Rarity
When I was a foal, I imagined scalpels were perfect, glittering knives made of silver. That was how they were described in stories, and it just felt right somehow. Then I saw one, when I had my tonsils out. It was rough, uneven, covered in indentations and protrusions to ensure the surgeon could get a firm grip—a practical little thing. It wasn’t even that sharp, or at least, not any more than some razors are. There’s this whole cultural mystique that surrounds scalpels, but they’re just ugly little knives. The beauty, the glamour, the power, it was all in my head—all in the knowledge of what this little thing could do: heal or hurt. I remember being very disappointed, but with time, I realized it was okay. The handle design, the shape of the blade, silver or steel or copper, none of it really matters—not as long as ponies know what they signify. No matter how surgical tools are made in reality, in ponies’ minds, scalpels will always be perfect, and cold, and they will always shine.
Rarity reaches out to Green and runs a silver-edged hoof under her chin, tracing the contours of her throat. Green seems rooted to the spot, and does nothing to stop her. Neither of them reacts when one of Rarity’s escorts shuts off the elevator, when they put Berry on a stretcher and carry her off. No—Rarity has eyes only for Green, and her expression is curious and quiet. Green just stares straight ahead, and I realize she’s holding her breath, the edge of Rarity’s hoof pressing against her neck. Nopony pays me any mind, like I wasn’t there.
With the gentlest of touches, she tilts Green’s head up, then left, then right, looking over her in the lift. Green doesn’t move; she doesn’t speak—like she was paralyzed. Her magic though; she’s still levitating that machete. The blade trembles like a leaf in the wind, unsteady, the glow around it flickering and uncertain. I hear the faintest of sounds, a trembling breath.
“Oh, why don’t you put that down, dear?” Rarity asks, light and friendly. The glow around the blade winks out, and it tumbles downwards, burying its edge in the lift cage.
She looks her age. I... I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, she cleans up well, with that hint of shadow around her eyes, her alert expression, that authoritative way she looks at you. She looks forty, but she doesn't look old. Too sharp, a snow-white mare with a perfectly styled mane and tail in that rich royal purple. She never got old, just... more experienced. Her outfit reflects it too. Somewhere in its distant ancestry is a surgical gown and, I suppose, to an ordinary pony, it might still look a bit like that. That would be their failing though. The way the pure white fabric clings to her frame, molds to her coat, blends in with the walls, the way the silver on the edges of her hooves frames them in geometric perfection. That outfit could stand alongside all the noble finery in Canterlot and silently shame us all for being so petty.
“I’m curious for your thoughts, Doctor,” she says, and though she doesn’t turn to look at either of the ponies who came in with her, the stallion on the left looks up. They’re both pegasi, dressed in white uniforms considerably less elegant than her own—something between a jumpsuit and a smock, done up with belts full of practical tools. Each one doesn't look a day over seventeen, tan on the left, blue on the right, matching manes, each one athletic and striking. Once upon a time I’d have found them quite attractive, but I know this city now, and what those uniforms are there to hide. It’s only after a long pause for thought that Rarity continues, “If she were to walk into your office, confused and not entirely certain what medications she was taking, what would your assessment be? Based on the visible rate of decay.”
He considers that for a moment, then looks directly at Green. “Remove your dress,” he orders, curt and efficient. For a second, I think he’s like Berry, so tepid is his emotional reaction. But no. No, he’s hiding it. There’s a tension in his legs, and he glances at the back of Rarity’s head furtively, worried she won’t approve.
For a moment, Green does nothing, then she catches Rarity’s eye and cringes. A red haze surrounds her dress, and it slides back down off her frame, revealing her body and the other marks that cover her: the apple slices, the pony and the coils, the eye and the swirls, the red cross, the silver horseshoe, and the pony biting its own tail. It’s funny—she’s been dressed for so long that it’s actually odd to see her naked. It makes her seem smaller, in a way.
“Initial addiction factor in the range of ninety to one hundred and twenty percent,” the pegasus diagnoses. He has a stern, no-nonsense voice, one that’s just shy of bizarre on a pony of his apparent age. “Primary form of degradation appears to be monochromatic bleaching. I’d say she took her first dose three to four years ago and is experiencing fairly standard early symptoms.”
“Yes, that would be my assessment,” Rarity mutters, tilting Green’s head down to inspect her horn. “Isn’t it simply incredible? Nearly sixteen years since I started with her—the work has aged amazingly well. I’d never believe it if I hadn’t been there myself.”
“You must be very proud,” the stallion on the right supplies. I don’t think he’s as sharp as the one on the left, or perhaps he’s closer to his apparent age. It’s a banal comment, and he’s only delivering it to have something to say. Rarity doesn’t seem to notice his uncertainty though, or maybe she doesn’t care.
“Well, somewhat,” she says, shaking her head. “An artist's relationship with her early work is always complex. As your methods become more advanced, your older creations start to look crude, even repulsive.” She folds back a lock of Green’s mane, her face briefly pulled into a tight frown. Then it’s gone, replaced with that casual, friendly air and that gentle accent. “But at the same time, you long for those heady, romantic days when anything seemed possible and every success was a wondrous achievement. I don’t think I ever enjoyed a fashion show quite so much as my first. Well, my second, technically,” she says, elegantly rolling the word out. “Have I ever told you that story? It all started with the girls’ gala dresses, you see—”
Behind her, a pony clears her throat, and I see one of the doctors who dragged Berry out. She looks as young as the rest of them, a shocking dark red with an orange mane that matches the fiery cutie mark on her cheek. Her magic, though, is a soft purple, and she uses it to levitate a small manila folder in front of her. “Excuse me, Ms. Rarity,” she introduces herself, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.
“Ah yes. Go ahead, dear,” Rarity urges her on, continuing her silent inspection of Green, tilting Green’s ears up and down like a mechanic checking a joint to see if it sticks. It’s unreal to stand there and watch this, and if it weren't for the other ponies occasionally glancing at me, I’d wonder if I somehow turned invisible again.
“Four casualties in total,” she recites like she was reading from a list, though the folder remains closed. “The shopkeep, a stallion in the crowd who tried to stop Green, a young mare who was trampled on the way out, and the pony under the shelf—”
“Berry Punch. An old Ponyville friend,” Rarity clarifies.
“Yes, Ms. Rarity,” the mare defers. “The mare in the crowd has two twisted ankles, but is otherwise unharmed. Ms. Punch has a cracked rib as well as numerous cuts and contusions, however she is anticipated to make a full recovery. The shopkeep, Mr. Pot, has been rushed to emergency care on Doctor Dale’s instructions, and his prognosis is uncertain. I regret to inform you that the stallion in the crowd has died. The chair shattered the back of his skull.” She doesn’t sound terribly sorry, delivering the news with a flat, vaguely bored efficiency. “If it is any consolation, I doubt he ever felt it hit him.”
That catches Rarity’s attention. She pauses in her inspection of Green, shutting her eyes and letting out a long, slow sigh. “Does he have any family?”
“I’m not sure, Ms. Rarity,” the mare answers. “He wasn’t carrying any identification, and nopony in the crowd knew his name.”
“Find out,” she orders, opening her eyes. “A stallion his age, there’s a good chance he was supporting somepony. The last thing we need is for them to go hungry and add to this senseless tragedy.” My head perks up at that, and I look back from the assistant to Rarity. She seems resigned but... there’s loss there, in the little motions of her eyes. Regret in the way her jaw faintly tightens. Something else under the surface too, but that news actually bothered her.
“Yes, Ms. Rarity,” she nods, slipping into that reflexively deferential tone. Like a verbal bow. “There was one other thing. Ms. Punch was carrying this in her saddlebags.” She levitates the folder over to Rarity, the glow around it changing from purple to blue as Rarity takes it. “It appears to be a medical report from Doctor Stable.”
Rarity opens the folder without a word, her eyes scanning left and right across the pages. The motions are quick, impatient; she doesn’t feel like dealing with this now. Halfway through the report though, she pauses, glancing over the top of the folder at me, as though finally noticing that I exist. Then, she turns back to the page, and when she reaches the bottom, she closes the folder and floats it back to the mare. “Rainbow Dash will want to see this. Give it to the security officers outside and release Berry to their custody as soon as she’s fit.”
“Yes, Ms. Rarity.” The mare nods, silently backing out of the room. For what seems like forever, nopony speaks—not Green, not Rarity, not her escorts. Not me. Rarity keeps staring at Green, looking her in the eye, the escorts patiently waiting. Why are they all just standing there? Why are they all ignoring me? Do they expect me to wait to be acknowledged? Are they that sure that I can’t escape?
Then, Green whimpers—a soft, mewling sound, cringing away from Rarity.
