Rarity: The Lady On Her Not-Quite-Deathbed
It had taken nearly the last of her strength, simply shifting her legs within the fabric as her friends, there to comfort her in those final fleeting hours, helped her to don it. And then remove it, while she gave up both precious energy and fast-rushing seconds in the tilting of her head, so that horn would not snag fabric and force the museum (for surely there would be a museum exhibit in time, although it would have to wait for several pieces to be delivered following the final fashion show at her memorial service) to conduct repairs. Hours, ah, hours of what little time she had remaining, in feeling nothing more than cotton and linen and gems moving against her coat, time which could have been spent on other things had she simply thought to plan! For a true artist would have looked at the history of their medium, seen the potential problem lurking ahead, waiting to strike from the shadows, and chosen her armor accordingly. Her priorities had been lacking and, after the third hour had found nothing worth the final moments, she had started to feel the same way about her closet.
But her friends, covering up their true emotions under a hard-forced mask of grumbling impatience, had stayed by her side, or at least two of them had. (The others... well, there were events to plan, not to mention museums which needed contacting.) And in time, their labors had produced the desired result. The final desired result.
Rarity's weary body, struck down far too early, was sprawled across her bed. Sheets had been artfully tossed, inspected, and then tossed again. Ripples of silk caressed her form in a way nopony would ever have the chance to match. And for the centerpiece... the soon-to-be fallen artist herself, serving as the easel for the final canvas.
She was wearing the dress she intended to be caught dead in.
Well... not quite. For there was no time left for lies, and so Rarity would not allow a single one of them, not even to herself. It was not the ideal dress. It was a nightgown. One of her own designs, yes, and the best of them, but... no dress had worked out, for the soon-to-be-fatal illness was making her sweat, sweat quite heavily in fact, sometimes verging on the edge of froth, and when the moisture inevitably soaked through the fabric... well, it had changed the way the dress lay along her body, along with rendering a few portions into something a little more see-through than she would have normally liked. But a nightgown -- that was designed to cling. And because Rarity also had to account for the fact that there were evenings when a pony might be sweating a bit for all sorts of reasons, she had worked that into her original design, and so when her sweat reached the fabric, it made the nightgown -- well, part of her was slightly uncomfortable in having Spike see her that way. But then, it was the final hours and in a way, she supposed it gave him something special to remember her by.
Not that he would allow himself to show his pain and suffering.
"Are we done?"
He was so brave. And covering that emotion in expertly-faked exasperation only demonstrated his maturity. Ah, there would be tears later, when she could no longer see him, when he felt his pain would not wound her if expressed in drops of salt and hidden fire...
"Yes," Rarity sighed, and tossed her head to express unvoiced regrets. Then she realized that it altered the drape of manefall over silk, and tossed it the other way. "I believe... this will have to do. For there is no time to seek other options, Spike, no time for so many things in the final hours under Sun." Under Moon now, actually, but Sun had seemed a somewhat better fit for the statement. "But there will be time aplenty in the shadowlands, and I will be but waiting for you, and you for me. Know that I stand in the grass of the final fields, dearest ones, patiently awaiting our reunion, and never, ever feel that you must rush on my account. Waiting... simply waiting..."
"The shadowlands," Spike repeated, and perhaps it was that repressed sorrow which made his voice so weary.
There was also no time left for cushioning the blow. "Death, Spike! Oh, how could I not have seen it coming? For it is fate that tells the story and loves to trot out the same tales over and over again, making them only more tragic with each repetition and victim who could not see it coming!" One last angry lash of the tail to express her rage at the cruelly stolen years -- oh dear, and there went her carefully-arranged tail display. Rarity began making adjustments. "The artist, struck down in her prime -- and before she was truly discovered! But --" and this had truly not occurred to her until that very moment "-- death brings with it many gifts, dearest ones. For so many artists fail to have their creations recognized in life, but death? Ah, death says that there shall be no more creations to come under Sun and Moon, the catalog is complete and may be inspected as a frozen painting rather than a living work...!"
