Tales from the Conversion Bureau: The Last Bastion

by Sachiel

Generosity

Kinshasa, United Republic of Congo, Some Years Ago

Dikembe Mbandi stood on the busy street outside a small building in central Kinshasa, now the capital of the unified Congolese state. The building was a strange one, looking like a giant multi tier wedding cake made of stone, glass and concrete, the outside painted white with purple and blue accents. From the top hung the flag of the united republic and another with six purple, yellow, blue, red, green and pink gems arrayed around a six-pointed magenta star on a dark background. The sign hung above the door read: Kinshasa Carousel

He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, yes, this was the address he'd been given, nothing else for it, he straightened his tie and brushed some lint from his blazer, a sapeur should always look elegant for an introduction. As he went to the door Dikembe noticed the intricate carvings on it, diamonds interspersed with apples, balloons, lightning bolts, butterflies and stars. The knocker itself was a chain of the latter five symbols set in bright brass below a window of blue glass, the pane cut in the shape of three diamonds

He was so engrossed in it he almost forgot to push it open, a bell rang out as he stepped inside, how quaint. The interior looked more like an old fashioned boutique in Paris or London than somewhere in downtown Kinshasa. A young lady manned the register, he gave her a smooth smile, ever the gentleman

“Good afternoon and welcome to Kinshasa Carousel Boutique, where everything is sleek, chique and magnifique” a chipper, eloquent voice rang out, Dikembe looked to the young woman manning the register who motioned with her head towards the back room. Then he heard the sound of hooves on the floorboards and a pony trotted out to greet him. She was sporting a white coat, a perfectly coiffed purple mane streaked with silvery grey and deep sapphire blue eyes. But Dikembe's interest was drawn to her attire, the pony was sporting a stunning pale grey gown with maroon and pink trim, a maroon bow crossed the front and the high neck was trimmed with pink

“Is...is that a Valentino?”

“Afraid not darling, it's my own take on the great designers style, I added in a few flares of my own mind you” she stopped in front of him and cocked her head to one side “I take it those are Camps de Luca, Artling, Dormeuil and Heschung?” she asked, pointing to his blazer, shirt, trousers and shoes in turn

“Blazer's the real thing, the rest are Congo-side replicas, you have quite an eye miss...”

“Rarity darling and you have good taste yourself mister...?” he bowed, bending his knee and sweeping his hand out, one never missed out on a chance for theatre

“Mbandi, Dikembe 'Pointe' Mbandi” the old mare felt a smile rise to her face, it was always nice to meet a gentleman, she pulled at her dress with her magic and dipped low in a curtsey to return the favour

“A pleasure Mister Mbandi, now what brings you here?” he took off his blazer and showed her the inside, there was a gash in the lining and the stitching was strained in several places

“I was hoping you could take a look at this, I heard from a friend that you do good work”

“You heard right Mister Mbandi, please follow me and I'll take a look right away” she turned to the cashier “Gloria please mind the front for me” the girl nodded and Dikembe followed the pony into the back

As he entered the back room Dikembe followed the pony past mannequins sporting elegant and stylish attire, clothes racks with more of the same, bolts of fabric arrayed in neat rows, corkboards filled with designs and a chest filled with gemstones. Since the ponies came over and everyone learned that they could grow and nurture gems within rocks their value plummeted. It ended up being a boon to many, shutting down illegal mines and the black market dried up almost overnight. There wasn't much point in trafficking something that had gone from being worth thousands a stone to being worth pennies a pound

Rarity stopped in front of a large desk next to a set of dress mirrors, it felt like he'd stepped back in time as he slipped his blazer off and handed it to her. She summoned a pair of red framed glasses over and inspected the jacket in detail

“An amazing piece, it must be over fifty years old”
“Sixty actually, it was on the last freighter that left Marseilles before the barrier cut off Europe”
“How did you manage to find it?”
“It belonged to my grandfather” Dikembe replied “he had it shipped over specially, he was just a mechanic so it cost him nearly his entire months paycheck but he always said it was worth it. His last chance to get genuine Parisian fashion, how could he say no?”
“Indeed, I take it he was a sapeur like yourself?”
“Yeah, I idolized him growing up, he met my grandma when he was wearing that blazer, she said it made him stand out from the others at the club, gave him ambience”

