Part I
When Rarity catches her reflection in the glass, she decides she’ll simply pretend she meant to look like she woke up at six in the morning and refused to get out of bed until eight.
At least she wears it well.
“Ah, I see you’ve noticed my display shelf.” He gestures to them and smiles fondly. “Yes, some of these date back to the days when I was a young and inexperienced fisherman’s son.”
Rarity smiles at her manager a little too widely – cheerful and charismatic and eager to callously cutaway any weak link at the drop of a hat for pocket change; all the things you want in a manager, naturally – and shuts down the urge to mention the most recent date on the shelf is ten years ago. “How lovely.”
“Yes, lovely indeed. Now – “ he sits back in his chair and nods to Rarity to do the same “ – yes, Rarity, how have you been?”
“Oh, quite well, actually,” Rarity says easily, as she would have if she wasn’t just retweeting every post remotely about wanting to throw herself out of an office window.
“Good, good. Well, we really do appreciate you here. You and your – “ he takes a long sip of coffee and indiscreetly reads off his computer screen – “General Administration Internship with us.”
Which is the official name, but Rarity affectionately calls it House-Keeping for Hell.
“But there is something I wanted to bring up with you in regards to our social media.”
At first, Rarity is hopeful that her talents may finally have been recognised and they may be upgrading her to a tasteful PR position – then she remembers there is no hope when being an intern, so she immediately assumes the worst.
Which is probably the company finding all the discourteous and perhaps worrying-of-her-mental-state-in-some-light posts she’s shared that are hardly complimenting of the company, or any company by nature.
“Oh, I wouldn’t put too much stock in such things,” she titters, waving her hand in a circle, “as you know, it’s an utterly completely unreliable broadcast of…such things.”
He frowns at her in such a plain way it isn’t even a change in expression. “Oh, we do take into consideration these things. Change with the times, as it were.”
“As it were indeed,” Rarity echoes. She’s so getting fired, she thinks, and she certainly and suddenly cares a lot more about the job than she did a few minutes ago.
Maybe he didn’t find her backup account, and he’s just noticed all her public photos of her being twenty and single and thinks she could stand to be given a chance at moving up in life.
Or maybe she shouldn’t be using the corporate Wi-Fi to complain about the corporate Wi-Fi.
Rarity just wants to throw herself out of a window and into her bed. Is that too much to ask?
“Can you confirm you know a person by the name of Sweetie Belle?” he asks her.
“Yes?” is Rarity’s automatic response. She certainly knows Sweetie Belle, and the company would too if they had found her throwaway account and its second most common object of criticism. “She’s my sister, that is.”
Her manager nods. “Ah, yes, well, that would explain a few things. You see – “ with more difficulty than necessary, he swivels his computer screen to her “ – recently, our Head of Social has found a number of comments submitted under some of our, ah, posts. Such as – where is it? Yes, here.”
He points her to a comment by a Sweetie Belle indeed, reading: ‘Wow nice pic u noe who’s nice rarity give her a promotion!!1!’
Rarity clicks her tongue, and unceremoniously follows with, “Uhh, well. That.”
“Yes, indeed. And such as…”
With a difficulty that is a struggle for Rarity to watch, the manager navigates through a number of company posts and shows Rarity a variety of comments made by Sweetie Belle, all in the same vein – from ‘hey is a girl named rarity working there? cuz she’s amaze balls give her a raise lol’, to, more creatively, ‘I’m a huge Sponsor and I hope my tax dollers are going to hard workers like that one girl named rarity’.
Rarity wants to rot away in her seat like her childhood dreams. She’s sure Sweetie’s heart is in the right place – she tells her manager as much, laughingly – but, like most of the things Sweetie has done her whole life, it’s biting Rarity in the arse.
“It seems you are quite popular,” the manager jokes as he shrinks the web browser instead of closing it.
Well that’s just an unfair way to word it, because Rarity’s always thought she was going to be truly popular; something just never got to working itself out right. She giggles anyway, because, well, there isn’t much else she can do when she’s embarrassed and bothered by it.
Her manager seems amused, at least. He takes a hearty sip from the thermos on his desk. “Yes, she does seem like the spirited type – I can see where she gets it from.”