“There aren’t a lot of ponies left in this city who would stand up to stop something they knew was wrong,” Rarity says to Green, that friendly, light inflection gone from her voice, making the aristocratic accent seem icy and imperious. Her expression is as cold as her tone, her eyes showing not a trace of emotion, while her mouth is drawn into a sneer most ponies reserve for when they’ve stepped in something. “I suppose you felt that death was the most appropriate reward for his heroism?”
“Rarity, I—”
“I did not say you could speak!” I leap back, pulling away into the corner of the lift as my heart starts to race. It’s Rarity, roaring, the sound reverberating in the tiny space until it comes at us from all directions. I pull away, but Green—Green screams like she saw Nightmare Moon herself, shrinking away into the back of the lift, shaking uncontrollably. “He was here to try to be a model,” she says, her tone returning to that prim, proper cadence, her volume sinking back to normal. “I don’t suppose that thought occurred to you at any point? Here to try to earn the dream you never deserved. He could have been great, truly beautiful, but now we’ll never know, will we!?” Like that, the proper tone is gone, and her question comes out as a screech, ragged and harsh. Rarity’s face twists into a mask of fury, eyes wide, nostrils flared. Green can do nothing but feebly raise a hoof, as if to ward off a blow. Rarity pulls away from Green at that, gaping down at the gesture.
“All this, and the biggest worry in your self-absorbed little mind is that I might hit you?” she asks, incredulous. “No, not guilt, not remorse, not even a hint of regret—your biggest worry is that I might bruise your pretty face,” she delivers the words with thick, toxic contempt. “I will never understand how Applejack’s family managed to produce such a selfish, vicious, disgusting creature!”
“Stop it!” My own voice catches me off guard, and next thing I know, I’m across the elevator car, between Rarity and Green. I can hear a rattle behind me, Green’s horseshoes shaking against the metal walls. She’s trembling uncontrollably, and without looking, I know her eyes are wide, panicked. I need something to follow that, but I don’t have anything, and all I can do is shout, “Just... stop! You’ve made your point. You’re scaring her!”
In the silence that follows, I realize that I’m shaking too—shivering on the spot as I glare into Rarity’s eyes, her expression softening from anger into a gentle surprise. Then, she leans away, and reaches a hoof up to straighten her mane. Her shouting knocked a few hairs out of place, and she takes her time, gently smoothing them back down.
“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees, that friendly, lighthearted tone returning. “Siren Song, I presume?” she asks. I manage a nod. My chest feels so tight, I’m not sure I could speak right now without shouting.
“It’s so good to finally meet you in person, but I can see that I’ve upset you. Would it make you feel better if we gave Green a little space? We really should have a chat anyway, you and I.”
What is there to say to that? The whole situation is so bizarre—like the nobles’ political games in Canterlot, but played for ponies’ lives instead of bits and titles. Rarity fits the part, really. I can’t count the number of nobleponies who have a team of flunkies so they’ll look important, and to intimidate with numbers. And I recognize that tone, the polite request that is really an order. I think we should have a chat, so we’re going to have a chat, right now. I know this game.
Granted, in Canterlot, losing only means you get snubbed, so maybe the stakes here are a bit higher. Still, I know this game. I can do this. I take a second to visibly collect myself so she won’t wonder why I’m so slow in answering, and then I nod.
“Very well,” she says, acknowledging me with a polite dip of her head. Good sign—I played along with the pretense that this is a request, she does me a courtesy in turn. “You two, take Green outside and let her recover. Make sure she’s closely watched. Siren, if you would come with me please?” She holds out a hoof to guide me. I look back at Green, seeing her wide, frightened eyes, looking at Rarity, looking at me. She doesn’t want me to go.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’ll be back soon,” I promise her. Then I take Rarity’s hoof, and she guides me along out of the storage room, back into the coffee shop.
The shop is empty, other than two more guards or... doctors or... helpers in white, by the door. Two of Rarity’s attendants hustle Green away behind us, pulling her through the shop and outside without a word. Rarity seems content to stop here though, glancing down at me with an attentive expression.
“So, ah...” I murmur, looking for something to say, something that will prompt a reaction. I can read her face fine of course—after Berry and White Wash and even Green, it’s refreshing to run into a pony with normal emotions—she’s just not feeling much at the moment but a thoughtful sort of curiosity. I need to prompt a reaction that will let me read her. “I guess my name was in the report?”
“Well, ah, yes, it was,” she agrees reluctantly, giving a little nod. To be nice, I think. “Although your disguise was a little...” She makes a flicking gesture towards my side with a hoof, like she expects it to be self explanatory. Did the makeup smudge? I twist around to get a better look, but it seems okay to me. Remarkably intact, given everything I’ve been through.
“Green’s supplies were very limited.” I fudge my answer in case she’s testing me, and I turn back to look at her. “She can hardly be blamed for a few errors.”
“Oh darling, don’t be absurd,” Rarity says, with a sweeping gesture, her tone grand and magnanimous. “I taught Green everything she knows about beautification. There was not a single error in her execution.” She draws a breath, giving my disguise one more long, considering look. “No dear, much like Green herself, that disguise was a precisely designed, lovingly crafted error, timeless in its utter wrongness.” She gives a little sigh and a shake of her head. “Oh well, no matter. Now, let me guess—you can’t stand coffee?” she inquires politely, her tone casual.
Coffee? This seems the most appropriate time to ask about my choice in drinks? And what was with that dig at Green? I let my uncertainty show for a moment, puzzled eyes and a squint, but now that the shouting is over, I rein that in quickly enough. Remember, Siren, you know this game, and if you manage not to do anything stupid, you know how to win it. I’m not going to make the same mistake I made with Echo. She doesn't know anything I don’t tell her.
“Tea is okay,” I offer, taking the implicit invitation to sit at the counter. If she noticed my mistake, she doesn't show it, and soon enough, she’s slipped behind the counter to rummage through the pots and boxes there. “This place looked a little dodgy, though.”
“Ugh! I can see what you mean. Expired, expired, expired...” Rarity says as she sorts through a collection of tins labeled with pictures of tea-leaves. She picks them up two or three at a time, and scans down the writing on the back before tossing them away into the trash. Finally she picks up one, pops off the lid, and sniffs at the top, wrinkling her muzzle in response. “Oh, goodness no,” she exclaims, immediately tossing the container into the bin with the others. I’m not sure if this little display is for my benefit, or if she actually is that picky, but soon there’s only one tin left, and she looks at it with a narrow, skeptical eye. “Well, the date is good, and it’s still sealed, but... it’s herbal tea.”
“I like herbal tea,” I volunteer, earning a disbelieving stare.
“Well...” she says, after a moment. “Nopony is perfect.” Her horn glows, and a kettle fills itself with water under the tap. I’m about to offer some retort when I hear the scrape of wood on wood, and glance to the side in time to see the chairs in the room aligning around the tables. “We’ll give that a minute or two to sit,” she explains, and when I look back at her, the kettle is on the stove, the counter is swept of trash, and the messy inventory stacks are neatening themselves. The blue light from her horn marks a transformative wave in the ugly little shop: shelves straightening, dust clearing, stains fading. I can’t even watch it and listen to her at the same time—how can she possibly be concentrating on all these things at once? I get a headache just thinking about it.
I realize I’ve tuned her out and snap my head back to her. “—terribly sorry for frightening you with that, ah.” She laughs, quietly. “With that little display. I suppose I should be used to this sort of thing by now, but it still finds a way to unsettle me every time.”
“Oh, it’s... it’s quite alright,” I say, trying not to get too distracted as she sweeps the counter clean, drawing a pot of fresh flowers seemingly out of nowhere and setting it in the middle. A tea set quickly appears as well, and I admit, the whole process steals some of my attention—but my tone and body language are still good, a little nervous, but not giving much away. I just need to keep it together. Think of it like tea with that pimply Saddle Arabian prince. Only, you know, the penalty for failure is death instead of a pity date. That helps a bit, but I still can’t think of anything to follow up with, and so I look at the counter, tapping my hooves together. “I can see how that would be upsetting.”
There’s a pause before she speaks, and when she does, her voice is quiet. Sad. “I suppose Trixie told you I’d do all sorts of horrible things to you if I caught you?” My breath catches in my throat for a moment at the unexpected turn, but she isn’t done. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. You can just nod.”
“She didn’t say much about you,” I say, shaking my head. “It was all pretty implicit.”
“Well, I’m not sure how much weight this will carry, but for whatever it’s worth, you have my word that I will do you no harm.” Her voice is quiet but firm, carrying a strong conviction. The same conviction that was screaming in the elevator, but now it’s content to simply speak. “Standing up to me like that was very brave, even if I don’t think Green is worth protecting. You’re a very special young mare.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rarity.” Hearing her speak does make me feel a bit better, or less tense at least, and I look up from the counter in time to see her smile. I notice her horn isn’t glowing anymore, and when I look around, the dingy little shop is transformed—clean, orderly, it even seems brighter, more friendly, respectable. She waits until I look back at her to continue, and when I do, her smile is a little warmer. I guess even she likes knowing her work is appreciated.
