On the Fine Art of Giving Yourself Advice

by McPoodle

Chapter 4: Lucid Dreaming (P. Rarity)

P. Rarity—Earth, Canterlot City. Late afternoon of Day One.

Rarity was dreaming. Or, to be more precise, she was still dreaming.

At least, that was what she believed.

The dream had started in the “Inspiration Room” she had set up in her house, after she had given up on fashion. After all, that part about being dragged half-way across Equestria by her horn had to be a dream, right?

The big frustrating rock was a symbol of how she would never be an earth pony. And the sky explosion was a symbol of how she would never be a pegasus.

Never mind the fact that Rarity did not in the slightest need a lesson telling her she would be happier as a unicorn.

She was now lying on the ground. Not dirt like before, but a regular floor, inside a building. A building with a register, and lots of really-fancy clothes on racks. And a single dress draped on the table above her. A fashion store?

Oh, and she was now lucid dreaming, since she was aware of the dream. (She got this information from a non-fiction book about dreams, proof positive that she did in fact read something other than romance novels and fashion magazines.)

But more important than the lucid dream stuff…a fashion store?!

“Rarity!” a raised voice cried out in frustration.

Rarity supposed that it had probably been calling out to her throughout her recent reverie.

“Yes?” she said sweetly.

There was an alien looming above her, holding out a limb. “Would you like to get up any time soon?” she asked in a faux-helpful tone.

Rarity didn’t question the alien part. She was in a dream, after all. And…fashion store! “Sure,” she said finally, extending her own limb for grabbing.

…It matched the alien’s in shape.

So Rarity was an alien now in the dream.

That was fine. One of Rarity’s favorite romance novels, The Princess and the Dragon, was about a lowly tinker pony who had fallen victim to an ancient curse that had permanently transformed her into a giant, ferocious-looking dragon. In the end, the transformed dragon had won the respect of ponykind, while saving Princess Celestia from the evil marriage plans of the Prince of Tartarus! (And then the dragon and Princess Celestia had fallen in love at first sight and gotten married, because the author had remembered at the last minute that she had sold a romance novel to her publisher, not a fantasy adventure.) Anyway, the point is, Rarity was emotionally prepared to be transformed into a hideous beast at least once in her life. Not only because of the book, but because she lived in Ponyville, which was halfway between Canterlot—where the crazy unicorns lived beside the beautifully-fashionable ones—and the Everfree Forest—inhabited by magical monstrosities that were probably created by the crazy Canterlot unicorns of previous generations.

Has this discussion gotten off tangent? Dreadfully sorry about that. Now, where were we? Oh yes, Rarity was being helped to her…alien limbs.

The alien pulled Rarity up. And up. And up. Until she was teetering on her hind hooves. Limbs. What have you. But standing like that was apparently natural for aliens.

Now, that wasn’t precisely fair, calling this creature an “alien”. Perhaps she lived in a corner of Rarity’s world far from Canterlot and Ponyville. Rarity after all didn’t spend that much time studying strange creatures in her spare time, unlike some strange unicorns she could mention.

“Rarity!”

“Hm?”

“Let’s go to the back room,” the alien (?) told her, grabbing a limb and gently dragging her to the back of the store. They walked through a door marked “Employees Only”—one of two doors with that designation that Rarity could see—and through another door into a storage room, full of racks of more clothing. Rarity was seated in a folding chair adapted to these creatures’ forms. The alien then walked over to a tan rectangular object topped by a transparent blue cylinder partially filled with water. She did something obscured by her body and—

Glug, glug, glug!

—Turned back around bearing a small paper cup filled with water. Rarity tried and failed to pick up the cup with her magic.

…So this was a dream about not being a unicorn?

After waiting in vain for Rarity to take the cup out of her hands, she instead put it down on top of a foldable table. “Just stay there as long as you need,” she said, and walked out.

Rarity sat in the chair, and tried to figure out what this inscrutable dream was trying to tell her to do. Before she had gotten far in her deductions, the alien returned to the room, with the dress that Rarity had noticed being separated from the others earlier. The alien hung the dress on a hanger right next to Rarity. “There,” the alien said. “This should raise your spirits: your first masterpiece. And hopefully the first of many, Rarity.” The alien then left. Through the thin walls of the room, Rarity could hear her returning to the main store area.