He takes his time explaining to Rarity that, while it is charming, Sweetie’s actions cannot be allowed to continue on the basis that it is simply not professional or fair to the rest of the staff, and she understands, of course, doesn’t she?
She does, probably. There’s a lesson to be learned here, that much she gathers.
Except Rarity’s not in school anymore, and she certainly didn’t graduate three times just to feel like she’s sitting in the principal’s office for something her sister harmlessly did, because –
Well, that’s a narrative that goes nowhere helpful. She’s not a student, even if she complains like one.
Besides, should Rarity really be all that bothered by what her manager says if half of it is just a reiteration of “Yes, well”? Its silly is what it is. Mildly pestering, but no matter.
By the time she’s politely dismissed and is making her way out of his office, Rarity’s mostly just disappointed that Sweetie is using her full name online. She can’t tell who’s less technically inclined: her manager or her sister.
Honestly, it’s hardly even eleven and she’s already felt like she’s gone through the five stages of grief today. And in place of counselling – oh, if she can be respectfully berated on company time, she can post her feelings on it as well.
“I’m so broke,” Rarity sighs lowly, lifting her cup to her lips.
“Yeah,” Rainbow sighs as well, “which is why you pay ten bucks for a cup of coffee.”
Rarity lowers her drink – she paid good money for this, she won’t take a sip if it’s going to be ruined by Rainbow’s sarcasm. “Hey. I require reward and enjoyment in my life despite – in spite – of the way it brings me down.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. And – well, you’re drinking it too, dear kettle.”
Rainbow looks over her coffee at Rarity, then takes a long draught. Rarity levels her with a stare as the background music of the café plays a disingenuously happy tune.
Finally, Rainbow puts her cup down. “Ah, you got me. Same way you got me hooked onto this crap.”
“Oh, you know me: convincing, like a siren.”
“I don’t need you to tell me I wanna smash my head into a bunch of rocks,” Rainbow scoffs.
“Moi aucci.” Rarity takes a sip of her coffee – she can be sad and addicted. “Do you know what they had me do yesterday? Wash dishes! The sign in the kitchen says people are supposed to wash any dish they use, so why must I clean up after adults who can’t read signs?”
Rainbow’s phone buzzes, and she picks it up as she says, “Now you know how I feel when you can’t read signs and I have to clean up after you, heh.”
“I am not so uncouth.”
“No, but you’re single,” Rainbow says, typing away absently. “Remember Thunder Lane?”
Rarity lifts her nose and lets out a choked ugh. “Firstly, that’s not even related, why would you bring that up – but since we’re on the topic: he acted so interested! Those weren’t signs, they were neon lights in a dark room.”
Rainbow puts her phone down and shrugs in a casual way that makes Rarity feel almost jealous. “Man, whatever. Just don’t do it with any of your work buddies, ‘cause I can’t help you there. Well, I can. I just don’t wanna.”
“As if.” Rarity props her elbow on the table and leans her face into it. She wonders if she feels stiff or just tired. “Everyone is either too old or already has a girlfriend.”
“Man, it’s like people have it figured out by that age, huh?”
Smug for someone who’s never shot their shot, but instead Rarity says, “Oh, shut up. Where am I supposed to meet potential? I’ve had the same friends since high school.”
“No. You have less,” Rainbow tells her helpfully.
And she has a point, but it’s a two-sided arrow; it’s why it’s only the two of them are sitting in the same café they’ve frequented for years.
Rarity isn’t complaining – not anymore, not about that, at least. The others eventually got busy when they moved out to chase a dream college or job or person – which is in no way a bad thing whatsoever – whereas Rainbow slept through and missed the memo, and Rarity put down her head to focus on a self-imposed workload, and by the time she lifted it back up, she realised the moment passed.
And yet she still doesn’t have enough money. But of course.
Rarity pushes at Rainbow’s hand from across the table. “Kettle, kettle.”
“Hey, I was talking to Applejack just the other day!”
“The other day a year ago?”
“No – like, the other day I sent her a meme. But she didn’t understand and she, like, went off or whatever.” Rainbow frowns, and the way she shrugs makes her look shorter somehow. “Meh. Not my fault she’s not up with the times.”
Rarity is about to comment on how only she understands Rainbow’s sense of humour – if only because she’s been exposed to it to radioactively dangerous degrees – but then remembers somethings and taps the table like she’s trying to get its attention. “Do you know what happened at work the other day?!”
