• Published 21st Nov 2021
  • 839 Views, 16 Comments

The Cat Is Dead. - shortskirtsandexplosions



Rarity enjoys a burgeoning fashion career.

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Chapter 3

“And so...” Prim Hemline finishes a dainty sip of wine before placing the half-empty glass down on the restaurant's table. “...the Trottingham Theatre Company has agreed to let Fashion Rarity design their entire ensemble.”

“Oh my stars!” Rarity nearly drops her glass to the floor. Only with expert telekinesis does she keep herself from horribly soiling this priceless moment. Both of her front hooves are currently being employed in fanning her smiling, blushing face. “Does this mean what I think it means...?!?”

“Absolutely, my dear...” Prim Hemline smiles proudly at her fashion accomplice. The old mare's face is wrought with wrinkles and her pink mane is peppered with gray, but right now Rarity considers her the most beautiful pony on the face of the planet. “You will be creating every ballgown for the gala event this winter. Just in time for Octavia Melody's grand tour.”

“Sweet merciful heavens...!” Rarity leans back in her chair, teetering slightly. Some of the patrons glance over, worried, maybe a little amused. “This is something I've always dreamed of! I think I j-just might die!

“Don't perish just yet~” Ms. Hemline reaches across the table, tilting Rarity safely back into a balanced position. “Hemline Couture has invested quite a lot in this venture.”

“Ahem... but of course, darling...” Rarity straightens her bangs and sits again with ladylike posture. “I shan't do anything to sour your accomplishments—”

“But make no mistake...” Hemline's smile is accompanied by a narrow squint. “...this will be all about your work, Miss Rarity.”

“M-my work?”

Fashion Rarity will be the only name listed to the costuming credits,” Prim Hemline declares. “It will be your time to shine in the spotlight. Isn't that what you always wanted?”

“But... but...” Rarity blinks, her lips pursed in mixed confusion and concern. “...I've only gotten this far because of you.”

“Now that's an utter fabrication and we both know it.” Hemline sighs through a tired smile. “How many years have you been my protege? And in all that time—quite frankly—you've put me to shame.”

“Oh, honestly—”

“There's no debating it.” Prim Hemline slices the air above their table with a hoof. “You've quite surpassed me, my dear. My time of working on dresses is coming to an end. Ages ago, when I was young and ambitious, I promised myself that I wouldn't be one of those old nags who would linger about in the wings, trying to soak up the success of the young and talented who have moved beyond my own limits.” She raises a glass in her hoof and swirls its contents thoughtfully. “Consider this an ascension, my dear. Trottingham is all yours. Don't put my teachings to waste; soak it up for all its worth.”

Rarity fights tears, smiling in earnest. “You can count on me, madame.”

“Well, then, you'd better start contemplating just how many bags you'll pack,” Hemline says, taking a final sip.

“Bags...?”

Hemline takes her time finishing the wine before replying: “Why—of course, my dear.” She places the glass down and exhales. “Designing for the oldest theatre company in all of Equestria is no small task. You know this. You also know that—”

“—I will have to move to Trottingham,” Rarity says in a detached voice, her eyes staring off towards some incomprehensible horizon. “Across the pond, as t'were.”

“That is not going to be a problem, is it?” Hemline raises an eyebrow. “Being away from the mainland for so many months?”

“No!” Rarity hops in her seat. “Not at all!” She smiles wide. “In fact, I greatly look forward to coming up with fabulously woolly travel-wear for Trottingham's frosty highlands and—” Just now, she freezes, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. “Oh my.”

“What is the matter?”

“Well...” Rarity squirms, muzzle tightening. “It's just that, if I'm going to be away from home for so long, I will need to find somepony to—”

The cat is dead.

Rarity blinks.

“Somepony... to..”

She teeters briefly, throttled by her own stupidity. The next breath comes out in a frustrated groan.

Prim Hemline cocks her head to the side. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

“Mmmmm... absolutely...” Rarity takes a sip from her glass. She smacks her lips, then smiles across the table. “A thousand apologies. Muscle memory and such; some old habits die hard.” She takes a deep breath, levitating the bottle from the tray adjacent to the table and pouring even more wine. “...some harder than others...” She raises her full glass for a toast, beaming. “To success!