Rarity leaned over to study the dress that she had apparently created, running the fabric over the end of her…limb. If she was a griffon, it would be a claw, but this wasn’t really a claw, so she still didn’t know what to call it. She liked the color choices. The fabric choice seemed off, until she spent a moment examining the parts of her alien body not covered with clothes and realizing that for skin instead of fur, this dress was a good choice.

A few seconds later, the sound of somepony walking through a door and setting off the bell could be heard outside the back room.

“Welcome to Prim Hemline’s Fashions!” the voice of the alien greeted the visitor. “How can I help to make your dreams come true?”

After some more thought, Rarity concluded that she was in some sort of mirror world, one with at least herself and the famous fashionista Prim Hemline in it. The alien did have the same colors as Ms. Hemline, and around her neck was hung a large metal charm in the shape of Prim Hemline’s cutie mark. And she most certainly had Prim’s distinctive voice. One could even call it “the voice of Manehattan”.

When Rarity had been planning out her future life at the tender age of nine, she had seen one of two paths before her on her journey to become a top fashion designer: the highly-competitive world of Canterlot, or Manehattan, where Prim Hemline dominated the industry. Canterlot was the more-respected market, but Manehattan was easier to enter. The problem was that fashionistas in each market despised the members of the other market, so whatever choice she made, she would have to stick with it. Rarity had eventually settled for the path of Canterlot.

But this mirror Rarity was already working for this world’s Prim Hemline, so she must have picked the other path. Being a mirror Rarity, this only made sense. Rarity was going to fit in in this dream, because fighting the rock dream was what had gotten her here in the first place, and seeing a possible future for herself looked much more fun than going back to the stupid rock. Now what had been the steps in her Manehattan plan…?

After completing a quick sale, the alien Prim Hemline returned to the back room. “Are you feeling any better, Rarity?”

“I couldn’t be better, Ms. Hemline!” Rarity exclaimed in a strong approximation of Prim’s accent, rising to her hooves (limbs).

Prim pushed her back down into her seat. “No,” she said firmly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Rarity said, raising an eyebrow just like Prim always did.

“That,” Prim said flatly, pointing at the errant eyebrow. “I saw when I hired you that you understood the need to stand out in the industry with a personal identity. But you’re not allowed to take mine. Stick with the mid-Atlantic accent used by Crystal Prep—it’s much better than your parents’.”

“Oh,” said Rarity, dropping back into the accent she had come to consider her own. “You’ve met them.”

Prim raised her eyebrow, in her signature way. “I had to in order to hire you. Because you’re underage. Remember?”

Rarity laughed awkwardly.

“Would you like to go home for the rest of the day?” Prim asked, sympathetically. “I understand that something upset you at school today. And it doesn’t take much intelligence to figure out that you must have snuck into the shop every night for weeks to put that dress together. So I understand why you might need a break. Congratulations on the dress again, by the way.”

Rarity looked over at the dress she didn’t remember making. “Think nothing of it,” she said.

Rarity took a moment to think. This dream was already going on for an awfully long time, so it was sure to end any minute now. And here she was, living her life of apprenticing to a famous fashionista, and to have already created her first masterpiece! She wanted to see what else this fantasy had to offer. “Could I go out on the floor?” she asked. “Take a look around? I’m looking for inspiration.”

Prim smiled, slightly. “Very well,” she said. “But stay out of the way of the customers.”

Rarity nodded.

# # #

A few minutes of careful examination, especially of labels, finally informed Rarity that the new limb things were called “hands” and “feet”.

On the walls were photographs of models wearing Ms. Hemline’s designs. A sign proclaimed “Fine Fashion for Men and Women!” The aliens had two genders, but Rarity wasn’t sure which one was the “men” and which one was the “women”. There were all styles of clothing on the racks, along with shoes and accessories. And plenty of mirrors for Rarity to compare her current form with these others.

And then it hit her: you weren’t supposed to be able to read in dreams. The book she had read had been quite emphatic about that. She looked back up at the sign.

Prim heard a sharp intake of breath, and turned to see Rarity looking up at a sign as if it was proclaiming the imminent end of the world. Wearily, Prim walked over, stood beside her frozen assistant, and scanned the sign. With a sigh, she got out a cloth and sprayer, and removed the spitball that somebody had managed to attach to the sign when nobody was looking. “Really, Rarity,” she said with a sigh, “the drama is getting to be a bit much.”