“The dudes made you wash dishes and got themselves babes?”
“Not that! My manager called me into his office – “
“Ooh.”
“ – and he showed me the company’s social media pages – “
“Oh, boring.”
“ – and it is just filled with comments by Sweetie about how great I am – which is true, but also not appropriate work comments!”
Rainbow slouches in her chair and throws a hand casually. “What are you even supposed to comment on a company’s post?”
“I do not know, but I do know my own sister shouldn’t be actively embarrassing me on it!”
“But, like,” Rainbow shrugs, “she’s pimping you out. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
There was devil-may-care, and then there was Dash-may-dare. “Not on my company’s social media page!”
“Ugh, you’re so picky.” Rainbow picks up her phone again and swipes through it in pure muscle-memory. “Why didn’t you just say you don’t know her? There are loads of Sweeties out there and at least one of them, like, follow recruiter companies and support intern chicks, prob’ly.”
Rarity lets out a breath and twirls a curl between her fingers; maybe a haircut would do her some good. “Sweetie isn’t that common of a name. I only had one in all my years of college.”
“Seriously? I knew like twenty. But hey – aren’t you supposed to be more attentive or whatever with people who are named Sweetie? ‘Cause, like, you have a sister with the name so it pops out more or somethin’ to you?”
“Umm,” Rarity starts. She’s studied this, she thinks – for once something she learned can come in handy. “I think you are referring to your own name. It’s called, erm…”
“No. Yeah, no, like…”
Rarity snaps her fingers. “Cocktail Party Effect!”
Rainbow snaps back at her. “Yeah! No – wait. That’s your own name. But there’s another one that makes something seem more common after pay attention to it once.”
“No,” Rarity says, because at least she can have this one, right?
True to her wont, Rainbow shrugs. “Eh, maybe. Sure. I ain’t a psych major.”
“You don’t even know what major you are.”
“I’m a major deal.”
“A major pain.”
“A major minor.”
“That’s illegal.”
Rainbow shrugs again – its basically exercise for her shoulders at this point – and downs the rest of her coffee. She sighs contentedly, and after a pause says: “I knew like three Raritys in second year.”
“Really?” She wants to believe it’s a rare name because, well, its in the name. It’s the sort of thing that could be ruined by too many bad people – like a gold rush, at least in the way Rarity understands those work.
Rainbow continues, “Yeah. Like, remember my one second cousin’s friend’s crazy ex-sister-in-law I told you about? The one who would write poems out of Sapphire Shores lyrics and act like they were her own and weren’t, like, already super well-known and all.”
“Oh,” Rarity hums, disappointed. Forget too many people; one bad egg ruins the market. Maybe she can blame still being single on that.
“I know, weird person. She was also the weird kid in school and ate grass, but she’s like, a crazy rich makeup…maker? And only twenty-two.” Rainbow nods to herself. “Her name was, uhh – oh yeah! Sierra Rarity.”
Great, thinks Rarity bitterly, she’s richer and has a better name – or not, if Rarity embraces the minimalism of her name. “Too many syllables. Its so ninety-thirties tacky.”
“Well at least she’s not as poor and depressed as the dirty thirties.”
Rarity flicks her hand and knocks over Rainbow’s empty cup. “I hate you.”
“Yup,” Rainbow agrees smugly. “Just like you hate your job – and still you’ll never leave us.”
Rarity glares at his every non-dish-washing move venomously.
When Soarin turns around – she only knows his name in passing. it could be something else entirely for all she knows – he nods at her and says something, probably ‘hey’ but doesn’t bother to say it wholly, as he takes a sip from his cup.
Rarity does the exact same, except hers is more graceful, of course.
…well, at least she’s not leaving spoons in the sink.
Someone else walks in – tall and lanky with bangs that would have complimented his face so much if he only knew basic hair maintenance – greets Soarin and start small talk as if Rarity isn’t secretly glaring at them.
Maybe she and Soarin could have been friends, under different circumstances: he seems personable and approachable in a way Rarity hardly sees anymore, and she imagines that if they became work-friends, more people would sort of just drift and render the friend-making process a great deal easier.
