Epiphany, Part 1
“Tell me, Siren. What is art?” Rarity asks, pouring a cup of tea for each of us.
We’re in what I assume is her office, or maybe a lounge, seated around a table that’s low to the floor. I don’t recognize the style in which the room is decorated, but it’s quite pleasing to the eye. Soft wooden paneling, a high ceiling and wooden support beams give the impression of an airy building on the surface. Intellectually, I know that there’s white stone behind those panels, but the room still feels very open, an impression helped by the large window to our left that overlooks the Pavilion concourse. Soft couches and reading stands are tastefully scattered about, but we sit on the floor. The table is directly against the window, positioned to let us watch the ponies milling about below.
“Art is the means by which we express the inexpressible,” I say, levitating the cup up towards my lips. It’s still a good few inches from my face when I realize it’s much too hot to drink, steam wafting off it in clouds. It has a foul odor, sharp and coppery. I notice Rarity hasn’t touched her cup, so I discreetly put mine back down. “It’s how we convey concepts that we can’t put into words: emotions, feelings, experiences.”
“A common answer,” Rarity replies, her polite tone and that little stiffness in her ears signaling that she considers it to be wrong. She doesn't look upset though. I think it’s what she was expecting me to say. “I know many spells that can induce emotions—that could cause you to feel rage, pain, regret you could not explain. Are those spells art?”
“No,” I answer, reflexively. I’m not entirely certain where she’s going with this though, so I take a second to consider my answer, letting my expression twist into the frown it wants to be. “Or... maybe. But not inherently. You might be able to cast a spell that would let me feel rage, but that doesn't mean I would understand rage. You could have enchanted any item the way you did the muffin, but the muffin was art, because when I experienced it, I learned something new about the world.”
“Then, to clarify your previous answer,” Rarity says, sitting back and folding her hooves in front of her, “art is the means by which we convey understanding. Comprehension, if you will.”
“Yes,” I agree, with a quick nod, focusing on her expression and leaning forward a hair so I’ll look respectful and attentive. It’s best not to offend her by being too slow to grasp the lesson, and I think she likes it. Makes a good impression. “Yes, that would be a better way of putting it.”
“It would be,” Rarity agrees, with an elegant little nod of her head. “But here we see the risk the artist faces, for if her understanding of the world is flawed, so will her creations be flawed. Consider how many generations of writers and painters and sculptors spent their lives trying to convey the transitory nature of beauty. Now, their thesis disproven, they are doomed to be forgotten.” She holds her nod, and for a moment, it’s like she’s bowing her head in mourning to those who came before. When she continues, her tone is firmer, more serious. “It was not their skills or their talents that failed them, but their wisdom. They were unenlightened.” She lifts her head and she pauses for a moment, lifting her cup of tea to blow across the surface.
“You have the true gift, Siren—in fact, from how quickly you’ve grasped all you’ve seen so far, I suspect you might be a more talented artist than I,” she says. She briefly shifts to a more playful tone, adding, “Unlikely as that seems,” with a little nudge of her muzzle my way. I reflexively glance down at the table, blushing faintly, and she eats it up.
“But, as it stands,” she continues, more restrained, “you will never produce a true masterpiece like what you saw yesterday. You do not have any wisdom worthy of such a work.”
“Well, if art is conveying understanding, then shouldn't you be able to fix that quickly enough?” I ask with a hesitant little smile, and she laughs. It’s an absolutely charmed sound, and I follow it up with a titter of my own. Perfect. At this rate, I’ll be out of here in a day.
“Oh, Siren, dear—these things take time!” she says with a little shake of her head. “But, I suppose I could show you a few pieces.”
“Of course.” I nod quickly. It’s what she wants to hear, and besides, I kind of do want to learn. She clearly knows what she’s doing. “How do we begin?”
“Well, first, you should drink your tea,” Rarity says, gesturing down at the table. I reach down to take my cup, but I can still feel how hot it is. If it’s not scalding, it’s close, waves of acrid-smelling steam rising out of the dark liquid.
