230: BLACK ISN'T YOUR COLOR
“Rarity?”
“Yes, dear?” said the unicorn, horn glowing, not looking away from the mirror as she held up a black dress against herself.
“Ah don’t mean to rush you, sugar cube, but it’s almost time.”
“I know, darling, I know. I’ll be ready in a moment.” She considered her reflection, then suddenly shook her head and tossed the dress onto a growing pile.
Applejack watched silently as Rarity pulled another dress from the closet, looked at it in the mirror for a moment, sent it to the pile, then repeated the process with another dress, and then another.
“Rarity?” she said again.
“What is it, dear?”
“We’re gonna be late. Please, just . . . let’s go.”
“You mustn’t rush a lady, Applejack,” said Rarity. She flashed the earth pony a too-bright smile, then turned back to the procession of dresses.
“Rarity, please . . . ”
“Patience, Applejack,” said Rarity. “I will be ready shortly.” She was moving faster now, yanking dress after dress from the closet with almost savage force and barely glancing at them in the mirror before hurling them aside. Some were edged with emeralds, others chased with delicate lilac embroidery, and still others adorned with elegant pink ribbon, but they were all of them black.
“Rarity,” asked Applejack, “did you make all of those?”
“But of course, dear! I was up all night caught in the absolute throes of inspiration, but it was well worth it, don’t you agree? They’re all simply smashing, if I do say so myself. Perhaps a bit too smashing, actually. I . . . I can’t quite decide which one I ought to wear.” She giggled loudly.
“Please, Rarity, just pick one,” pleaded Applejack. “The girls are waitin’ fer us outside.”
“Darling, this is not a decision to be made lightly. We—we must look our very best for Sweetie Belle, mustn’t we?” She turned back to the mirror, trembling. She stared at her reflection, her face a smiling glass mask.
“Ah don’t think Sweetie Belle is goin’ to care much ’bout what we’re wearin’,” said Applejack quietly.
The mask shattered.
Rarity collapsed to the floor, screaming a wordless, keening wail of raw anguish. Tears poured down her face, smearing her carefully-applied makeup, and she tore at the dress in her hooves.
Applejack slowly walked over and sat down next to Rarity, gently laying a hoof on her back. The unicorn flung herself at the earth pony, clinging desperately to her. Applejack hugged her back.
“Why?” whispered Rarity into Applejack’s shoulder.
Applejack shook her head. “Ah don’t know, Rarity. Sometimes bad things happen to good ponies, and there ain’t no rhyme or reason to it.” She squeezed the sobbing unicorn tighter. “But there is one thing Ah do know.”
“What?”
“Sweetie Belle is a hero. Every foal in that schoolhouse owes her their lives.”
“Yes,” said Rarity, her voice quiet but proud.
“An’ she deserves a hero’s sendoff.”
“Yes . . . ”
“An’ she wouldn’t want you sittin’ here bawlin’ yer eyes out, right?”
Rarity lay against Applejack for a long minute, then finally sniffed and said, “Of course not.”
“Good. Now go pick out yer dress. And Rarity?”
“Yes?”
“Ain’t you got sometin’ better than black for Sweetie Belle?”
Rarity smiled a little, nodded, and hurried into the other room. After a moment, she returned, wearing a simple but stylish white dress, finished with a pink-and-purple sash pinned neatly in place with an emerald brooch.
Applejack smiled and nodded.
“Now, then,” said Rarity, floating a matching hat onto her head. “I’m . . . I’m ready to say goodbye to my sister.” She took a deep breath, then marched to the door, Applejack not far behind.
Fine, you can have all of my sads. I didn't want them anyway...
A small bit of awkward phrasing,
but that could just be the way I'm reading it. Either way, it's not enough to really warrant a change if you like the way it sounds.
Anywho, this was done very well. I'm happy that you avoided getting flowery with detail here; it's just so tempting for some people to try fluffing and stuffing emotional scenes like they're skimming through a thesaurus and clustering metaphors with big words to make some of the most awkward, unpleasant readings on purpose. I still can't for the life of me figure out exactly why.
But this is short, sweet, and it more or less carries the emotion fluidly through subtleties in the conversation, like reel lyfe. I wish writers utilized dialogue like this more often; just because it's naturally tailored to 'telling', doesn't mean it can't be just as good at 'showing'. I've rambled enough for one day though.
2006612
It was supposed to be an artsy turn of phrase that I'm pretty sure I pilfered from LOTR. At any rate, it is a bit archaic, and I'm ambivalent about how well it works here (or doesn't, as the case may be).
I've definitely been trying to avoid over-stuffing emotional scenes, with varying degrees of success. There's a fine line between believable angst and overdone emoting.
It looked like this was shaping up to be a solid comedy, and then whoa, I wasn't expecting that. c.c