“Such a rich history!” she peered closer “and I see it's been touched up before”
“Yes my grandma did it, she used to help look after his designer clothes, she even added her own touches to them”
“And he didn't mind?”
“Not at all, he said it turned them from designer wear to true couture, true style and elegance made just for him”
“He sounds like a lucky man”
“He was”
“Oh I'm sorry darling”
“It's fine, he left me his entire wardrobe, most of it's out of style now but that blazer is the one thing I'll always wear when I go to the clubs and show my style, for him”
“I know what you mean” Rarity replied as she glanced to the roof

Rarity made smalltalk as she worked on the blazer with the sewing machine on the desk, both telling each other things about themselves. She'd come from Europe to Africa on the same freighter that brought the blazer. He worked in the Ministry of Resettlement, handling the refugees who'd fled to the Congo ahead of the barrier and helping those who were preparing to go to Conversion bureau set their affairs in order. She'd come to Kinshasa for the culture and style, the city becoming a beacon of both as the region quieted down and grew in prosperity after the turbulence of the 20th century gave way to the stability of the mid 21st onwards. He had two brothers who'd gone through the Conversion Bureau. She had an adopted daughter who'd moved out and settled in Brazzaville. His parents were retired and moved out to the edge of the city. She lived by herself but had plenty of friends in the city's fashion and arts scenes, the First Lady was a personal friend

Finally Rarity floated the blazer back over to Dikembe

“Okay darling try this on” the sapeur slipped it back on and turned to the mirror, flexing and stretching, feeling the added strength in the fabric

“Magnificent Miss Rarity, simply magnificent” as he grabbed his wallet Rarity waved it away
“Oh no darling, the joy of working on such a wonderful piece of couture is more than payment enough”

“Really? Wow, thanks”
“Think nothing of it darling, it was a simple job anyway” she turned and pulled a dress from one of the clothes racks, already thinking of her next job

As he was heading out he heard a clatter and a curse, turning back around he saw the dress, a bolt of fabric, a pair of scissors and a needle and thread on the floor and Rarity sat at her desk with an ashen look on her face

“Are you okay?” he asked as he went to pick them up
“I'm fine, you don't need to do that”
“You just gave me a free repair, it's the least I can do”
“No, I've got it” she said firmly, her horn glowed blue and the dress rose off the floor, drifting towards the desk. Then the glow fizzled out and it dropped to the floor again, she looked like she was going to cry

“Here let me...”
“I said I've got it!” she snapped, glaring at him, he stopped for a moment, then went to pick up the dress and other supplies, placing his blazer on top, a faint rainbow glow shined in her eyes and then in his
“It's okay, here” he said, gently placing them on the desk

“I'm sorry, I...” the calm, confident fashionista had been replaced by a flustered pile of nerves “...it's hard, my magic's going, it happens to all unicorns as they age” she sighed wearily “I guess I can't deny it, I'm getting old”
“We all do, my grandma struggled to sew after she got arthritis”
“How did she handle it?”
“She did what she could while she could still do it, she did as much as her body let her, I think it helped keep her going” he looked around, noticing the large amount of outstanding orders

“Hey, to pay you back for the repairs maybe I could help you out around the boutique, handle some of the work”
“You can sew?”
“My grandma taught me how to handle the machine and use thread, it wasn't much and I'm a bit rusty but I'll do my best, and you can teach me more too, if you want?”
“Well...” she hesitated “it would be nice to have an assistant again, I did love to teach before but are you sure you can manage with your job?”
“I'm only part time, I'll handle it” he held out a hand

“What do you say?” a white hoof was pressed into it, the fashionsta was restored
“I'd love to darling” she said levitated the needle and thread “now get ready Mister Mbandi your first lesson starts now, you'll do nothing in my boutique before you've learned the Rules of Rarity”