“Um,” I mutter, glancing between her and the table. Is this some kind of test? Her expression is certainly evaluating, watching me closely to see my reaction. “Perhaps in a little while? It’s much too hot to drink now. And to be honest, I think it could stand some cream.”
“This particular sort of tea is not served with anything, Siren, and it is taken at this temperature,” she says, firm. She gives me a little encouraging smile though, and adds, “I promise, you won't be burned. See?” She takes a sip of her own tea to demonstrate before putting the cup back down on the table.
Hesitantly, I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip. The tea goes down like ice water, freezing and numbing my mouth. It’s like a very strong mint, but there’s no taste of mint at all—just the penetrating chill and a sudden dryness. It tastes old and stale, flows quicker than water, and burns in my throat like alcohol. I haven't even finished the sip before I start to reflexively gag, dropping the cup and spitting up what little I drank, my barrel shaking with an instinctive cough.
“Well,” Rarity sighs, giving a little disapproving shake of her head. “It is an acquired taste.”
“Okay, now show me the retiré devant,” the photographer orders. Epiphany has no idea what that is, of course, but the model next to her does. She’s a sparkling silver unicorn—Church Bell, I think—and obviously well used to being in front of the camera. Epiphany is considerably less experienced, and it shows, but that isn’t stopping her from having a lot of fun with it. She’s very good at posing, and with the two of them standing in front of the camera in identical silver dresses, the “pony see, pony do” game is putting a smile on her face. She mimics Church Bell’s pose, shooting me a glance to make sure she’s got it right. I smile and nod, right before the camera flashes.
“Now show it to me with the head up,” the photographer orders. Church Bell tilts her head up. Epiphany follows suit a moment later. Camera flash. “Now show it to me with the head down.” Church Bell tilts her head down. Epiphany follows suit a moment later. Camera flash.
“How am I doing, Rarity?” Epiphany calls to the back of the room. Rarity is there, but she’s not paying much attention—letting the photographer take the lead. There’s a table set up in the back with a stack of papers on it, and she and Quick March are quietly working their way through them. She glances up at Epiphany’s call, taking a moment to peer at her over a set of wire-frame spectacles.
“Lovely, dear! Keep it up,” Rarity calls, before turning back to examine something Quick March is giving her. I see her sigh and quickly affix her signature, but her attention isn’t on me, so I turn back to the front of the room and listen as the photographer calls pose after pose. He’s no artist, mechanically calling and snapping photos.
“Heh, thanks,” Epiphany says, though she says it so quietly I doubt Rarity hears. Church Bell shoots her an irritated glare at that, turning her head for a moment before the photographer shouts for her to keep her chin up. Epiphany doesn't notice, busy following directions.
“So, Church. That’s a funny name,” Epiphany says, light and friendly. Church Bell just mutters something incomprehensible. “Have you been modeling for a long time?”
“Yes,” she says, trying to end the conversation. At the photographer’s cue, she assumes another posture—hiking up her tail, one leg up, turning her head to the side. The rond de jambe attitude, if I’m not mistaken, although I’m admittedly less familiar with this sort of posing since it doesn't get used much on stage. It’s a complex posture, but after only a few moments of examining Church Bell, Epiphany mimics it perfectly.
“That must be nice,” Epiphany says, fumbling a bit for some common ground, but with good cheer. “I mean, working for Rarity that long. I heard that modeling is a job where you retire at twenty-five, but since she can make you young forever, you can really make a career out of this. I bet you’re crazy good at it by now.”
“Yeah,” Chuch Bell agrees. She can hide that tension from the camera, but not from me. So, somepony doesn't like competition. I try to warn Epiphany by shaking my head, but she thinks I’m criticizing her pose, and quickly tilts her hoof another way.
“Did she find you somewhere too?” Epiphany asks lightly. “I was homeless before this, actually, and uh... not so attractive. My head’s still spinning from everything that’s happened. I’m keeping the before pictures next to my bathroom mirror so I can remember what I used to look—oop!” She quickly stops talking, smiling just in time for the camera to flash. New pose.
