Generosity

by Richie Richter

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

It was a dreamless sleep. The kind where you fall one minute and rise the next as if no time passed at all. She awoke to the sound of foals playing and opened her eyes. Everything was as it should, except that she was seeing it from a different angle. She blinked her eyes and sat up. She was on a bed, warm and snug under the covers. It was the one closest to the fireplace in the corner of the orphanage. She turned her head, the chair was still there from when she had fallen asleep. How much time had passed? How had she gotten into this bed?

There was only one pony that could have possibly carried her. She swooned, imagining being taken up in his big hooves, gently deposited on the bed, and then tucked in under the covers. Perhaps leaving a kiss on her cheek. Whispering professions of love into her ear. She brought a hoof to her face as it grew hot. It probably didn't happen like that, but Rarity could dream, right? She kicked her hooves out from under the blankets and rose from the stiff mattress. She stretched herself out and shook off her drowsiness. She smacked her jaw a few times. A few, very unladylike times, and frowned.

She shook her head and looked over to the fireplace, there, on the mantle, was a bowl of still steaming stew and a white mug of coffee. Left there just for her. Just as she had remembered how tired she was, she also remembered how hungry she was, she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Her stomach growled. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and levitated the bowl towards her. She ate quickly and without pause, devouring every last veggie and slurping every last drop of broth. She had to admit, it didn't taste good, but she couldn't complain. It was probably packed with enough protein to keep her going all night. The coffee was next, but this time she showed restraint. It took her two minutes to down the cup, as opposed to one minute for the soup. It was strong coffee, incredibly strong coffee. Blacker than a black bear in a cave at night in the vacuum of space, but again, she couldn't complain. It would be enough to keep her going all evening long.

She daintily dabbed at her mouth with a napkin as if suddenly aware of how improperly she had just eaten. She placed her dishes back on the mantle and excused herself to the bathroom. Most of what she had drank that day was coffee, and she needed to go. (Caffeine tends to do that to you.) She used the dingy, streak filled mirror to straighten her mane out. It had been mussed during her power nap. She fled from the truly terrifying bathroom the minute she was finished. The bathroom was like one she had seen in countless horror movies. With rust and lime caking every inch. Grease worked deep into each crack. Water oozing through leaks in the pipes and onto the floor where it gathered into slick pools of septic filth. And while she was washing her hooves, Rarity had the feeling she was going to look up into the cracked, streak-filled mirror to see the pale faced ghost of an orphan just standing there, watching her with hollow eyes from behind her long, black mane. She eagerly reclaimed her seat in the rocker in front of the fire. Her purse was still hanging around the one peg. She looked out over the foals for only a moment before she got up again and walked over to the group of drawing fillies sprawled out on the ground. As she approached them, they looked up from their work and smiled at her, she smiled back.

"Did you have a nice nap? Miss Rarity," said one smug little filly. The rest of the group burst into giggles and chuckles. Rarity rolled her eyes.

"Yes, actually, it was actually quite pleasant thank you," Rarity said. She hesitated for a moment, the fillies split their circle down the middle and made space for her, inviting her in. She laid herself down and looked around at the smiling, staring group of fillies. She motioned for them to continue. They nodded and returned to their work, tossing occasional giddy glances toward her.

Rarity looked around at what they were drawing, painting, or sketching. There was a mix of interests in the group. One was painting a forested landscape complete with a pristine lake and a sandy beach. Another was drawing a picture of Cloudsdale, a few members of the Wonderbolt squad stood in the foreground. The pictures at the opposite end of the circle were upside-down so she couldn't make out what they were. One to her right was drawing a picture of Rarity and herself. They were both wearing dresses––cute! This pony had been shooting the most glances toward Rarity, and as soon as the filly noticed her work had been seen, she grinned, tipping her drawing up to give Rarity a better look before setting it back down and continuing to draw, giggling––cute! The smallest pony in the group––seated two to her right––obviously had the least experience. She couldn't have been more than two or three, not old enough to have a cutie mark. She was new at the orphanage. Rarity struggled to remember her name, and after awhile, she just gave up. She was drawing a crude sketch of three ponies with abnormally long legs, huge eyes and ears on small heads and hair made from spiraling circles that looked like toupees that had somehow gone terribly wrong. This one looked a little more like a refrigerator drawing. Rarity squinted at the picture. There was something familiar about it. Something about the long legs on the first two, and the short, stubby legs on the third. Please no. But Rarity already knew what was coming next. The letters M-O-M and D-A-D were scrawled over the tall two, M-E over the short one. She frowned, the dark thoughts clouded her brain again, the pit began to grow in her stomach. She shook her head and scattered her thoughts before they could overcome her.