“It’s just ‘Rarity,’ dear. Now, we do still need to talk. Do you feel up to that?” she asks. I recognize the trick, smiling at me, encouraging me, making it so I can’t say no to that request without looking like a foal. It’s not a terribly unreasonable trick for her to use though, and I think this request might actually be a request. I’m half tempted to say no and test that theory, but not yet. Better to nod. “Let’s start at the beginning then,” she says, focusing on me with a surprisingly earnest interest. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“I’m an artist,” I say, and I catch the skeptical glint in her eyes when I say it. “Acting, mostly, but a little bit of everything.” She doesn't really believe me, and so after a moment I add, “I never did much with fashion, but that outfit is brilliant. I feel like I could cut myself on it. It seems like a shame though; I bet most ponies think you’re in a slightly neater uniform.”
“You do have a good eye,” she observes, her skepticism fading behind a layer of gentle enthusiasm as she glances down at the work. “You’re quite right of course. You wouldn't believe the number of ponies who approach me and ask when I’m going to stop ‘tinkering with that dreary jumpsuit’ and go back to making ensembles the way I used to. Naturally, I tell them that I’ll go back to those frilly things just as soon as they go back to using stone tools, but—” she gives a superior little chuckle “—they don’t understand.”
“It doesn't hurt your reputation as a designer?” I ask, and I think I can feel a bit of normalcy returning. For however odd the situation is, she seems so... She seems like a pony I could meet in Equestria. A somewhat self-absorbed noblepony with too much power, and a bit enamored with her own work perhaps, but maybe she’s earned it.
“Oh, Siren. That’s a worry for young artists,” she answers, fixing me with an encouraging smile. “With experience and practice, a time will come when you know your work is brilliant and you don’t need anypony to tell you so. I know what I did, even if most ponies lack the capacity to appreciate it. Though I do welcome the occasional insightful spirit.” She says it with a teasing air, aware of how vain she’s being and making fun of herself for it. It doesn’t quite bring a smile to my face, not under the circumstances, but I do feel myself relax. And, well, I smile. I mean, it’s not genuine, but I can pick up on the cue; I’m not blind.
“And you're so humble too,” I supply, and she laughs, a merry little giggle.
“Well, we must have standards,” she demurs, with a little smile and a glance down, obviously and playfully insincere. “Now, I can see that artistic expression is your special talent, but I keep an eye on the up-and-coming artists of Vision, and I’d certainly never heard of you before this whole kerfuffle with Trixie.” Riots, murders, fires, and she calls it a “kerfuffle”? I’d hate to see a spat by that standard. “Have you not yet had the chance to truly create, or do you keep your work private?”
“Oh, mostly the first one,” I cover smoothly, showing a hint of embarrassment with a flick of my gaze to the floor. “Though I do have one piece I’m proud of. It’s a scale model of—” Canterlot “—the city, but it doesn’t contain any real buildings. I was trying to capture the essence of the city, rather than copying the visuals. Everypony who looks at it is certain it’s Vision and starts looking for where they live, but they can’t find it. It’s not exactly a masterpiece, but it’s my first real experiment with expressionism, and it was very satisfying to watch ponies who have lived here for years be stumped.”
“Oh my! That sounds like a delightful little puzzle,” Rarity says, with a giggle. “I should quite like to see it. Who have you had a chance to show it to so far?”
Obvious trap. Obvious enough I think it’s best she knows I saw it, even if she doesn’t realize how well I’ve avoided it. I glance down at the counter, then back up to her, hesitating to answer. “Nopony, really,” I defer, pretending to stew under her gaze. “Just my um... ah.” I bite my lip a little. “Trixie liked it.” And, guide the conversation back to safer topics.
“If I can ask, what is your relationship with Trixie, exactly?” On the stove, the kettle starts to bubble and hiss, shaking slightly on the burner. That puts a hold on the conversation, both of us falling quiet as Rarity picks up the kettle and pours the hot water into a teapot. A teabag from the tin soon follows it, gently lifted up and down in the hot water.
“She’s...” I finally answer, after what I deem to be a suitable pause. “Trixie. She’s the pony who checks up on me by wiredoll and has lots of friends. That’s all.”
“And what does your family think of that?” Rarity asks, and I can see what she’s fishing for. Like Echo said, if you go looking for something, you are sure to find it.
“I don’t have any family. I’m an orphan,” I say quietly, and I’ll admit to feeling a trace of satisfaction when I see Rarity sit back behind the counter. I’m sure that, in her mind, I just confirmed security’s long-lost-relative theory, and that for now at least, inquiries as to my origins are off the table.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Rarity says, with a gentle shake of her head. “I know this city can be unkind to stray children.”
“Trixie made sure I had money. And I didn’t leave home much,” I say, glancing at the exit, the guards there giving me a dull look in response. I can’t see much out the windows, only a herd of ponies milling about outside—white and black uniforms, and some of the crowd from earlier, I think. “I guess I’m realizing now how unkind this city can be,” I add, a touch sad, with a little sigh that sells me as the sweet, naive child of privilege. Throw in my crime boss aunt or mother or whatever, and I’m downright tragic.
“It does have a certain harsh character,” she admits, with a wistful little hiss of breath, buying it without hesitation. “Things never came as easy here as they did in Equestria. Sometimes it seems that for every step forward we take two back. Hunger, crime, the leaks, this whole business with poison joke. There are mornings I wake up and wonder what right I have to lead these ponies, with the condition the city is in. Those... ugly moments of reflection.” That was unexpected, and when I look back at her, she’s staring down into the teapot, lifting the teabag’s little cord up and down. I could follow that up with something banal, of course, move the conversation along, but, no. No, time to take a risk.
“The security officers outside don’t like that sort of reflection,” I say, gentle and quiet, ready to defuse an angry response if one should well up. It doesn’t though, and instead, she nods.
“Well, Rainbow Dash has been nervous about that sort of talk ever since the war, and I can’t say I blame her, but it is... disappointing. At times,” her voice sinks for the last two words. It makes her seem tired, worn, and she pauses faintly before she goes on. “I may not have agreed with Sine’s ideals, but at least Vision used to stand for something. These days, it feels like Vision stands for itself.”
Again, I have the chance to offer something banal in reply, something safe, but... dare I hope? “Wait, you didn’t like him?” I ask as she snaps out of her little reverie, raising her head from the teapot. “But you founded the city.”
“Is that what they’re teaching these days?” she asks, with a gentle little laugh, like that softer moment had never happened. She lifts the teabag out of the pot, restoring its lid and quietly pouring two cups. “No, it wasn’t nearly so simple as all that. What happened with the Princess and Sine was troubling of course, troubling to all of us, but the way his more fanatical followers tell it, you’d think the Princess gored him with her horn in the middle of the street.” She gives the faintest roll of her eyes, lifting her teacup to blow on the liquid inside. It’s pink and smells like oranges, a fact that makes her nose wrinkle.
“I was upset, mind,” she continues, putting the teacup down as quickly as decorum would allow. “But that was about the extent of it. I can’t even say I wholly disagreed with the Princess’s decision. It was really Twilight who took it hard—leaving Equestria was her idea. The rest of us came along when it became clear we couldn't talk her out of it.”
“So, you don’t have anything against the Princess?” In a testament to my acting ability, I manage to keep my tone casual, even moderately curious, when by all rights I should be shouting for joy. I even take the time to sip my tea, careful not to stare at her too intently. It does taste like oranges.
“Well, don’t spread it around. At this point, it’s practically official policy that Princess Celestia starts every morning with a breakfast of fresh kittens,” Rarity says, adding a little snort. “But, privately, well... we had our good times. She was so supportive, back in the old days. And even when things were bad, she never did me any harm. That whole business with Sine was troubling, yes, but there were extenuating circumstances.”
Immediately, a number of questions spring to mind: what extenuating circumstances, why do you put up with something you know isn’t true, can you get me out of here? I stomp them all down though. At this point, no matter how good my tone is, continuing to ask questions on this subject will become conspicuous. I force myself to nod, and sip my tea again, seeming to mull over what she said. “I suppose,” I finally say, shaking my head. “I guess I’m discovering the city for the first time, really. Away from home and without support.” I cast my eyes down a little, to add that melancholy kick.
I am so cute.
“I saw your ankles earlier,” Rarity answers softly, reaching out to pat my shoulder. Sympathy pat—nailed it. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been. I’m so sorry.”
“Is the whole city this way?” I ask, looking up into her eyes. She seems so sincere, so sad. The first pony here like that I’ve seen. She even feels like a real pony, without that greasy, saccharine stink. “It’s so... inventively sadistic. Every time I think I have a handle on it, it finds a way to get worse.”
“It can seem that way, I admit,” Rarity nods. “I’m not blind to why some ponies want to go back to Equestria. But you have to keep things in perspective.”