"...Rarity," Fluttershy softly said from her position at the foot of the bed, where the last of the rejected nightgowns was being carefully rehung, "you're not --"
"-- ponies will come, dearest ones. They shall come to Ponyville for reasons they can't even fathom. They will board the train, step off at our station, not knowing for sure why they are doing it. They will arrive at my shop door as innocent as foals, longing to see the new. 'Of course we won't mind if you have a look around,' you shall tell them. 'She would have wanted you to look.' They shall enter without even thinking about it, for it is time, precious time, which they still have, and art they lack. Oh, ponies will most definitely come..."
Fluttershy sighed, which was the only way the gentlest of her friends would allow the pain to show.
"...Spike? Step outside with me?"
They left her bedroom. Rarity finished adjusting her tail, then rotated her ears (which would normally be so easy to rotate back into their role in her chosen pose, but who knew when her strength would run out?) and tried to hear the final verbal gems dropping from beloved throats.
"She knows it's just a bad cold, right?" Spike asked, for that was the lie they had given him, when they still thought it would be possible to protect him from the pain.
Fluttershy sighed. "...and some muscle aches, temperature spikes, she's sweating a lot... maybe closer to a flu, Spike. Not Rhynorn's, because her field's been fine, even if she's having some trouble getting focused. But the fever is peaking now. It'll probably break overnight, and then she'll start to get better. She doesn't even need the hospital. Not that she'd let us take her..."
Well, of course she hadn't allowed them to move her. A true artist arranged the setting, and the colors of a hospital room...
"So why is she acting like this?" he asked, and she wished she could rub her right foreleg against his scales, one last time.
"Part of it's the fever," Fluttershy gently lied to him. "And the rest is the medicine. It... removes filters."
She imagined his posture and expression were as confused as his voice. "It does what?"
"...you know that point where Rainbow's tail is lashing while she tells Rarity to just cut back on the drama already, and Rarity pulls back just enough to keep from being dunked in the fountain?"
"Well -- yeah."
"...you know exactly where that line is and what happens if she crosses it?"
"...yeah."
"...she doesn't any more."
Silence. The silence of the grave. Rarity supposed she should start getting used to it.
Finally, a spine-crested head peeked around the edge of the doorway.
"Rarity? Do you need anything else?"
"No. Nothing, dearest one. Nothing there is still time for." Should she tell him? No: he knew. The words would only be inadequate in any case. "Please... leave me now. You should not see what is to come, nor should you be the one who finds me in the morning. Let others bring my body out under Sun, for I only wish that you bask in its rays and think of me now and again..."
He rolled his eyes. Such defiance! "We'll see you later."
At the funeral. They would all see her one last time under Sun, and then, in time... "Yes..." She allowed her eyelids to regretfully sag closed, for this was her final vision of her dearest one, and it was time to bring down the curtain. And for her final words... "Later, when there is nothing but time..."
Claws and hooves moved across the hallway floor, down the ramp. Then they were gone. And Rarity waited to die.
She kept waiting.
Well, really, if death was going to be so inconsiderate as to take her early in the first place, it should at least have the common courtesy not to keep a lady waiting.
There was a soft impact against her mattress. Well, now she would have to adjust the ripples again. Rarity forced her right eye to open, just enough.
Opal was staring at her.
"Ah, Opalescence! I know... I know you do not truly understand what is happening, nor the words I will speak to you now. But if only you could understand, you would know that I have planned for this, planned for you. There is a new home waiting. You shall not be neglected, not even for a moment. And if I could only ask you to arrange yourself within the final loop of my tail, using me as your bed..."
The cat's head tilted. Eyes narrowed.
"It would be art, you see -- or do not, as the case sadly happens to be. That your mistresses' body serves as final defense against the world after that fortress has been besieged, collapsed..."
The cat's right paw bapped her snout, and then Opal jumped down before stalking out of sight, for cats only appreciated their own posturings, and Opal was probably rather more concerned with her dinner...
...did Fluttershy feed her?
Of course she did. I can simply... wait. Yes, wait. My will is on file and requires no updating. The last of the Boutique's loan shall be paid to the bank when my assets are sold. Opal's arrangements are in place. My father will do his best not to cry until nopony can see him, my mother will put on a display of such force that merely everypony in attendance will question it, and my sister shall utterly fail to gain a mark in funeral conducting through destroying mine, because I have instructed the others to stop her at all costs. She will simply fling her body across my fallen form and --
-- actually...