Or, that’s how she imagines these things happen. She doesn’t quite have the experience to infer from. Work-experience-wise, she’s always been self-employed, the town’s personal teenage tailor; outside of that, it was easy to make friends when you had a few around you. Maybe it gave of the impression that she was amiable and not needy.
Easy come, easy go, she supposes. Easier to be with people than it is to keep up.
Easier to walk away from something that reminds you of a feeling you can’t quite or won’t quite recognise than to silently judge people for making her job harder.
Rarity can reward herself with window shopping, at least. And Rainbow Dash can have enough resistance to make it feel like she isn’t indulging too much.
“This cup looks like Fluttershy,” Rainbow says, picking up a butterfly-stamped mug.
Rarity doesn’t see it – Fluttershy is more of a bunny type – but offers to buy it anyway, maybe ship it out to her city out East.
After a moment, Rainbow simply says, “Nah,” and carries on.
Rarity doesn’t press it – “Suit yourself, sweetheart.” – but she does snap a photo of the mug and sends it over to Fluttershy. “We’re thinking of you,” she adds in the caption. “Hope to see you soon!”
Oh, doesn’t she know it.
As Rainbow has said: sewing and designing clothes is a pioneer’s sport. It was a comment that Rarity’s loudly had to convince her friends otherwise, but it held one truth that she doesn’t see the merit in admitting aloud: it isn’t cardio.
So why does it feel so tiring to do?
Rather, now it does – or, maybe before she had more energy. Rarity’s growing old, isn’t she? Some days, she can’t even leave the radio on without feeling fed up with the noise.
But then, when she can’t find anything she wants to listen to and turns the music off, the silence creeps at her with a tension that waits to be broken.
It’s a headache, mostly, she presumes. On those days, she’ll maybe wait for Rainbow to call or for Sweetie Belle to come in and, well, do what Sweetie does. Rarity will even offer to help in the kitchen if it gets her out of her room.
But honestly, doesn’t the same apply to work? Some days, work is so wearying – not physically challenging, but mindfully exhausting – that when she comes back home and has 5 hours before she usually drops in bed for 3 hours awake until she falls asleep, she’s not sure how the day passes her when she’s done nothing at all.
“Thanks,” Rainbow says as she takes the mug out of Rarity’s hand by its body. “Ah crap, hot.”
“Hot hot chocolate,” Rarity hums as she sidles up beside Rainbow Dash and pulls the blanket over her legs. “Who’d have thought.”
Rainbow kicks her lightly, and Rarity seriously reconsiders sharing a blanket with her and her cold cold feet. Though she lets it slide considering its Rainbow’s laptop their watching Rarity’s choice of movie on.
“Subtitles or nah?” Rainbow asks, then follows up with her own, “Nah.”
“I want subtitles.”
“I want beer. Use your ears.”
“You got hot chocolate. Read, hun.”
Rainbow tosses her head up. “Ugh, fine.” She hits the trackpad with more attitude than necessary. “Can’t believe we’re spending New Year’s watching High School Musical 2 – again.”
Well, it could be worse; they could be spending it alone again, the same way they spent it three years ago. “You know, if you play Light the Skies by Countess Coloratura at eleven-fifty-five and twelve seconds on New Year’s Eve, the first ‘Light ‘em up-up-up’ will play exactly at midnight.”
“Yeah? You know, they say if you play that at eleven-fifty-nine and twelve seconds on New Year’s Eve, you can hear me chuck your phone out the window at exactly midnight.”
Rarity nudges Rainbow with her shoulder. “Oh, lighten up, darling. Remember that summer we were in the car– ”
“Yeah,” Rainbow groans, though not rudely, “and that song was played on every radio channel every ten minutes. And AJ made us listen to the whole thing it every time ‘cause they’re, like, childhood friends and neither have any taste in music.”
It was probably one of the best road trips they went on as a group – and, the more Rarity thinks of it, which she wants to do less now, the more she thinks it might probably have been the last group road trip they had gone on, and at the time they were none the wiser. But of course.
“I bet AJ doesn’t even keep up with her.”
“Oh, hush now. You always talk about Applejack around me.” Rarity curls up against Rainbow Dash and rests her head on her shoulder. “Let’s watch our movie now.”
“If we’re gonna have a movie, it ain’t gon’ be a sequel,” Rainbow mutters as she hits the spacebar.