“I am in a mirror world,” Rarity whispered to herself. A moment later, as she reviewed the experiences that she now knew for a fact were real, she found a culprit for her current predicament: “Stupid rock!”

Just then, the door chime rang. Prim pushed Rarity down by her shoulders, forcing her to sit on a small stool. “Stay there!” she hissed in frustration, before turning and utterly transforming her expression. “Welcome to Prim Hemline’s Fashions! How can I help to make your dreams come true?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for some pants,” a bored voice answered. It sounded very familiar.

Rarity poked her head up to look at the creature who had just entered, and quickly concluded that this was the mirror version of her friend Berry Punch, from school. But the Berry Punch she knew was Rarity’s own age, while this one appeared to be a young adult. For that matter, how old was Mirror Rarity? Old enough to be apprenticed, but young enough to need her parents’ permission. So…thirteen?

Rarity sat back down as she realized she had a more important thing to think about than her age: She had no idea how to get home. She supposed she would have to wander this strange world at random until she found another boulder, and then beg it to send her home. Of course, she thought dourly to herself, the first one I find will probably be just a rock, and there will be plenty of witnesses present to make me feel as foalish as possible. That is the way these stories go, after all.

Gradually, she picked up on the growing disagreement between Prim and Berry. Or rather, Berry spent the entire visit complaining about the lack of selection and familiar brands, and Prim had to slowly and methodically introduce to Berry the concept of a “fashion boutique” as a thing separate from a “clothing store”, and that in fact the high prices and unique styles were not just there to “rip her off.”

Berry ended up leaving in a huff.

Rarity by this time had recovered her composure. Despite the different shapes of the inhabitants, it seemed they were similar to ponies in their basic character. And if every individual she encountered was a variant of a pony she knew, then that would make her stay here much easier. There was even a small chance that the versions of her parents might be in town…and useful.

The next customer was Cheerilee, also a friend of Rarity’s, and like herself and Berry Punch, students under the teacher Play Write. Also like Mirror Berry Punch, Mirror Cheerilee was an adult, in fact a librarian and teacher’s assistant, if the gossip she shared with Prim was any indication. This Cheerilee was in fact a former customer of Prim’s, and had shown up asking if a torn blouse could be repaired that day, because Cheerilee had nothing else worth wearing to a theater performance the following night. Prim had graciously agreed to perform the repair for free, which meant that Rarity was put in charge of the floor, to Prim’s extreme reluctance.

But by now Rarity was confident that she knew how to handle herself. She had even more or less figured out how her hands worked by “handling” the clothing she had examined.

A woman walked through the doors.

“Welcome to Prim Hemline’s Fashions!” she greeted the potential customer, her head bowed in deference. “I am her assistant, Rarity. How can I help to make your dreams come true?” She looked up, and instantly recognized who it was: her teacher, Play Write. But this Play Write was ancient, her face covered with wrinkles. She supported herself unsteadily on a cane.

“I hope you can,” Play Write said in a thin voice. “I’m looking for a nice dress to wear. For my upcoming family reunion. Is…is something the matter, Miss?”

Rarity managed to tear her eyes away with some effort. “It’s just…you remind me of someone I know.”

“Oh, well whoever you’re thinking of I’m not her, Miss…Rarity, was it?”

“Yes, Mrs. Write.”

“Miss Rarity. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you before. Wait, did I tell you my name already? My memories are just slipping these days!”

The two of them shared an uncomfortable laugh and stood there for what seemed like minutes. And then Rarity caught herself and led Mrs. Write to some dresses that looked like they would complement the teacher’s colors. She picked out a few candidates in the size which Play Write had told her.

Play Write held one of the dresses in front of herself while looking in a full-length mirror, adjusting both her distance from the mirror and the distance of her glasses from her eyes until it all came into focus. “Hmm…this one looks good,” she observed. “Do you think you can bring up the hem a bit? My husband tells me I still have the prettiest ankles in town!”

Rarity nervously kneeled down with a package of pins that she put down beside her—it would be a Celestia-blessed miracle if she managed to do this operation without pricking her poor teacher dozens of times. She picked up the hem and lifted it the width of her hand.

“A little higher.”

Rarity did so.

“There. Don’t you think that looks lovely?”