...it's going to be my fallen form, isn't it?
And nothing else.
Somehow, she found the strength required for both of her eyes to shoot open.
She had her nightgown: she would be caught dead in precisely the proper colors, draping, and arrangement. Shortly after taking up her Element, she had sat down with her sketchbooks and planned out her funeral in great detail, for unlike some (Rainbow), Rarity truly understood the risks inherent in the missions, and additionally did not trust anypony to work out her taste through forensics. The full process had its marching orders, and was occasionally updated for color trends. The final fate of her useless body -- settled. But...
...my corpse.
It will be undressed.
How did I miss that?
And sadly, the answer came readily: she had not known when she would die, and so had not been able to predict what the fashions would be. Venturing a guess, projecting a variable value into an unknown future... it had felt like setting herself up for disaster, and even if her body would have no longer been capable of feeling embarrassment, she was sure her friends would have been humiliated on her behalf. She had not arranged for a funeral dress because she had possessed no knowledge of which dress might be appropriate.
This could not be allowed to stand.
Rarity mentally sorted through her entire wardrobe. There was time to write a final note, place it under her mane so that when she was moved from her home for the last time...
...no, that one won't work.
Nor will that one.
Or...
...oh dear.
She -- didn't have anything. Not which was suitable. She had only planned for being caught dead once, when the true number was twice, and that meant she had left her fate pressed between the hooves of the funeral director, who would likely save some bits by pulling out a generic, something which went on dozens of ponies before they were displayed and then came right off again, she would have to revive instantly within her final resting place simply so that the humiliation could have its proper effect, and the wait in the waving grasses would be passed while locked in a blush which could never fade...
NO!
"I shall not allow this," Rarity managed to voice. "Death will come, yes, that defeat is inevitable. But it shall only take me. It cannot have my dignity. For I am an artist, and if I truly have any strength remaining, let it be expended on this."
She tried to force herself upright. Her hooves slipped a few times on the silk. Fluttershy had told her that was from the medication. Fluttershy, who loved her enough to lie.
"No, I will do this," she panted as the sweat flowed, soaked the nightgown and created interesting new drape lines. "I am an artist."
Actually -- she had better words, floating in front of her inner vision, shimmering on waves of heat.
"I shall create one last time, and beautifully, before I die," Rarity told the uncaring world. "This shall be my swan sewing."
And with that, she was on her hooves.
She forced herself off the bed, not quite sure how she was going to get back on. Still... out the door, which seemed to be a considerable distance farther away than usual. Then through the hallway and down the ramp, into the Boutique proper -- which really took some work, for her senses didn't seem to know how to deal with the incline. Her hooves threatened to slip, fluid seemed to roar inside her ears, and the entire thing attempted at least three twisting rotations while she was still on it. Ultimately, it was simpler to lie down on belly and barrel, then slowly slide into the crash cushion at the base.
It took more time than she would have liked to reach her sketchbooks, mostly because she needed a few minutes before remembering it was possible to get back up again.
"Now," she whispered to Opal, who was once again taking shelter under a dressmakers' form, "I create."
Her field surrounded the quill on the third attempt. She stared at the blank page. Waited.
"Ah, but no!" she cried. "I am wasting time, Opal, a foolish waste! There are no hours for sketches, or trial gallops, or anything but -- creation! I must simply envision my final work, and then render it not in paper, but in cloth and gem!" Unless... would a paper dress suit? It would certainly make a statement... no, far too easy for it to tear while others attempted to place it on her fallen form. Stick with the basics, at least when it came to materials. "Let me simply... imagine."
She closed her eyes, just for a moment.
And she saw it.
It came to her, complete in a moment, without stages, without trials, without anything except completion. Came to her as if in a fever dream, and left her racing after it...
"Yes," she smiled, and felt so much of her strength ebb away simply from the manifestation of that expression. "I create, Opal, for I am an artist, and they shall all see that when my catalog is complete. To the last, I create..."
Whiskers twitched.
"Stay with me," Rarity whispered. "To the last."
The cat yawned.
And she began.