If Rarity’s honest, the movie is far too bright and loud for the lights-out room, and the only reason they watched it last year was because neither of them ever had and were bored out of their minds.
Though, that could be why Rarity keeps losing focus on the movie – her eyes fall on oddly shaped objects that she doesn’t recognise in the dark, or on the mug in her hands that she can’t remember whether it was Applejack or Pinkie Pie whom gifted it to her.
Sometimes, she looks over at Rainbow Dash, who is looking over at her phone a lot for someone who has no one to talk to.
Suddenly, light spills out of the thrown-open door and Sweetie’s voice screams out: “Rarity! Mom asks if you guys want more hot chocolate and if you do then to come down and get some because she thinks I’m going to spill and get one for Rainbow Dash too!”
“Oh my God, Sweetie!” Rarity lifts her head and shouts back. “Go away!”
Sweetie Belle stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Well Mom asks if you want hot chocolate!”
“No. Now go– ”
“What movie are you watching? Can I watch too?!”
Rarity stands as much as she can without leaving her comfortable space – which means she just turns her head a bit more. “No, go downstairs!”
“No fair!” Sweetie stomps her foot and huffs. “Apple Bloom is spending New Year’s with her family and Scootaloo bailed because Apple Bloom bailed and I don’t wanna spend New Year’s with Mom and Dad!”
“Well they don’t want to spend it with you, either!”
“Rarity!”
“Sweetie Belle!”
“Oh, hey Sweetie Belle,” Rainbow says suddenly, and Rarity can see clearly in her mind’s eye the way Rainbow must have just looked up from her phone and started paying attention without really paying any attention whatsoever. “Come on in, the blanket’s warm.”
“Yay!” Sweetie takes the invitation without so much as blinking, shutting the door and jumping right in beside Rarity.
As Rainbow and Rarity scoot over to make more room, Rarity gives Rainbow the most sardonic look she can muster. Rainbow shrugs as she puts the laptop on Rarity’s lap.
“Chin up, Rares.” Then, when Rarity continues to look unamused, Rainbow adds, “C’mon, Sweetie’s chill. ‘Sides, New Year’s alone sucks balls.”
“It does!” Sweetie agrees from Rarity’s other side.
Rarity wants to reproach them both on the language, but her feet are cozy under the blanket and Sweetie is pressing herself to Rarity’s side, and the glow of the laptop screen against Rainbow’s face is catching that laidback expression of hers that makes Rarity want to feel that easygoing.
So instead, Rarity wraps an arm around Sweetie Belle and leans into Rainbow Dash, hits the spacebar to start the movie, and watches without really watching.
Less than a minute later Rainbow perks up with a, “Hey, do we have any more hot chocolate?”
“Oh yeah!” Sweetie chirps, then throws the blanket off all of them and bounds out of the room. Her booming footsteps make it all the way downstairs and across the floor before they come all the way back to Rarity’s door. “I forgot, Mom says you have to carry the hot chocolate.”
“Ugh.”
Rarity gets up – all coziness was lost when the blanket was – and as she’s squinting her way to the hallway she hears Sweetie say, “Hey, can we turn off the subtitles? It’s just High School Musical.”
After two trips – Sweetie also forgot she wants hot chocolate, too – and finally settling down, they play the movie but, as appears to be the pattern, never really watch it: Sweetie starts singing, and Rainbow comments on how she sounds a lot like Rarity, which is absolutely wrong because Rarity is a contralto and Sweetie Belle is a teenager.
It quickly devolves into an evening of singing competitions that has no real structure, much like Rarity’s work life.
They eventually get carried away and start singing whatever comes to mind and mouth, so that at exactly midnight they’re screaming poorly remembered Dazzling songs, fully harmonised and entirely off-key.
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But, doesn't Rarity live in a city?
I'll probably—certainly—leave a longer comment once this has finished. For now, it will hopefully suffice for me to say that I find your work absolutely inspiring in its quality and attention to the nuances of post-adolescent life.
Thanks for writing and sharing it.
I initially thought this would have been about humanized ponies, since I saw the character tags first (and they're the ones for the pony counterparts).
They're like flotsam adrift in the sea of time, desperately clinging to each other lest they find themselves truly alone. And then there's Sweetie Belle, the worst buoy in all the world. Life really is suffering.
Jesus, I need a drink