“And what perspective is that?” I ask.
“Well, it’s like Green, really,” she says, rolling her teacup back and forth, watching the liquid slosh around. “You can’t imagine how proud I was when I first saw her on stage. She was gorgeous, and everypony knew it. I felt like I’d wasted my entire life before that moment, fiddling with fabric and stitching. It was a grand achievement, a true masterpiece of her era.”
She trails off for a moment, lost in thought. “But with one, came two. Then three. Then four, and ten. What was unique became standard, and I realized I was spending my career creating the same tired shapes, over and over again: the upturned muzzle, the smooth flank, the ample tail. And worse, I started to realize precisely what sort of creatures I was creating.” She tilts her gaze up at me, matching my eyes, her own so soft and intense. “You know she was about to shove you off that lift to save herself.”
I guess I do.
“She was thinking about it,” I answer, after taking a moment to collect myself. “But she had her chance, and didn’t. You can’t know what she would have done, given a few more seconds.”
“That’s a very forgiving way to see things,” Rarity observes, giving me a curious look, head tilted faintly to one side. She’s obviously surprised but also pleased. None of Trixie’s derision, or her contempt for the notion.
“I prefer to think of it as generous,” I reply, and Rarity cracks a faint smile at that. I’m getting a little incautious, but she obviously finds me charming, and if she might be my ticket out of here, worth it to learn more about her. “So Green is a metaphor for the city’s downfall, then?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Rarity replies, with a more casual tone. “Whatever darkness may have rested in her heart was always there. She was a petty, loathsome creature long before you and I met her, but that fact was hidden to our eyes. Now we can see it, and that ugliness in her heart stands out all the sharper in contrast to her physical appearance. Oh, it’s easy to become upset with her flaws, but when you take a moment to consider it rationally, Green is objectively better than she was before she met me. So it is with Vision.” She lifts her cup to her lips, sipping at her tea. “I shower the ponies of this city with wonders—it’s hardly my fault if they choose to squander them.”
She’s been so sweet so far that for a moment, I’m sure I misheard. Nopony could really be so callous, so casually indifferent to what’s happening here. I’m staring at her, looking for the cruel jape, that little wink that signals she knows her gifts are poisoned candy and is laughing at the city’s misfortune. I’d expect it from Green, Trixie, even some of the others, but I don’t see it here. She’s just making conversation. Like she really doesn’t know.
“I wouldn't consider mantles a gift,” I say quietly, testing those waters. I have plans, things I can say to qualify the statement if she explodes like Silverhoof did, but all she does is look up at me with a curious frown. “Coming to terms with your special talent is a part of coming to terms with yourself, understanding who you are. This way... this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
I’m braced for her reaction, but all her expression does is encourage me on. “My dear Siren, I couldn’t agree with you more, but surely you must see that this is how it is.”
“But it wasn’t always this way!” I shoot back, and I realize my voice is rising. “Maybe... maybe Green was always this bad, but not all of them. This isn’t how ponies are! We aren’t this cruel! This place, the markers, they’re like grotesque parodies! Can’t you see what you’re doing to them? Can’t you see that it’s all gone horribly wrong?”
At some point, my forehooves ended up on the countertop, and I ended up standing, shouting. I don’t realize what I did until it’s over, my body shaking, every muscle tense. My shoulder throbs from Green yanking me earlier, and after a moment, I have to settle back down, letting that leg hang limp.
You had to do something, Siren, and while that was something, you probably should not have done it.
Rarity shows no reaction, sipping her tea as she mulls the matter over. Maybe... maybe she’ll forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing; that came out of nowhere. She has to know that it’s because I’m under stress, right? I didn’t mean to snap at her that way—it just came out! She saw my burned ankles, she knows, she’ll understand. She has to.
Finally, she lowers the cup, giving me an evaluating glance. “Grotesque, are we?”
Stupid stupid stupid! The clothes are always to hide the extra cutie marks! I knew she was covered up and I fell for it anyway! “I-I didn’t...” I stammer, looking for some, any out. “That is, I meant to say—”
“Oh, hush now. You’re embarrassing yourself,” she says, putting her teacup down. Her horn’s light doesn’t fade however, the glow reappearing over the buttons down her outfit’s side. She undoes them one a time, quickly and efficiently working her way down the row until she can pull the fabric aside, revealing a cutie mark along her chest—the outline of a red cross, with a red and blue flower laid along its diagonals. “I could take it the rest of the way off if you’d like. I do have a few others.”
“Um... no, that’s...” I look down at my teacup. “That’s fine. I mean—”
“This may shock you, Siren, but I was perfectly comfortable with who I was before mantles came on the scene. In fact, when Twilight first invented them, I thought she was wasting her time,” she says, raising her muzzle slightly. So that’s what Green meant, about Twilight being too nice to see what was happening. I should have known. “I mean really. Perhaps they would be a curious way to explore the world over a weekend, but ponies already have a special talent—a second one would be entirely superfluous.”
I can hear the long-winded story coming, and I cut to the chase. “And then you discovered medicine and—”
Her hoof hits the counter hard enough to make my teacup jump, and I jump as well, my jaw snapping shut instantly. She’s staring now, glaring down at me from above, eyes wide and intense. She’s judging me, finding me wanting. I fall quiet.
Then, her expression softens, she lowers her hoof, and she goes on with that casual tone, like nothing had happened.
“Actually, it was architecture,” she explains, gesturing at me with an upturned hoof. “The city didn’t look like this in the beginning, you see. Twilight’s notion of a ‘good’ city was all about efficient use of space. Cramped little boxy rooms, squat, rectangular buildings. She wanted advice, and I was happy to don another hat for a week or two, just as a favor. It was an enlightening experience. Of course, everypony knew that the city was ugly, dark, unpleasant, but suddenly, I knew why. I could fix it! I could see how ponies react to a building the same way I could see how they react to a new dress or to changes in style. I was always an artist, but suddenly, I had a whole new medium to work in.”
“So, you were the one who designed the wharf?” I ask quietly, and she beams down at me.
“I was! Did you like it?” she asks, with an overflowing sort of cheer. Like we were two friends, sitting down over lunch together. “It’s not really my usual style, but I was trying to capture Sine’s essence. Since he was such an inspiration to the ponies who came here.”
“It felt angry. Judgmental. It made me feel small and weak,” I say, trying to figure out what to do with my eyes. Up? Down? Up. Better to see her that way.
“Yes, that was Sine all over, really,” Rarity agrees, a slight pleased note in her voice. Happy it worked out, I suppose. “You see, Siren, additional cutie marks aren’t substitutive, they’re cumulative. I never stopped being a fashion designer or lost that power to create—I simply gained new appreciation for how it might be applied to other fields. Mantles don’t fundamentally change who you are; they make you more than what you were.”
I almost snap at her, but I’m ready this time, smashing down that urge and swallowing the words, like a lump in my throat. What do I say to that? Ask how they’ll enjoy their good looks after their faces melt off? How they’ll appreciate those other fields as they slowly lose their wits, their minds, turn into parodies of everything they were?
But it’s not really “they,” is it? It’s “she,” and I don’t imagine she would appreciate that reminder. Not that that’s unfair, I mean—Green is sensitive about the whole addiction thing too. So, when I finally do speak, my voice is meek, quiet, inoffensive in every way: “But not better.”
“No dear, not better. But if there’s a potion to enhance the spirit, I have yet to discover it,” she answers with a soft little shake of her head. “I know very well what you must think of me, Siren, but I learned from my mistakes with Green. Physical beauty is cheap; it’s what’s inside that’s really worth preserving. That’s the nice thing about my job, you see. Only so many ponies can be models, and since anypony can be beautiful, I’m free to give the jobs to those who really deserve them. I can take that moment of true glamour and preserve it forever.”
My jaw opens and shuts. “I’m sorry I called you...” I stumble through the words, trying to regain my ground. I lost the thread of the game here, but I can get it back. This can still work. “I’m sorry I snapped. If you can understand, I’ve had a really bad week.”
“I do understand, my dear. Apology accepted.” She tilts her head to the side, looking down at me. “I think you’ve torn a muscle in that shoulder. Would you like me to fix it?”
“I won’t need to drink anything, will I?” I ask, and she gives a gentle chuckle.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she says, buttoning up her outfit again and then coming around to my side of the counter. The tip of her horn shines, and a bright blue beam strikes down into my shoulder. It feels oddly cold, tingly, numbing. “Yes, that’s definitely torn. Now, if you would hold still, this will sting a little, tiny—” I feel a tugging in my shoulder, and a faint stinging.
Then the room starts to shake.
At first it’s just a faint vibration, then the whistle of a train echoes through the windows, and the room starts to shake in earnest, teacups rattling along the countertop. That stinging point in my shoulder seems to rattle as well, weaving up and down wildly, the sting coming harder, hotter.