The fabrics: that took some time, for the instinctive focusing of her field around the object she wished to move was attempting to reach the shadowlands ahead of her. She had to truly push her concentration, and it made bolts dip in unexpected ways, knocking over a few shelving units which she had no time to straighten. Rarity offered silent apology to those who would have to clean up after her, but it could not be helped. There was prioritizing in progress, and the dress was all there was. All there would ever be.
To load the sewing device: more complicated than it should have been. To lay out the stitch lines without chalk, pattern, or thread... it saved precious seconds, becoming even more precious as their count dwindled down to the last few. Something she never would have attempted under normal circumstances, but... she would trust to her talent.
The dress was in her vision. The last dress. It floated, it danced, it hovered just a little away from her forelegs and begged her to give chase. She checked it often, making sure she was following the pattern properly, and if the dress seemed to have changed in the time since the previous glance? Then it meant she had not been looking closely enough.
There seemed to be a surprising number of gems strewn across the floor. She decided not to shout at Opal about playing with them again, because she loved her cat to the last.
The device whirred, and the undertone of humming blocked out any sounds which might have otherwise come from outside. The curtains had been drawn before her friends had departed, on her request: part of creating that proper setting. The entire universe could have just been her and Opal within a lonely shop floating in the void, along with a dress which was slowly being pulled into reality through the final efforts of straining field and hooves.
She would not die alone, for Opal was there, and her friends... she had not wished them to see it. But they were with her in spirit, were they not? Always. Even if she had never...
And then the nevers tried to march through her mind, for they wished to steal the last of her attention and time for their own.
Never discovered. Never truly appreciated.
Her field dimmed. The device slowed.
Never fell in love. Never woke up to see another pony lying beside me.
Threatened to stop, even as the tears threatened to start.
Never children...
...no.
One last favored child.
I am an artist. I create. A final birth.
The soft blue energy brightened. The device accelerated. And she sewed through the night, labor in so many senses, bringing that last vision into the world.
Weary eyes came up, regarded the dress. It seemed -- incomplete. And was that Sun beginning to touch her curtains? Had she reached a concluding dawn in those last minutes, with her labors still unfinished, with something lacking, something about the material and color, as if something had been overlooked, a puzzle she would not be able to solve...
Again, she looked at the dress as it rested near the device. Then at the true, as it hovered just out of her reach. And finally, she saw.
"Ah..." she whispered. "Yes. Yes, Opal... this is the last of me. It has taken the last of me to create. And so the only way to finish it, truly finish all of it... is to give it the last of me."
No strength to reach my bed. Nothing for arranging my form. And yet -- I am glad. For ultimately, is this not more appropriate for me? Setting and position. My friends shall arrive soon, and they will find me with my final child at my side, both illuminated by the first touch of Sun, and know me for who I truly was...
For anypony could put the last of themselves into their magic, if the need was truly there. This was the last sunrise of her life, and so newly-risen Sun would see Generosity give up the last of herself.
She did it.
The blue eyes slowly closed, and did not open again.
After a while, Opal stretched, yawned, crossed the floor, and then curled up into the empty loop left by her mistresses' fallen tail.
They quietly gazed down at the body, draped by a nightgown which had begun to dry out under the rays of Sun which came through recently-opened curtains. At the beautiful head, chin resting on the edge of her most favored sewing device. The closed eyes.
Fluttershy slowly, silently pulled her foreleg away from the white coat.
"...her fever's broken," she whispered.
They all watched Rarity's rib cage expand and contract for a while.
"So what do we do now?" Rainbow asked, forcing her volume to stay low.
"I think we've got to clean up," Spike whispered. "All these gem trays, and fabric all over the place... she shouldn't have to see that. Fluttershy can feed Opal, and Twilight can levitate Rarity back to her bedroom."
"I can't," Twilight softly stated. "Not yet." And looked at the dress.
The others followed suit. There was a certain inevitability to the process, which also described the reluctance.
"Oh," Applejack quietly groaned. "That. What are we gonna do with... that?"
"We burn it," Pinkie immediately stated.
"Um... that seems a little -- extreme, Pinkie. Ah know what Ah'm lookin' at, but still... Y'really think so?"
A moment of consideration. "Kill it. With fire. It's the only way to be sure."