“No. I wanted to be a model,” Church says, putting all four hooves to the ground. That’s not the next posture the photographer called. I make one last-ditch effort, waving at Epiphany and making a slashing motion across my throat with a hoof, but she doesn't notice. Oh well, no matter.
“Oh. Is that a hard job to get?” Epiphany asks, and I brace myself. Explosion in three, two...
“Yes!” Church Bell snaps, the photographer jumping back a half step. Epiphany jumps as well, stepping away with wide, shocked eyes. “Yes, it is a difficult job to get, Epiphany! So just stop talking and do the poses!”
The photographer glares at Church Bell, drawing a breath. He’s about to tear into her, and I actually grin a little in anticipation, but he never gets the chance. “Excuse me,” Rarity calls from the back, glancing up and adjusting her glasses. The photographer snaps his jaw shut at once of course. “Is there a problem here?”
Poor Epiphany looks so confused, but I catch her gaze and give her a reassuring shake of the head. Not your fault, I convey with my eyes. A little line in the air with a hoof adds, keep out of it, and she gets me, stepping away. There’s nothing for it anyway. Rarity will slap this prima-donna down and we can get back to it.
“Yes, there’s a problem here!” Church Bell says, moving out of the view of camera and up to Rarity’s table. “You’ve got both of us in next month’s dress, shooting us side by side. You promised I’d be modeling that!”
“Of course you will, darling!” Rarity says, spreading her forehooves wide over the table. Her tone is light and reassuring, but I can hear the strain in her voice. Irritation. “But she has to be wearing something for comparison, doesn't she? This way she gets her training, and I can get samples on both of you.”
“And what about the month after that?” Church Bell demands, as though Epiphany was intruding on her territory by so much as standing near clothes. It’s like she’s a dog, growling at an intruder in her cage. Honestly, even a patient director wouldn't let one of their actors take that sort of tone. I’m amazed Rarity is keeping her cool.
“Well, the dresses for that month haven't been finalized yet.” Rarity says casually, folding her hooves back up and keeping her tone noncommittal. “We’ll have to see.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that her coat is the same base color as mine!” Church Bell snaps. Wow, possessive much? Not the same clothes, not the same color. Want to try and say that she’s breathing the same way you do while you’re at it? I smirk a little, but it’s mostly to show Epiphany that everything is fine. “Can’t we just dye my head and legs brown? I can pull off that look.”
“Church Bell! Really,” Rarity says, fixing her with a stare over the top of her glasses. “This is getting a bit childish. Please, resume the exercise. We can talk about this later.” It’s a perfect dismissal. Rarity doesn't look mad or bossy, and she even hides her irritation, showing nothing but stern authority—a perfect “get back to work,” expression. And just like that, Church Bell slinks away.
She’s going to slink away. Any second now.
She’s... standing there?
“I can make that dress work,” she says, all that anger gone, her voice quiet now. “I’m better than her. I am.”
“Oh, Church Bell. It’s not about which one of you is better. You’re co-workers! You should be friends, not rivals. There’s plenty of work here for everypony,” Rarity says with a reassuring little wave of her hoof. “Now, let’s get back—”
“Her coat’s the same base color as mine!” Church Bell yells, words coming fast and hot. “She shows up the same on the lighting test as me. She has the same body type as me. You have her in the same dresses at me. The only difference between us is some splashes of color you could have easily just... done with dye.” Her voice starts to waver, trembling up and down, “What did I do wrong?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Rarity mutters, raising a hoof to her temples. “Church Bell, a model breaking down on set is a cliche, and you know how I feel about cliche. So, why don’t we pretend we’re professionals and get back to work?”
“I’m good at this!” she insists, slamming her hooves down onto the little table. Her voice is trembling now, and tears glisten in her eyes. “I’m good at this and I look good and—and I can be whatever you need me to be! I can look like her! I can be her! I can be whatever you want, Rarity!”
