• Published 19th Apr 2019
  • 666 Views, 54 Comments

Dat's Our Ragamuffin! - PresentPerfect



Oh, that zany Ragamuffin! What hilariously inappropriate thing will he stick in his mouth next?

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Three

Dat's Our Ragamuffin!
by Present Perfect

Three

"Aaaand... there!"

Rarity sat back in her chair, wiping a delicate bead of perspiration from her brow. Ladies, after all, did not sweat.

Regardless, all of her toil had been worth it. At last, she had brought this dress from design to fruition, from concept to finished product! It was her magnum opus, her pièce de résistance, and from it would spring the fashion empire she knew was rightfully hers.

Every stitch was hand-sewn. Every sequin, painstakingly placed with tweezers and head lamp. Every ruffle had been arranged just so, every ribbon cut to exacting angles. It was absolute perfection in dress form.

And why?

Because she had gotten there far sooner than she had a right to. And it was all Princess Twilight Sparkle's fault.

Well, no, no, it wasn't Twilight's fault in the least. Twilight had only been the bearer of bad news, after all, and a lady did not shoot the messenger. Twilight had merely expressed offhanded dismay at Rarity's lack of financial independence from her parents and conquest of the fashion market in this world, heedless of the expectations of human family and school.

Nevermind she had to save the world from Equestrian magic every other month. Nevermind she was actually performing well above where a girl her age should be in the "able to run a successful design business while also attending high school" department.

Knowing that her pony-world counterpart had not one but three successful fashion boutiques in as many cities had been the heaviest onus under which she had to work.

But now, things would be different. Now, Rarity, the human Rarity, would take her rightful place in the fashion industry, in this dimension or any other!

She didn't realize she was cackling like a madwoman until her phone buzzed with a text message. Rarity reached for her phone, but it wasn't there.

Confused, she turned around, only to see it dangling, drool-soaked, out of the mouth of a familiar orange-skinned boy. Noticing her looking at him, he popped the phone out of his mouth with a goofy grin.

"Dat's real foive gee cuv'rige, dat is!" he declared.

Rarity was, in a word, confused. Things with Ragamuffin during the cruise hadn't exactly worked out, and the last thing he'd said to her had left with quite a lot to wonder about. She had chalked him up to a fateful summer fling that was fated never to be, a replacement for the things Applejack made her feel that she absolutely did not wish to confront. But seeing him again sent a flutter of twitterpated palpitations through her bloodstream, feelings she wasn't exactly prepared to face again.

Especially since he was still drooling.

"Darling," she said, finding her voice at last, "are you quite all right?"

"Oi'm Ragamuffin!" he said.

"Yes. I know." Rarity frowned. "We met this summer."

There was a long silence.

"Would it be too much to ask for you to hand me my phone back?"

"Oi'm Ragamuffin!"

That palpitation suddenly felt a lot less twitterpated.

"I know, darling. Give me my phone!"

The boy cocked his hips jauntily, pointing a thumb under his chin. "Oi'm Ragamuffin!"

"Oh for the love of--" Channelling energy into her hair clip, Rarity formed a large crystal shield in front of her and with it, pushed Ragamuffin brusquely out her front door. She caught the cell phone in her hand. It was wet.

"Of all the nerve!" she huffed, wiping the phone on a nearby towel. "Stupid palpitations... I may as well just call Applejack."