Rarity turned her head to look in the mirror. And had a revelation:

The dress hem…it’s horizontal. Such a design would be ridiculous for a pony, as it would make her look like a giant bell. But for these creatures, that design just makes sense. A pony dress’ hems are always either vertical or at an angle to the vertical, the exact angle dependent on how much rear leg to show and whether the cutie mark will be exposed or if it will be covered and the mark’s design incorporated into the dress. To adjust a “men and women” dress, you just lift it, instead of tilt it.

This means that there is an entire language of clothing design for these creatures independent of the time-honored pony rules! And why shouldn’t the same apply to my world? To griffons? Maybe even to dragons? And beyond that…there was a story in the paper just last week, about a royal guard who had lost half of a leg in a horrible accident out west. The leg couldn’t be regrown, and so was replaced by a beautiful brass clockwork leg, a leg that looked nothing like a flesh pony leg, but still looked right. A suit for that pony shouldn’t cover the artificial leg, it should be asymmetrical, in order to glorify it! And so should every dress! Every suit! Each tailored not just to match and flaunt, but to enhance, to bring beauty into the mind! Into the heart! The dress as the instrument of triumphant self-expression for the masses! When I get back, I won’t just open “Rarity for You”, I will open “Rarity for Everycreature!”

All of this rushed through the mind of Rarity in less than a second, in barely enough time for her to secure the lifted hem with a pin. And at the end of that moment the room exploded with light. The light did not overtake her and drag her to another world, like the light from the “dumb rock”.

No, this light came from her.

“We’re under attack!” cried Play Write, crouching down and trying to hide under the dress.

“What just happened?” Prim exclaimed, rushing over to join her disaster-prone assistant. Cheerilee was beside her, holding a bag that contained her repaired dress.

“I…got my cutie mark,” Rarity declared. The feeling of mixed exhilaration and inner peace she was feeling—she must have gotten her cutie mark. She had no idea where under her clothes that mark had appeared, but she’d save that examination for whenever she was able to find some time alone with a mirror.

“What was that?” Play Write said from the ground, cupping one ear. “You got your mark? Congratulations. Now hold on a moment while I get my hearing aid recalibrated.” She stuck a finger in her ear and started twisting it back and forth.

“You’re not supposed to get your mark outside of the Ceremony,” Prim said incredulously.

“Well I’ll just see my way out,” Cheerilee said, seeing that everybody else was occupied. “I’ll see you Friday at school!” she said over her shoulder to Rarity as she left.

Rarity helped Play Write to her feet. “Shall we continue?” she asked, eagerly. She had just received confirmation that her passion was also her destiny, and that the fashions of this alien world were key to that destiny. That strange rock bringing her here was an act that was meant to be, and therefore her return was also something that was preordained, or else the trip would have been worthless. And since that return was now guaranteed, Rarity wanted to learn, through experiencing, as much of this strange fashion as possible, to take back to Equestria with her.

Prim opened her mouth to admonish Rarity, especially considering her ignorance of poor Mrs. White’s disheveled appearance. But at that exact moment the front doors loudly slammed open with a puff of smoke.

“Behold it is I, the Great and Powerful Trixie! Here to realize her destiny upon the floors of fashion! Give unto her your awe, then despair!” The girl in the sweat-soaked magician’s cape and hat completed this declaration by raising her arm dramatically into the air, and freezing to receive the expected cheers. The mascara and makeup on her face had been streaked with perspiration.

Three pairs of eyes looked upon Trixie in utter shock and silence.

Trixie’s frozen eyes darted around, settling on her upraised hand. The offending hand was slowly lowered, and then Trixie herself darted out of the store with a loud “eep!”

Prim Hemline immediately darted after her out into the street.

Rarity frowned, and looked over to Play Write for answers. Finally seeing how stressed she was, Rarity instead led the elderly woman to sit on the stool. She reached out towards one of Play Write’s hands and, after receiving non-verbal permission, picked it up and stroked it gently to calm her down. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I’m pretty sure things don’t get this crazy most of the time.”

Mrs. White took a few minutes to completely catch her breath. “That’s alright,” she said finally. “Why don’t you show me those other dresses you picked out?”

Prim Hemline came back into the store just then, her arm around the shoulders of Trixie, who had taken off her robe and hat, revealing a white tee-shirt and red shorts. Her makeup had been removed. In her hand was a small container, which as Rarity watched she put a cap on and put it in a large purse she carried. It made a rattling sound on entry.