Twilight nodded. "If she shouldn't have to see the Boutique like this... then she shouldn't have to see that. Ever. But we still can't do it yet, any more than I can bring her upstairs. Not until..."
They all looked again. And Spike sighed.
"How does anypony sew their own mane into the hock line?"
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<clicks story link expecting a quick read>
...well, then.
Best get cracking.
7427859
Two of them are quick reads. And they're all stand-alones, so if someone really wanted to, they could just stick with their favorite character and not miss out.
7427876
Oh, no, Imma read all of it. Sleep is for the weak.
7427888
...right. So you won't sleep. Which will make you weak. And vulnerable. So then you'll get sick. And as you gently empty the contents of your stomach into the decorative MLP wastebasket, the scroll will appear before you as if in a hallucination, carrying the words THE LESSON WAS RIGHT THERE @#$% IT.
Good luck with that.
Oh Rarity, your melodrama is so entertaining, and surprisingly poignant. The Nevers, huh? Well, luckily, you didn't die and get actually buried with that dress. That might have forced ponies to reconsider putting you in a museum. Then again... they forced Celestia to keep the tapestry, didn't they?
7427979
For the record, it is currently about two hours after I meant to go to sleep tonight.
In any case, a wonderful, sweeping example of marshmelodrama. I dare not even imagine that fevered creation. Also, just how long were you sitting on that pun?
A magnificent collection through and through. Thank you for it. Here's hoping I don't contract something in my need to read all of it.
It's not the cough that carries you off.
It's the coffin they carry you off in.
7428705 I think Rarity sewed part of her mane that was still attached in
7429777 Hock line? I don't sew , so I know she is sewn in her dress. But what's a hock line?
7430007 if I had to guess it'd be the pony equivalent of a hemline
Read this while still recovering from a bugger of a throat infection, quite apt.
You really have a knack for writing Rarity; while they were all fun (especially poor Spikes' chapter), this final one really shines. I can actually *hear* Tabitha St Germain voicing this crazed inner monologue, so very well done you!
I hope you had fun writing delusional, unfiltered Rarity, because I sure did have fun reading it!
7428546
As opposed to what I contracted through putting in too many hours to write it.
I'm going to guess you mean "swan sewing"? Pretty much since the original story concept, as the words are in the blog post. But other things basically showed up in this group of seven as they were being written, and the biggest spontaneous appearance might have been Phalae. I knew I needed a witness which wasn't one of the Flower Trio, to create a little possible credibility. But to have that witness turn into the Fourth Of The Three Panicteers? That just appeared on the screen, as did the bit which my subconscious may or may not have been sitting on for a while: that with so many ponies in town openly referring to Twilight and Spike as sister and brother, eventually, somepony was going to see Spike first and decide that meant there was a full family of dragons.
Well, she does have a certain way of burning with anger.
It's my first time coming across the word.
The search engine image results are about what you'd expect.
7430007
7430021
The hock is the joint on a horse's hind legs which forms the equivalent to the human ankle. So in this case, we'd be looking at the back drape of the dress.
Okay. So I finished reading this whole work, and it definitely wasn't what I was expecting. From the premise I was expecting something more along the lines of the mane six taking care of one another, and how they dealt with being sick and generally miserable. I was expecting cuteness with ponies curling up with other ponies to make them feel better as they suffered from the chills that went with a fever, or holding one another through the aching joints that accompanied the flu. Or even being the ultimate friend by handling puke bucket duty. This... this was way different than anything I anticipated encountering.
Bravo, a wonderful anthology. I loved how you tied all these excellent one shots together with a strong theme, and kept all the ponies strongly in-character and had thier personalities really drive the plots in every case.
7432507
The translation is bull droppings. And locally, from this point forward, Greek will be used for Minotaurus, as Latin is utilized for Griffonant.
7432460
I mistook those as meaning it was possible there were chronic or permanent cases.
And I agree on how she was written, like I said part of me understands her side of the argument. The other part thinks she's a terrible friend for taking her anger at certain other unicorns out on her friend who's never treated her like she was a mud pony.
7432547
Applejack is subconsciously, double-meaning venting because Twilight can be fully public with her magic and Applejack can't.
Explaining in more detail than that takes a while and some background material.