She took the most interest in the drawing of the filly next to her. She looked up to put a face to the drawing. It was Silver Streak, the same pony that had sat in her lap for the stories. It was well drawn on a clean, white piece of paper––there must have been some leftovers from the paper greeting signs they had made earlier. It was of a dress. A magnificent dress. Sleek and modern, it was structurally intriguing, exotic, and fierce, and yet it still managed to maintain an element of elegance in its design. Like in the long, flowing curves around the shoulders, and the lovely little footwear. Pink high heels and laced stockings on the hind legs, but the front legs were left bare to make dancing with a partner more practical. A bold gold ribbon and large earrings fit perfectly with the cascading hairstyle of the model that she had also drawn. The dress ran high over the flank, but ended abruptly without a train, leaving the entire dress off of the ground. It was practical, trendy, and meant for the nighttime girl living a nighttime life. The majority of the dress was deep purple, but- "hey!"

The filly covered up her drawing as soon as she noticed that Rarity was staring at it. "I was looking at that, Streaks, it was very good! Now move your hooves, Honey." Rarity ordered while prodding at the filly's hooves.

"No," the filly said curtly, her lower lip pouting. Rarity tweaked an eyebrow.

"Wha? Why?"

"Because." Silver Streak grinned. "Then you would be able to steal my ideas." Her grin widened.

Who is this filly? Cute, talented, and sharp as a dragon's tooth! Rarity chuckled back at her. "Steal your ideas?" Rarity asked.

"Well, yeah, I want to be a world famous designer and seamstress just like you someday, Rarity."

Rarity could have died right then and there from all the feelings washing over her like a great tidal wave. "That's...that, that's so sweet of you to say, Streaks," Rarity managed to choke out. She put an arm around the filly and drew her in. "And I'm sure that you will one day."

You're lying through your teeth, Rarity.

"Remember, you can do anything you set your mind to," Rarity said as she let go of Silver Streak.

Lying to them will only make things worse. You know very well where these ponies will end up.

"Yes, whatever your dreams are, you can go out and make them a reality."

They'll probably end up doing some dirty, dead-end job. Living off Minimum wage for the rest of their lives, doing something they hate.

"I'm honored that your dream is to be just like me, and in due time, there's no telling what you'll be able to do."

Yeah, like ditch digging, or motel housekeeping, or dishwashing, or fast food-

"And that goes for all of you!"

Or, what the hell, why not all of them? At the same time! You can't live off one minimum wage job, but you can live off two or three!

"Whatever it is that's printed on your flank, you can go out and succeed by doing that."

If there's a shit stained sewage pipe on their flank, then perhaps.

"You can do anything you want as long as you're willing to work your hardest at it."

One of the greatest fallacies of our time.

"Just know that I believe in every last one of you."

But do you really, Rarity? Or are you just lying to them.

The foals in the circle were all beaming, they had stopped drawing to listen to her. She finished with a nod and they all went back to their work. Streaks had removed her hooves from the sketch of her dress and was continuing to work on it, letting Rarity analyze it some more. "It's beautiful, Silver Streak, it really is. I love it!"

"Thank you, Rarity, I've been working really hard, so I must be in good shape." She winked. Rarity choked and put on a smile. She looked around the circle again, tracking their progress. After a while, she rose to her hooves.

"I'm going to say hello to some of the other foals now, but remember what I said." The foals shouted their goodbyes––various sentiments that all ended with Miss Rarity. She smiled at them and moved around to every other group in the room. She watched them go about their business, gave her approval where it was needed, and even joined in if she could. (She was especially eager to join the fillies playing with the dolls in the victorian dollhouse.) Like with the drawing group, she offered them similar encouragement, and after every foal had been greeted, she settled back into the rocking chair. Normally, she would have left the orphanage hours ago and returned home, but something was keeping her there.

The engineer's machine suddenly sparked to life. It sputtered and rattled before settling into the steady hum of an idling steam engine, filling the room with sound. They threw their hooves into the air, laughing and grinning. They exchanged a few hoof bumps, and then turned off the machine, going off and hiding the thing somewhere, stowing all their tools someplace similar. Deciding to take a brain break, they took a puzzle off the shelf and laid all the pieces out on their table. A filly from the drawing group and another from the doll group both hopped up with smiles and joined them.