Then my shoulder tears open, blood pouring down my leg.
I scream. After everything I’ve been through, maybe pain shouldn’t bother me, but I can feel it! I can feel all the muscles and flesh in my shoulder wrenched out of place, sliced open in a long, jagged line. I try to pull away, but Rarity’s horn goes out at once, and she grabs me with her hooves to hold me still. I’m trying to get away from her, but she’s stronger than me, and every strain against her causes another flash of pain and current of blood. “Shh, shh,” she says as the room shakes around us. “Let it pass. Let it pass.” I’m in no position to object; every movement of my leg is agony, and I can feel that warm, sticky feeling spreading down to the floor. That’s a lot of blood, a deep, ragged cut. I stop struggling, try to hold it steady so it won’t hurt. It’s all I can do, and Rarity presses my head into her shoulder, holding me in place.
Then, gradually, the train fades into the distance.
“Now, hold still,” Rarity says, her horn lighting up again, enveloping my wound in that anesthetic blue light. It’s a good thing she told me, or the release from pain would have actually made me slump with relief, that throbbing agony reduced to a numbed pinching. At once, the blood flow stops, though I can still feel a sticky, crimson sheen covering my shoulder and leg. Rarity levitates the kettle over, checking the temperature of the water inside before pouring it over the wound, washing the blood away. The green in my coat washes away with it, a brown and red puddle forming on the floor as my natural color starts to show again. “Ah, nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine,” she says, gentle and smooth.
I can’t see the cut clearly, but maybe it’s better I can’t from how it felt. All I can do is watch Rarity’s focused expression as that light plays out of her horn, and I feel my flesh drawing together, going taut again. I can actually feel the edges of the cut pull together. Then, the light goes out, and my shoulder doesn’t hurt.
“There,” Rarity says, with a relieved sigh, leaning back to look me in the face, eyes full of worry. “I’m so sorry, Siren. Are you alright?”
I reach up with a foreleg to feel around the spot. There’s no tear in the flesh, no scar, and when I rub my hoof against the joint, my shoulder feels whole, moving without pain. The room starts to shake again—more trains, but the deed is done, like the injury was never there. “Yes, I...” I manage, after a moment. “I think I’m fine.”
“Good,” she says, turning to the two guards near the door. I hear their hooves shift as they suddenly go stiff, put on the spot by her gaze. “You two will simply have to forgive me; my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I do recall saying I didn’t want my visit interrupted by any of Trixie’s awful little mechanical contraptions. Is that not so?”
“Ms. Rarity, I—” the guard on the left stammers, about to make an excuse, no doubt.
“Ah ah,” she tsks at him, with a warm little smile. “I asked you a question.”
“That, ah...” He manages to nod. “That is so, Ms. Rarity.”
“Oh, good!” she answers, cheerful, a touch relieved. “You see, I wasn’t certain, because—and this is the confusing part—one of her wretched trains just made me botch an incision!” The fury comes so hot, so suddenly, that even with every warning she gave it was coming, it still catches me off guard, and I scramble away as the guards pull back. Rarity’s face is twisted into a snarl, her teeth barred as her eyes go wide, unblinking and intense.
“I shall find out who is responsible for this travesty immediately, Ms. Rarity,” the guard on the right volunteers quickly, already opening the door to leave.
“Good! Good,” Rarity agrees, with a merry little laugh. “And when you do find them, please convey, in absolutely unambiguous terms, that they embarrassed me in front of a patient. Can you do that?” she asks, so saccharine sweet, the two guards giving hurried nods. “Simply wonderful. Now get out!” Her scream sends them fleeing out into the hall, the door slamming behind them.
It’s only in the silence that follows that I realize my heart has started to race, my breath coming in shallow pants. Rarity draws a deep breath, letting it out with a wide, sweeping motion of her hoof. “And we let the anger out.” She breathes the words out, slow, calm. “Terribly sorry about that. I take my work very seriously, you understand. I swear, sometimes I think the other doctors exist solely to make me look bad.”
“Oh, no, I uh... I understand completely,” I say, managing a nod. Okay, okay, some mood swings there. But she did slash open my shoulder maybe it’s understandable. She’s under a lot of stress too, I bet. “Uh...” Stay on task, Siren. “Right. Um... I didn’t think those were all Trixie’s trains, out there.”
“Not in the sense of owning them, no, but they’re all her fault,” Rarity says, with a sharp little snort. “Back when the city was new, ponies moved through the corridors the proper way—carts, wagons, sky-chariots, or stars forbid, walking. Trixie was the one who sold Twilight on the ridiculous notion that we needed an in-street rail system when we already had Rainbow’s trams. I mean, have you seen them? Squat, ugly, boxy, greasy little things that practically shake the towers down when they move. They’re simply awful.” She delivers the word with a faint, dramatic groan, like a terminal patient on their deathbed.
I want to ask more, but now we’re definitely getting into subjects that even Trixie’s poor lost relative should know about. I’ll have to tread carefully, but... she’s obviously a bit fond of me—that should give me enough wiggle room. “I guess I never stopped to think about it,” I say, sitting back, my heart slowing down as we settle back into normal conversation. “The way she talked, about herself, her... well. I knew she had money and power, but I always thought of her as a showmare.”
“She’s a parasite and a fraud, more like,” Rarity replies, shaking her head. “Back in the early days, she saw how overworked Twilight and the rest of us were and realized there was an opportunity for a sneaky, underhooved mare to make good. She rounded up a pair of mechanists named Flim and Flam, as well as Doctor Stable and a few other hangers-on, and managed to persuade Twilight that they were the solution to all of the city’s problems.”
“Oh,” I say, tapping the floor as I think. “So, is that why she sits on the city council even though... you know.”
“We can’t get rid of her!” Rarity exclaims, exasperated, spreading her hooves and looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “She managed to trick Twilight into building a city that’s wholly dependent on her little toys: trains, wiredolls, elevators, bilge pumps.” She rolls the word out with a smooth emphasis, like it was somehow particularly absurd. “Everypony knows she’s a two-faced little witch. When dissent was in, she was a protestor. When the war was on, she was a rebel. When it ended, she was a loyalist! And now that the government is weak, she’s a criminal.”
“And Neptune’s Bounty?” I ask. It’s pressing my luck a little, but she’s obviously distracted, and this is good information. She doesn’t notice anyway, taking the question at face value. “I mean, I know it’s where she lives—”
“It’s where she cowers more like,” Rarity scoffs, quick and curt. “It’s a fortress that puts her and her little minions well out of the reach of even Rainbow Dash.”
Not all of her minions, but somehow, bringing up Doctor Stable is probably a bad idea. I don’t thinks she’s intentionally deceiving me—I don’t get any of that from her face or eyes—but ponies often simplify the truth in their own favor, particularly when they’re emotional. Rarity is just downplaying Trixie’s influence because she sees herself as part of the legitimate government.
And, I mean, isn’t she? She’s got a bit of a temper, sure, but she fixed my shoulder. I think Trixie would have ground salt into the wound to motivate me not to get injured in the future. And yeah, she blew up at Green, but... none of what she said was really untrue, was it?
“I suppose that brings us to what’s going to happen to me,” I say, glancing down for a moment to explain away my delay in answering. The hot water has really done a number on my disguise—that entire shoulder is fuschia again, and rivers of that bright shade run through the darker green. Rarity accepts the pause without question, giving me a reassuring nod.
“You understand that I can’t give you to Trixie,” she says, reaching out a hoof to touch my shoulder. “She’s had ponies bribed, threatened, even murdered to have you. Turning you over to her would send entirely the wrong message. And frankly, I’m not sure you’d find Neptune’s Bounty as friendly a place as you might think. I know Trixie has been kind to you, but when you get past that... well.” I don’t need her to finish to know what she means. When she sighs, I can hear Trixie bellowing at Green and Berry, her snide tone, her toxic spite, her nasty little superior attitude. I don’t show my comprehension of course—in fact, I make a point to look a bit offended on my dear foster parent’s behalf. “I can simply let you go, if that is your wish, but I’m not sure you’d fare much better on the streets. I’m quite certain Rainbow Dash intends to use you as a hostage to ensure Trixie’s good behavior.”
“But you have so much power and influence here,” I observe, bristling a little from that offense. It sounds good too. “Can’t you stop her?”
Of course, I already know the answer. Rarity’s lips purse, and for a moment, I think she seriously considers it. But then she sighs, shaking her head. “I am only one of the Elements of Harmony, Siren. I could ask Rainbow Dash, but I doubt she’d listen. That mare is impossibly stubborn once she gets an idea into her head.”
“So, is there a third option?” That’s obviously what she’s leading up to, and as I expected, she nods.