On re-entering the store, Trixie made an announcement, standing in the same spot as before. “Trix—” She caught herself with a grimace. “I’m sorry you all had to see that,” she said sorrowfully. “I got a little overexcited. You see, I got my mark today.” She held aloft a small ceramic plate, dyed the color of her skin, with the design of a wand circled by a swirl of magic around it.

Prim and Mrs. White applauded, followed shortly by a confused Rarity.

“We’ll get to you in just a minute,” Prim told Trixie, before walking over to stand over Rarity.

# # #

Quickly the pair of Prim and Rarity helped Mrs. White to select her dress, take her measurements, and notate the modifications she desired. She then made a down payment and left.

As Trixie was busy with some sort of small hand-held device, Prim felt she had the time to prepare Rarity for their next customer. “How much do you know about Trixie?” she asked.

“What do I need to know?” Rarity asked, slightly nervous.

Prim sighed. “Well the main thing is that you’re going to have to ignore little outbursts like you just witnessed. Her mother came to this town as a drug addict five years ago, when Trixie was ten years old. Her brain chemistry had been altered in the womb by what her mother was taking, and she had been constantly dosed on sedatives to keep her from screaming all the time. Both of them had to be completely detoxed when they arrived in Canterlot. The Apples, bless their souls, took the girl in and sponsored the mother through therapy. Under their guidance, Cat turned her life around—she eventually became a legal assistant—and Trixie got onto a regimen of drugs to keep her moods and personality under control.”

“Are you done?” Trixie asked quietly. She was standing right behind them.

Both Prim and Rarity screamed.

Trixie put her hands behind her back and smiled wanly at them.

“What exactly can we do for you, Trixie?” Prim asked.

“I’d like a new dress,” Trixie told them. “With an applique with my mark. Around here.” She motioned to a space next to her lower leg. She held out the plate showing her cutie mark.

Prim Hemline took the plate, and gave it to Rarity. “I trust you can program the machine, Size 4?” she asked, fully prepared for a negative reply.

“I…I can try,” Rarity said, delicately taking the plate and walking over to the large machine she had noticed during her earlier inspection tour. After looking the thing over, she put the plate inside a ring sized for it. The machine appeared to be designed to be used by customers, with a rope and sign added later designating the device for the use of “employees only”. Rarity just assumed it was a magical artifact, and followed the printed steps in order, her only significant input being the size figure given her by Prim Hemline. After pressing the large green “Start” button, focused lights washed over the plate, finding and then outlining each of the shapes on it. Trays and bobbins shifted around on their own, until the right ones for the design were present, and then they started putting together the requested applique, and finally cutting it free.

While this was happening, Prim had been helping Trixie to select a plain dress, dark blue in color. Rarity’s attention had been pulled during the later steps of the applique process, as she wondered how much trouble it might be to order one of these devices for her own eventual shop.

“Funny thing,” Trixie said right behind Rarity, causing her to jump in fright.

“W…what is?” Rarity asked.

“I saw you at the Freshman Fair a couple of hours ago, talking to Applejack. And from her gestures, it’s obvious that she was telling you then exactly what Ms. Hemline had to tell you just now. So how did you forget about me so quickly?”

“Ahhh…” Rarity stalled. Getting caught by the men and women as a pony in disguise wouldn’t make her inevitable rescue by the magic rock any easier.

“No, don’t bother to tell me, I already figured it out,” Trixie announced, leaving Rarity trembling with fear. “You didn’t hear a word Applejack said, because you fell in love with her at first sight!”

“Ah—what?”

“Oh yeah, you fell hard,” Trixie said with a laugh. “Well, I don’t mind—that wasn’t exactly me at my best. …Or that entrance earlier. But now I got this!” She plucked the applique out of Rarity’s hands and walked over towards the sewing table, where Prim was waiting to complete the dress.

Comments

[McPoodle]

Due to a paucity of notes, I'll be combining the notes for Chapters 4, 5 & 6 into a single post on Wednesday.

[Astorius]

Loved the prequel and can't wait for more of this too

[FanOfMostEverything]

Well, this is moving right along! I do love human Dash fulfilling the title immediately, to say nothing of her narrative way of thinking. She is basically in a fantasy novel, so it does make sense.

Meanwhile, both Rarities have some challenges ahead of them. They're far from home, in strange bodies. And the human doesn't even have anyone nearby to guide her back... unless she can follow the skid marks from her counterpart getting dragged to her destiny. Good luck to both; they may need it.