly, the eyes widening in a final, desperate appeal for mercy, for release, for anything that would allow her to escape the shadow of an existence she had created for herself.

The room in the mirrors changed. As if Rarity’s showroom was being painted over, everything seemed to wilt, rot, and crumble away until nothing was left but bare, dark walls. Where ponnequins and display racks had been, easels were scattered about. Most held paintings, and the ones Rarity could see were filled with eyes that bored into her. A few were knocked over.

And against one wall, barely visible behind the pink mare who pushed desperately against the flexing glass, was a dim, faded form—a prone body that lay in unnatural stillness, its final moments of twisting desperation and agony captured in the mirror’s golden frame.

“Listen to me,” Rarity continued, putting all of her hope and pleading into her eyes in an expression that almost mirrored Toola’s. “I don’t know how much of Toola Roola is left in... whatever this is. But you can stop this cycle of violence. I can help you do that, if you’ll let me. The darkness here can be filled with something else. Please. Let yourself be more than spite and cruelty just one more time. For her.”

There was total silence in the room. The two mares stood there, unmoving, watching for some sign they could act on. They stood, staring, as if everything that followed would depend entirely on who chose to make the next move. Rarity waited, the silence weighing down on her until even breathing was almost unbearable.

The stalemate dragged on, torturously and interminably, until a single whispered word broke the silence.

“...please.”

Comments

[Rune Soldier Dan]

/Carousel Updates

/Dan drops everything and reads.

This is the chapter I've spent the last ten chapters hoping for: Rarity taking the bull by the horns and finally getting back in control. A fine reward after that long spiral downwards.

Somehow I think it's going to take more than an inspiring speech to handle the ghost, though. As ever, I anxiously (though a bit less anxiously than before, given the more hopeful tone) await what comes next.

[Iron Comet]

She wants forgiveness. I don't think Rarity is the one she should be asking.

[Stonecrop Sedum]

Holy moly...this chapter. Just. All of it.

Deus ex Pinkie Pie thank Celestia. I adore Pinkie in this. She's the only one who understands the paranormal stuff going on.

"She just started screaming at everypony,” one of the visitors to the gallery informed us. “Yelled that nopony knew anything about good art, that she didn’t even know why she bothered to bring her work if all anypony wanted was abstract, academic trash

Sounds like the premise of Barakamon gone horribly, horribly wrong.

@the apology/gift-giving scene: Rarity, truly becoming the element of generosity.

And unflinchingly communicating with ghost Toola Roola! This pony. No pony is gutsier than this pony. Nopony.

[Ianthe]

What a chapter! A merciful release from all that building tension of the last few chapters.

Wonderfully written - your Pinkie is a joy to read, she's kooky, but restrained, appropriate given the seriousness of the situation. And Applejacks' reactions felt very real and true to the character too. I also love the description of Toola Roola as a painting viewed from the wrong angle (gives me an uncomfortable feeling that, in the same way Cezannes' paintings of apples make me uncomfortable - they're neither realistic or abstract, but caught somewhere in between)

[Emperor]

"My work is like a mirror—and you can’t blame a mirror for what you see when you look in it.”

Heh, and there's that callback.

By choosing to give her gifts to Fluttershy and Applejack and making up with them in the boutique, I assume Rarity also managed to weaken the darker side of the empathetic emotions left by Toola Roola and her paintings? That's what I'm reading, anyways, which makes it a strategic choice on Rarity's part to do that just before confronting Toola's painting spectre. Now all we need is a mention of Dog-Ear again.

It's a little bit startling to realise that, barring some major thing in the next chapter, Pinkie Pie will be the only one to ever know the truth besides Rarity herself.

[Godiswithus3]

All of my hatred for Toola turned into pity, especially when her backstory is properly explained.

And I'm happy Rarity is fixed up the broken relationships.

[Lurks-no-More]

Giving gifts is such a Rarity way of saying she's sorry. This whole chapter is a relief after all the darkness of the previous ones!