“If you would like, I would be happy to offer you shelter in the Pavilion until this whole thing blows over,” she says, looking down at me with a careful, attentive gaze. “It won’t be much, but you’ll be safe, and nopony will expect you to play hostage. I know it doesn’t seem like I’m offering you much choice, given the alternatives, but I promise, what comes next is up to you. If you decide you’d rather take your chances with security, I will do my best to help. I just can’t guarantee anything.”
And there’s the offer. Of course, the entire bit about my not being a hostage is a load of horseapples—being in Rarity’s keeping when Trixie wants me makes me an implicit hostage. Still... there is a big difference between implicit hostage and being tied to a chair. I search her eyes for any insincerity, for the vicious little trap, but I don’t see anything there. Only that honest generosity, that desire to help.
“What if I change my mind later?” I ask, stalling for time. So, options: I can choose the street and make a mad sprint for Echo’s train, the street and try to get to Neptune’s Bounty on my own, security and hope that eventually Rainbow Dash trades me off to Neptune’s Bounty, or Rarity. Not much choice at face value, but what’s my long-term plan with her? Sneak off to Neptune’s Bounty? Let her know I’m from Equestria? I could tell her that now, if I wanted.
“You’re free to go any time you like,” she assures me automatically. “I could even fix you up, if you wanted. A few hours on the table, and nopony would ever recognize you. You’d be free to go without ever having to worry about Trixie or Rainbow Dash again.” I’m careful not to show disgust, but I do let my muzzle scrunch up at the thought, and she gives a light little giggle. “Or maybe that’s not to your taste. But the offer stands.”
No... telling her that I’m the Princess’s student now would be a stupid risk. The signs are all good, but one conversation is not enough to make that kind of judgement. Really then, my choice boils down to making a sprint for Echo’s train now or betting that I can get a better handle on Rarity over time and make an informed decision. I do think she means it, about letting me go... I mean, she’s a marker, but she seems okay.
“What will happen to Green?” I ask, Rarity’s expression twisting into a frown at the unexpected question.
“She’s a murderer and an agent of a known crime boss. She’ll be handed over to security,” she answers, curt and direct.
“Whereupon they will hang her,” I check, and after a moment, Rarity gives a stiff nod. I guess that’s that, then.
“Green has been very kind to me, when there was nopony else around,” I mutter, though I can tell from Rarity’s expression that she doubts that very much. “I’d like it if she was spared.”
“My dear Siren, I cannot pardon a violent criminal simply because—” she starts to explain, but no, I know this game.
“Pardon her, and I’ll go with you,” I deliver the line with an air of finality. I really nailed it too; I can tell by how Rarity sits back and looks thoughtful, tapping her hoof to the floor as she runs through her options in her head.
“I’ll commute her sentence from death to imprisonment. So she can keep you company,” Rarity offers, adding with a firm note, “but she will not be free to leave the Pavilion and return to Trixie’s service.” I can tell it’s the best I’m going to get.
“Deal,” I extend my foreleg, and our hoofs meet in the middle with a sharp tap.
“Simply wonderful,” she says, and I admit, I do feel a bit relieved. Maybe more than a bit. The chase, the struggle, the fighting—it’s all over. I still need to evaluate Rarity, of course, plan my next move—but nopony is going to try to stab me, and that realization makes my shoulders sag, all the tension flowing out of me. “Now, just one more thing, and we’ll be on our way.”
“What’s that?” I ask as she levitates the kettle over towards us, holding it up in the air.
Then, she sharply upends it.
“Ah!” I jump as the water spills over me, stumbling backwards, but I can already hear Rarity giggling. Green turns to brown and runs in rivers down my coat, through my hair, washing away into the floor drains and leaving my natural color behind. Rarity finds the whole thing terribly amusing, lifting a hoof to cover her mouth as she giggles like a schoolfilly. I can’t believe she did that, and all I can do is splutter, “Was that really necessary?” staring at her from under my wet forelock.
“Well, I hate that shade of green, so, yes,” she explains with a sweeping gesture and a deep nod of her head. “Your natural color is absolutely marvelous! I simply can’t have you trotting around covered in Green’s ghastly craftsmanship. Now, dry yourself off, and let’s be on our way,” she encourages me, levitating a clean cloth from behind the counter towards me.
Okay. Dry myself off. I can do that.
“Well, if you insist—” I tense, bracing my hooves against the floor, and Rarity has just enough time to jump before I start to shake off, drops of water and green dye flying in all directions. She’s splattered at once, a pattern of muddy green dots and lines covering her beautiful white outfit, ruining its perfection in a moment.
She looks at it, and looks at me, a long silence hanging. The smile fades from my face, as I see her stare, long and empty. “I uh...” I say to that hollow gaze.
Then, she smiles, her face lighting up. “Nopony has had the guts to do that to me in a long time, Siren,” she says, the words broken by a chuckle. “Reminds me of my younger days.”
“Oh, in a... good way?” I ask, and the relieved laugh I give is remarkably genuine. That was too close.
“Oh, absolutely,” she assures me with a little wave of her hoof. “I was getting tired of this outfit anyway. It was about time I touched it up. Now, let’s be off. Have you ever traveled by sky chariot?”
“Once, with—” the Princess “—a pegasus friend,” I finish lamely, gulping down the last of my tea. I don’t think she noticed though, turning to lead me out the door.
The street outside is crowded. I can see there are trains in motion, the line quickly clearing, and the floor faintly shakes with their passage. Closer at hoof are clusters of those white-suited minions of Rarity’s, keeping the crowd away or the street clear. I can see her sky chariot. It really is like the Princess’s, wide and flat, covered in soft padding, with a tall backing at the rear instead of a cover on the front, more like a palanquin than a chariot. It has spaces for four pegasi to pull it, and is made of hardwood adorned with gold. Green’s colors stand out, of course—she’s across the street, being watched by a group of those guards or doctors or whatever, near a flying ambulance.
Then something moves in the corner of my vision, and when I turn my head, I see them—one of the little sisters, her diving-suited guardian, and the body of the stallion who stood up to Green.
“—please bear with us, through this change.” She sings her off-tune little ditty, her voice wheezing, gurgling, her horn already buried deep inside his barrel, forced between two ribs. “We gather that, which you require, Poison Joke—” with a wet, sticky tearing sound, she pulls her head backwards, her horn coming free with such force that she actually stumbles a step back “—and Heart’s Desire! Also, ow!” This one is yellow, with a green mane and her little blue dress. The colors make the blood stand out more, fresh lines of it running down her face. One line touches her eye, and she flinches, squeezing it shut.
“Oh, let me get that for you, dear,” Rarity says, stepping up to the little creature and her guardian without fear. Her horn glows, and she picks up the... the filly, wiping the blood from her face. “There, isn’t that all better?”
“Yes, Auntie Rarity,” she sniffs, reaching to rub at her eye, her muzzle scrunching up with obvious discomfort. Auntie Rarity. Who gives them things when they’re sad so they’ll feel better.
“Aww, who’s the bwavest widdle gatherer in the whole city? You are!” Rarity coos, leaning in to nuzzle the little filly nose to nose, the contact leaving a spot of crimson on Rarity’s white muzzle.
“Thanks, Auntie Rarity,” she says, leaning around Rarity to look straight on at me. “Hello, Cousin Pinkpony!”
I think I blankly stare at them for a second. At the little filly, at the blood on Rarity’s muzzle.
“‘Cousin?’” Rarity asks, shooting me and the little filly a curious look. Neither of us have any answers though—I doubt the little filly can lie, and the dumb look on my face is certainly genuine. Rarity doesn’t seem overly bothered by it though, placing the filly back on the ground. “Well, no matter. Would you like to say hello to your cousin then, Siren?”
“I...” I feel my stomach starting to churn. She has a blister on her face, or a sore or something that bleeds. I can’t tell how much of that blood is hers, how much is from the stallion. It all stinks though, so sweet the smell has come around and become caustic. Rarity is looking at me, waiting to see what I do. But... she has to see that this is disgusting, right? She’s just putting on airs because there’s no point in yelling at it. At her. Right? I look at Rarity for something, anything, a line out of this. But she only looks expectant, maybe a little annoyed. She’s wondering why I’m taking so long to say anything.
If I refuse, I’ll offend this filly, I’ll offend Rarity, and then Rarity will never help me get out of here.
I look at Rarity and swallow. She’s obviously gotten used to it. So, if she can be this filly’s aunt, I can be her cousin.
“Of course I would!” I chirp. “Cute little thing.”
Her guardian’s helmet tilts as I step up to her, that drill banging against his side as he twists to follow me with his gaze. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s watching me. I think the consequences for offending him might be more immediate.
“Hello there... cousin!” That sounded good, very convincing. “I’m surprised you recognized me! I’m not pink, after all.” I lift a hoof, patches of green still visible where the water failed to reach.
“No, you’re still really pink. That just makes you look like a pink pony who threw up on herself. It’s kind of gross,” she asserts, with that wheezing voice, like a set of organ bellows. Her stomach jumps, like a hiccup, and a trail of crimson drool starts to run from the corner of her mouth. “Besides! There aren’t a lot of ponies in the city who don’t glow.”