Although the foals in the orphanage split themselves up by their interests, the groups were constantly mingling with each other. It was much different from the harshly isolated cliques found in most high schools. Cliques where any cross contamination was swiftly dealt with. The fillies huddled around the doll house often joined in with the theatre group when they needed somepony to fill a small part or be a narrator. (All of their practice from giving their dolls voices paid off in this respect.) The colts playing hoofball would switch places with the ones behind the block forts; eager to bash a few action figure heads together while making explosion sounds and tossing the figures through the air in slow motion. All done up and exaggerated with silly sound effects and childish narration. Every time a figure hit the ground there would be a great CRUNCH as all of that figure's bones were ground into dust. And every time a figure landed a huge punch across another's jaw, there would be a loud BOOM as the unfortunate figure was launched across the room, clattering to the floor a distance away. And the colts who were normally doing the bashing would switch with the ones who were normally doing the hoofballing. The artists would pull a book from the shelf––everypony in the orphanage would occasionally pull an old book from the shelf––and read it. Rarity didn't understand how, but every one of them knew how to read. Maybe Tenderhoof had taught them, or maybe they had all taught themselves. Whatever the case, she again found herself thoroughly impressed. The two in the corner would emerge from their fort and join in with the rest of the fillies. (After they felt that they had shared enough kisses on the cheek.)

Everypony had their hooves in lots of things, not just the one thing that interested them the most. If a foal had an interest in astrophysics, it was difficult to build on that interest in the orphanage. So the ones with the more abstract talents resigned themselves to enjoying anything else that they loved to do. But they would keep their eyes on the stars, buying their time until they were free, and only then could they pursue what was on their flank.

The director was smiling and nodding slowly. His actors had finally managed to get their lines and they were breezing through the rest of the scene. When the curtains were drawn he generously clapped his approval. (Rarity could have sworn she saw a tear in the corner of his eye.) He hopped off of his chair to offer them some advice. His actors were smiling too as they were showered with praise. The director clasped his neat little hooves together and returned to his chair. He shouted, Action! The curtains opened and the actors replayed the scene.

As Rarity watched, she began to fall away from the world. She lost herself in her thoughts, happier thoughts. She stared through the opposite wall of the orphanage wearing a slight smile. She relaxed into the chair warmed by the fire at her back. A few hours passed like a few minutes, and before she knew it, the sun was beginning to set, and the foals were all yawning and drifting towards their beds. Some were already in, reading or fiddling with a few figurines that they had brought with them to bed. Rarity clutched at her head as she came out of the trance. "Um...what are you? Bed? Is...oh? Indeed, bed." She looked out one of the windows. The curtains were being drawn, the large floodlights lining the ceiling replaced the natural light with artificial. "Why, the sun hasn't even gone down yet. Isn't it a bit early to be going to bed my dears?"

A pink filly yawned and said, "No, we're tired already." The rest of the foals nodded along with her.

"Well, ok then. Goodnight." She added all the logs left on the stack to the fire, and moved across the room, holding the chair in her magic grip. The foals seemed to rotate beds every day, because every time she came they would climb into a different bed than last time. She suspected they rotated like this so that one lucky foal didn't always get to sleep near the fire. Instead, they would switch every night and share the warmth. The world could learn something from these foals. They were putting away the last of their toys, taking down the curtains on the makeshift stage, filing away books, and stowing art supplies. only board games and puzzles still in progress were allowed to stay out. Rarity placed the chair in the middle of the rug and made sure to grab her purse before leaving. She moved to the light switch next to the stairs.

"Rarity?" She turned to face the colt that had spoken. He was sitting up in his bed across the room. "I mean...because you're still here... Can you read us a bedtime story?" The foals perked up at his suggestion. They all quickly agreed that it was a great idea.

"Well...I suppose I have nothing better to do this evening. I don't see why not." Rarity pulled over a large, cast iron floor lamp. It's finish was chipping away, revealing the rusty metal underneath. It's shade was full of holes. She turned on the lamp and turned off the ceiling lights, leaving the entire room in darkness except for the area around Rarity. She slung her purse around one of the pegs on the chair. She eyed the glossy book on the shelf, but thought twice, instead taking a worn book that she knew was also full of short stories. It's cover was faded, some of the pages were torn or stained, the pictures were drawn in a classic style. Much better. She quickly found a good one and settled in to read.

"Once upon a time..."