7432570 So it's an AU? Figures, I usually pride myself on reading the whole description, I missed that part cause I was so tired last night.
Well, that's one way of putting yourself into your work...
7433288 Hmm, true. Maybe when she gets better she could try doing that. After thanking them for at least trying to help.
...Yeah, this is how I would expect Rarity to react to getting a fever.
(Reads the long awaited Rarity chapter)
...
Yep. That's both what I was expecting if Rarity ever gets sick and even better than I imagined.
Pinkie. that was magnificent, and coming from you, it perfectly sums up the horror that is the dress.
To me, this is the funniest chapter out of the bunch, and it would qualify as a comedy on its own. Better yet, this was humor that was actually pretty good, and I was smiling and occasionally laughing all the way through. And that ending is oh so perfect.
This was a most enjoyable series, and I truly like how well you describe the each issue the ponies run into, I would honestly be keen to read more about others, heck even how you'd see Luna or Celestia putting up a front to show they are just fine even though they are sick.
This was, I think, the best chapter - in a story of good chapters.
I liked everything, from Rarity's unfiltered crazy, so Spike's tired but game-endurance (and, my-oh-my, from that unfiltered dialogue, you might have a chance, me ol' mucker, in this Continuum (something I greatly appreciate, personally)) to the dawning, unspoken horror that was the final dress... Like a car-crash in slow motion, I could see it coming, but it didn't make it any less funny at the end.
7428546
7427888
I feel your pain.
Estee, this was a heck of a journey. Sad & sweet, though I knew it complete. Mystical? Maybe. Spiritual? Sleep will clear my view. You're too crazy. Thank you for writing, thank you for this.
Anyone who has woken up in the middle of the night with the MOST MAGNIFICENT IDEA EVER, written it hastily down, and fallen asleep again, knows what's going on with Rarity's dressbomination.
Wonderful job capturing her at her most melodramatic, too.
To summarise my opinion of your work... Blithering idiots. You are brilliant at writing about blithering idiots. You can write any character as a blithering idiot and make it work, as you acknowledge the universal truth that at the core of every sentient being is a blithering idiot trying to get out. I can draw parallels to Jeffrey Archer in that. Not his literature, him, he's a blithering idiot. Of course, none of your characters have yet claimed that they were the youngest viceroy of India ever to win gold in the Olympic long jump, so they're not quite as bad as Archer.
7542755
>How different are they, content-wise?
I'd say the adventure nature of the main fic makes it a bit darker, especially with the descriptions of what the mystery pony is going thru. Not dark as I edgy, just not as light as the shorts tend to be (even the sad ones). The wordy style of writing and lots of world building are pretty much the same I'd say.
But the the main story is my fav of the works so I'm biased.
I'm finding myself rather fond of drama-princess Rarity.
She's got such a way with words.
I think I'd like to see her another time.
7977016 Fluttershy's prepping is just the bear necessities.
No-hold-barred-drama Rarity is officially the best pony,
7432460 Sunset Shimmer exists in The verse?
I had to let that thought sink in for a couple of minutes.... she is locked up in chains somewhere deep under Canterlot, isn't she?
8047054 I would totally read that!
8133866 Not a very convincing argument. "Rainbow thinks rescheduling is for wimps" would've worked better :)
This was just perfect.
...can't quite get past Rarity thinking of Spike as "her dearest one", though.
I reviewed these stories as part of Read It Later Reviews #78.
My reviews can be found here.
A good story, and a good compilation overall. We'll worth the read.
Once error, though: in this story, you've referred to Rarity as "mistresses" twice. Unless Rarity has a split personality, that's a typo.
I totally see Rarity beine this bad if she thought she was dying. But the real funny bit was how little Opal cared for Raritys melodrama.
8607404
They're built for it biologically, though, so I doubt there would be long-term physical effects. One of the neat parts of Estee's world-building is that Estee seems to have taken the premise that all ponies really are as neurotic as they're depicted in the show, but managed to build a functioning society anyways. The consequences get interesting ("Barnyard Barge-Ins" and "Luna's Lottery Lunacy" explore herd mentality, for instance).
8778265 TMMDW?
8778925
The Mysterious Mare Do Well.
Funny yet poignant.