“Well, that’s very perceptive! I suppose you should run along now, but um... say hello to all your sisters for me. One of them gave me a gift earlier and uh... it was really sweet.” I finish the line fine. Great even! But she’s still looking at me, waiting for something.
I brace myself, leaning my head down to touch the tip of my muzzle to hers. Her brother tenses when I draw close, bracing a leg forward. He’ll smash me flat if I make a sudden move, I know it. That smell floods through my nose, flowers and rot and filth and copper, caustic and toxic, enough to make my eyes water. I ignore it though, nuzzling against her, and she nuzzles back.
“Aww. Aren’t you two just precious?” Rarity asks, with a cheerful little laugh. “It’s like you’re a part of the family already.” It is, isn’t it? Brother, sister, aunt, cousin.
The little one’s guardian doesn’t share that opinion, quickly sweeping her up back into the basket. I don’t say anything—can’t think of anything to say. All I do is watch as he lumbers off. He’s so heavy the floor shakes with his brass-bound steps, and he shambles like he can barely support his own weight. Yet somehow, for all that, he makes good time, quickly moving down the street. The little filly leans out of her basket to wave to us before she’s too far out of sight, calling out, “Goodbye, Auntie Rarity! Goodbye, Cousin Pinkpony!”
“Goodbye, dear!” Rarity calls after her, waiting until she’s away before looking back to me. “Are you ready to go then?” she asks, gesturing to her sky chariot. Like nothing happened. But why should she be acting like something happened? I mean, we just said hello to her little niece, right? That’s how it works. If that gets me home, I mean.
I take a breath. Take a second to clear my head. I look around, and the guards here appear to be clearing away, but Green is still across the street, waiting by the ambulance.
“In a moment. I want to tell Green she’s going to be okay,” I answer, and Rarity nods, gesturing me on that way. It’s refreshing that she trusts me enough to let me go off on my own, and I quickly trot over to Green and the guards watching over her.
“Siren?” Green asks, looking at me as I run up. She’s wide-eyed, alarmed, her mane a mess. “What happened? Why did the soldiers leave?”
“Don’t worry, I fixed everything,” I say, quick and reassuring. She’s obviously panicked, and why shouldn't she be? She doesn’t know what’s happened. “I got Rarity to pardon you! Or, well, commute your sentence, but you’re going to be okay.”
“W-what?” she asks, trembling, looking wildly between me and the white-suited guards watching her. “Why? Why would she do that?”
“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “We’re going to the Pavilion together.”
Green goes stock still, her eyes shrinking to pinpricks. Her trembling becomes more noticeable, like she’s having a seizure. The guards around her notice too. “She’s freaking out,” one of them says, reaching back into his saddlebag for a needle. “Hold her down and—”
“No!” she screams at the top of her lungs, her legs blindly flailing backwards, catching one of her guards in the side. He goes crashing to the ground, and as soon as her hooves hit the earth, she’s galloping, sprinting away, throwing me to the ground as she slams past. I’m knocked spinning to the side, hitting the stone hard, but I can I hear the crackle of magic, Green screaming at the top of her lungs.
When I look up, I can see that two earth pony orderlies have tackled her, and another two unicorns are holding her in place with magic. Still, she almost manages to throw them off, thrashing like a wild animal as they drag her back towards the ambulance. “No! Please! Help!” she screams, her horseshoes producing a screeching whine as she scrambles them over the stone. “Anypony, please!” The soldiers watching over the trains are still visible in the distance, and she reaches out towards them, shouting, “Security! Don’t let them—” then the orderly gets her in the shoulder with a syringe, jamming the contents down inside her.
“No!” she bellows, less than sedated, fighting every step of the way as they drag her towards the ambulance. “Not again! Not a—”
The ambulance doors shut.
Stats
Page generated in 0.04 seconds
Total duration
810 users online
634,999 hits today, 2,156,967 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
I can't wait to see the Pavilion.
Excellent, as always. I love how everyone Siren meets could easily fill either the hero's or villain's role. Everything is gray!
She's green. She's a unicorn. She's bad-ass and good-lookin'. And she has ties to Rarity (however strained)? Green "Envy" Apple is my favorite OC ever. All she needs now is Fluttershy's seal of approval!
That was an awesome chapter, just can't wait to learn more about Rarity and Pavilion and more about Green's past
um, might be a typo:
Lost it at "I am so cute"
I have to admit, I was incredibly nervous to see one of the mane six in the flesh. In Fallout: Equestria, they were distant enough, the flashbacks to them disconnected enough, that it was easy to suspend my disbelief at how the world got the way it did. But with them still alive here, and in positions of power, I was on the edge of my seat. But it's all there with Rarity, at least, everything that makes her who she is, plus twenty years of baggage. The moments, big (sweeping away the entire shop to make it clean and lovely, flipping out when a train botches her work) and small (the mostly quiet sincerity with which she treats Siren, her absolute confidence in her outfit), all combine to paint a picture of the same pony we know and love, just in a drastically different style and medium.
I would never imagine her becoming this, but it is internally consistent with your narrative and compelling. I feel too sad to clap, even with the moments of FiM-like humor Rarity brought to the proceedings, which washed away like bloody tears in the chocolate rain.
2524508
Wait until you see the next one, you're going to pancake.
I have to say, I completely adore the Little Sisters' interactions with Siren.
I think I will be revisiting this chapter as a guide on how to write awesome for years to come!
This is definitely the best crossover I have ever read. I can certainly believe that you finished it beforehand and just publish new chapters weekly.
2526339
Truly, these are the deep philosophical questions of our age. Can we ever really know?
2530685
Nope!
Seriously though, it's been pre-written for months at this point. Going back and making any changes beyond little grammatical corrections (which I've tried to be diligent for) would be a huge production.
2535539
Your tears.
Give them to me.
I can't wait to see Trixie bargain desperately for control of her DAUGHTER. Also, the little sister was so cute. I can't wait to learn why they call Siren cousin.
Also, is this the penultimate chapter or are there two more after this?
2536569
There will be four more updates before the big conclusion.
2536565
Whosa cute little abomination against the natural order? You are!
2536685
Give em the old, razzle dazzle...
1.bp.blogspot.com/-9wxrFzsBV2s/Th5MZfzVL-I/AAAAAAAAICY/mFTUOY9ytoQ/s1600/the_great_and_powerful_trixie_by_dcpip-d3p1rnw.jpg
Also: "If you're going to do such things, you can at least do them fabulously."
Mangling of one of my favorite quotes from Bioshock.
2536739
Indeed, Trixie shall.
Now, please tell me Berry is going to be okay.
Berry, Trixie and Rarity are best characters in this, imo.
2536606I thought you said their were only like 13 per book?
2537029
I loved that quote as well. It was such a moment of sublime fridge horror.
2537140
"Siren, the readers love you!"
"
"Woo-hoo!"
"As a camera for looking at other, more interesting characters."
"
2537233
Not counting the introduction, and two of the chapters (Siren Song and one other) are split into two parts.
Ah okay. I'm looking forward to reading and commenting on your next few chapters then. And to spreading my "whack job" theory that Trixie is Sirens mother.
2537276
... More or less, yeah. It's not like Siren's gotten any real development or anything lately anyway.
2531123
Oh, but think! Just think of it! The wondrous and glorious improvements that could be made to this masterpiece with just one pivotal change!
i.imgur.com/eCSZ3H3.png
2539200
NEVER! You monster!
i.imgur.com/fr27cc0.png
Well, Green's reaction makes me on tenterhooks as to what it's like in the pavilion-- and makes me wonder if Rarity out-manipulated Siren Song there. Perhaps having Green back was no price at all.
That's not entirely untrue but you do a fairly good job of presenting a flawed character who's in over her head and reacts to things poorly sometimes with Siren's Song. Especially these last few chapters, I think, where she does things like stay with White Wash after she attacks her and bargain for Green's life even after Green is tempted to lighten the load by tossing Siren.
Of course, the amusing thing about Siren is she's almost as broken as many she runs into. The Little Sisters calling her 'Cousin' makes me wonder about exactly what they injected her with at the docks. Of course, there might be a more literal meaning buried in there, that it actually has something to do with her blood line. Rarity is aunty so mother is... Sweetie Bell? Or one of the other Elements? Twilight perhaps? Because a cousin is the child of one of your aunts and uncles or to put it differently another descendant from the same grandparents.
2541077
As someone who knows more about the story than what's been presented so far, I'm always interested to see outsider perspectives on Siren. I know where she's going, so it can be hard for me to separate that from what a fresh reader might see.
You make a lot of posts, almost one per chapter, and all of them are very informative and interesting. Since you're so talkative anyway, let's take it a step further:
Where do you think this story is going to go? Both in the near future and eventually.
2541077
2540966
2540920
2540842
2540767
2541053
Marry me. And leave lots of comments on the wedding.
These comments are always funny to me, because Berry was a real (pun intended) darkhorse character. I knew what was going on inside her head, but I was sure most of the readers would just go, "Oh, she's the emotionless girl," and pass over her without much note. I was actually worried that the ending of Rarity would fall flat because people would go, 'Oh, Green kicked that glorified extra. Woo.'
Needless to say, I'm thrilled with how it turned out.
I went back and forth with that scene a lot in the planning stage. I specifically wanted to avoid the cliche of the idiot stormtrooper/nazi-guard/orc who loses the heroes due to his own iron-fisted bumbling—I enjoy stories with intelligent antagonists. On the other hand, it's also grating for Siren to repeatedly escape an antagonist who really should be catching her through sheer dumb luck.
Ultimately, I settled on a good mix of traits that I felt was realistic. Someone who is competent at their job, but not necessarily bright. The amount of haggling I did with myself over his character really ended up spilling over into Echo, and defined a lot of their relationship as you've seen it so far.
Thank you!
The inspiration for that scene was actually the big twist moment of Bioshock. I find that the sudden transition from dramatic action-movie style violence (like the fight in the hall), to plain, realistic brutality not only comes across as a real shock, but it makes the preceding fights seem more real. After all that time where Green was the ultimate combat buddy, suddenly, she's in mortal peril.
No spoilers, but I will say this. All shall be revealed in time!
Poison Oak may itch and scratch, but Poison Joke just wants a laugh.
This question will be addressed later in the story.
Cousins are rare, friends are few, what a joy, to find both in you.
2541357
I second this question!
2541357
2541871
To a fresh pavilion of horrors? It amuses me, actually, that canon Rarity has distaste for green manes and this one has distaste for Green and her disguises, but that will probably just make matters worse.
Long term, I'm thinking that there will be more dark revelations, some of them relevant to the true nature of the protagonist (either her origins or the stuff she was injected with at the docks or both) and then either she escapes horribly scarred physically and mentally or ends up becoming a monster that stays in Vision or (less likely) dies. Also, we're probably going to find out more about what happened with Twilight Sparkle (at least I'd hope so).
Wait, did you want specifics? Tsk.
Oh and on Berry, I think if she hadn't stood up for herself at the shopping arcade it would have been much, much harder to get the audience to care. But after that it's easier to see the smaller touches.
I get the distinct impression that Twilight isn't really dead, but will instead be the new Frank Fontaine; I'm inclined to believe that she stole Trixie's identity, or is otherwise someone else that we've already seen.
2557687
Seeing as you're probably one of Berry's bigger fans (or at least more vocal), I'd been anxiously awaiting your reaction to that particular moment.
Jesus, that makes me feel ill ....
Right off the bat I don't like this Rarity. She called Green a "work" and not a pony. Whelp. She's an insane one I'm guessing, like Cohen. At the same time she cares enough about the civies for me to not absolutely despise her, though it might just be for showing that she 'cares'. She has enough personality to match her canon equivalent in this setting, but off just enough to make her unsettling.
Oh and Siren was doing so well verbally sparing with her, but then one of her buttons got pushed. Ouch.
And yeah, I disagree with Rarity on the spread talents. Instead of finding ways to reinterpret your mark, you just go straight to another one, pretty much abandoning all sense of depth and making yourself out to be a shallow character.
Auntie Rarity and Cousin Pinkpony. Oh dear. Now I wonder if there's actually another pony parallel to the story running a closer path to the original Bioshock. Wrecking everything. Though to be honest, this story seems to blend the despair of a collapsing imperfect society with the fact that there is a society still existing, as opposed to Bioshock, which had no society left except the mad ones, and Infinite, which, well... was really weird with how they portrayed civilians.
And Green is definitely shown to be an experiment of Rarity, probably much like the little sisters and big brothers. Now as to whether or not they were WILLING is what I'm going to hold my final say on hating her.
Now I'm wondering when Punch is going to get back after slaughtering everyone holding her down.
So I'm currently suffering something of an emotional whiplash after reading this chapter; its really, REALLY, good.
The first thing that I noticed, is that the little sister in the header photo above the line "My New Dress" looks surprisingly a lot like the young mare that Rarity is embracing in "Aunt Rarity." I don't know how canon these pictures are to the actual story, but damn if that's not interesting.
Also, Rarity. If I was a betting bean, then I would be out a whole lotta money right now. HO. LEE. SHIT. I never would have expected Rarity to just, show up like that. I was expecting some grand entrance. (I honestly thought that she would be Sander Cohen)
I literally read this passage over like ten times. Primevera.
Rarity herself seems unhinged as all Hell. "And I let the anger out." Her emotional state flip-flopping from happiness to anger and back again are really indicative that she's not quite the mare she once was. Have you ever read The Ballad of Gordon Freemane? There's a Rarity in there that's eerily similar. I think you'd like her.
Finding out that the mane six didn't necessarily follow Twilight into the depths of the sea for because they didn't agree with Sine Rider, but because they couldn't talk Twilight out of it was an interesting turn. I'm still waiting to figure out who the Hell Sine Rider actually was! Because this puts things into a whole new perspective! If Twilight's friends couldn't talk her down, then that means that they were trying to talk her down. And that means that Sine meant something to Twilight. Though I'm not sure what.
I really wish that the little sisters had a bigger role in this story. They're such a hallmark of Bio-Shock and they've gotten so little pagetime so far. I'm really getting curious as to what "Cousin Pinkpony" means.
I'm so freaking glad to finally know what TRIXIE DOES! I can't even say. It does make total sense though. Trixie built the industrial backbone of Vision, and then built herself a fortress when times were good, and now the other ministry mares are stuck with her. I really liked this plot-twist. Because it makes a total twisted sense. Trixie doesn't actually need to go anywhere because of her wiredolls, so she's free to stay locked up in her Ivory Tower, doing her best to do what's best for her. I'm a big fan of the "evil overmare" archetype.
I can hardly believe that this chapter was 10k words long; It seemed to pass by in minutes. But I can tell that we're approaching the endgame, and since most of my crazy fan theories have been shot to shit, I'm going to come up with some new ones:
1.) Echo and Thunderlane are going to fight; one of them will die.
2.) Trixie was responsible for Twilight's death.
3.) Whatever is in Berry's skin, Rarity's doctors don't know about it; this will allow her to escape.
4.) Green is still going to die.
5.) The final chapter arch "epiphany" will be about Siren Song having an "epiphany" regarding the mantles.
Sixteen years? Sixteen years? Heck yeah, my suspicions just got confirmed. Assuming there are no plotholes in the specifics, Rarity just lowered the boom on all my doubts with that one simple statement.
Holy crap, this is exactly how I view writing and my own work. That's a nice touch.
A) Ah, so she's Tenenbaum and Steinman rolled into one?
B) Has Siren even figured out what Rarity is confessing to?
Siren thinks Rarity has a temper. I think Rarity's picked up an unrecognized habit from one of her marks, perhaps an intimidation-related one.
Well now, I wonder exactly what Green is trying to avoid. with how Rarity is – herself, but not exactly – I am very curious to know what the real history is between them. Of course, there's always the chance that rarity's telling the whole truth, but with this story one can never be certain.
Did I die? I don't think so.
I get the feeling she doesn't quite like the idea of going back to the Pavillion.
I also get a feeling that Rarity didn't quite buy the whole act. She's an aristocrat, and she couldn't have not detected Equestrian aristocracy in Siren Song.
9047755
That was pretty subtle so I'm glad you picked it up!
Rarity feels like a mix of tennanbaum, steinman, and Cohen. I have a feeling that she just completely played siren. I’m scared of what’s going to happen to green. Rarity clearly isn’t all their in a very dangerous way and she seems to utterly despise green for some reason.
The story continues to be fascinating, as does every major character that enters the stage.
Rarity is pretty different than what I expected. I was expecting her to basically fill Tenenbaum's role, but she has a lot more range and nuance than that. Her first scene with Green made her feel villainous in the same mold as Diamond Tiara, but once she got away from her hated foe she felt a lot more like... Rarity, just a really jagged-edged version of herself.
10402126
Rarity is not fond of Green, perhaps for understandable reasons. Siren likes Green because Green is useful, but to everyone else, she's an unrepentant murderer and a petty criminal thug.
10402286
Yeah, but even though it was targeted at a bad person, Rarity gave herself a classic villain introduction. Poking and prodding at a helpless semi-protagonist with alternating clinical curiosity and sadistic contempt. Stripped of context and names, you would definitely read that scene and think she's the story's main villain.
It's just that as much as she revels in that opportunity, she automatically considers other "good" concerns--responding to the casualty report, and being nice to Siren--more important, and she's willing to interrupt her reunion with Green to deal with them.