Nopony says anything. Then, Rarity turns her gaze to where Church Bell struck the table, glancing down at her offending hooves.
For a moment, Church Bell doesn't get it. When she does, she leaps away, pulling her hooves back like she’d put them on a hot stove. “I-I...” she stammers. “I’m sorry, Rarity! I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“I’m a very patient pony, Church Bell,” Rarity says with a faint shake of her head. “But there are limits. March, if you would? She can keep the dress.”
Quick March nods, making a gesture with his hoof in the air. Come here. I don’t even see anypony move, but when I look back, there’s a pair of pegasi orderlies on either side of Church Bell. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bell,” he says, “but your services will no longer be required.”
“No. No, wait, I’m sorry. Please, I need this job. I can train her!” Church Bell pleads, but Quick March only raises his voice in turn, mechanically talking over her.
“As per the terms of your contract, you will be required to relinquish any and all pieces of Pavilion property which you may have been issued, including your current housing, unless otherwise indicated, to wit: the dress.” He rattles the words off in a quick and efficient cadence. “The Pavilion retains the right to use your image or any modifications therein without prior permission. You do not have the right to reference these works in other jobs or commercial endeavors you may undertake,” he continues, raising his voice over the sound of her crying. She’s begging, but the words aren’t coherent anymore, tears streaming down her face and smudging her makeup.
I...
“I remind you that your non-disclosure agreement remains in effect. If you discuss any of your activities while under the Pavilion’s employ with any media outlet, we will be forced to pursue legal action.” Her jerks his head at the guards. “Go ahead.”
Then they drag her out the door, her shouts and cries fading into the distance.
“Well!” Rarity says, with a lot of breath, firmly shaking her head as though to clear it. “That was unfortunate. Take ten, everypony. Now, March, who else do we have available on short notice?”
I lift the binoculars, pointing them where Rarity indicates and peering through the window into the concourse. In the distance, I can see Church Bell, trying to get into one of the buildings, but there are two guards there who turn her away. She’s too far away for me to hear anything, but I can see that she’s shouting, pleading. The guards’ patience is about to run out. One of them goes for his club—reaching down to take it in his mouth.
Then I see another pony walk up to her—pull her away from the guards before it can get out of hoof. It’s Epiphany, her leg over Church Bell’s shoulder.
“And right on cue,” Rarity says, sipping her tea. “Epiphany asked if she could get an advance on her pay, and I suspect she’s also stolen some of the more valuable fittings from her room. Enough to ensure that dear Church doesn't end up on the street.”
“You...” I drop the binoculars, mind reeling. I feel numb, disconnected from it all. “She was an actor?”
“In a sense. Call it a command performance,” Rarity says with a faint laugh. “I’m usually not much for improvisational theatre, but this particular piece did come together very nicely. Church Bell learned something about the meaning of compassion and will end up a better pony for it, and Epiphany learned a lesson about the nature of this city she could not have come to accept any other way.” She pauses for a moment, to catch my gaze and give me a gentle smile. “It’s good for Epiphany, and I have to say, I’m quite pleased to get some use out of Church Bell. She’s such a dull, predictable creature. Normally when a star model disappoints me, there’s nothing I can do but use them for lesser works, but in this case, her unsurprising nature was an asset. She behaved exactly as I thought she would.”
“You... you set her up too...?” I sit back, looking up at Rarity with a stupid expression on my face. “That was...”
“Yes, dear, quite,” Rarity agrees. “Drink your tea.”
I manage to get a sip of it down before my stomach revolts and I can’t drink any more. Rarity isn’t too upset, but I apologize just to be safe.
Epiphany’s room is a lot like mine, except nicer, because she has a window and the servants put little mints on her pillows. I kind of want them for mine, but it seems petty to ask for them, so I steal hers instead.
The worst part is that I don’t actually like mints.
“Something strange happened today,” she says, and I look up from my book. She visits the city sometimes, but for me, there’s not a whole lot to do in the Pavilion except shop, and I was never the sort of mare who thought shopping was fun. I’m here to work on getting home, not to build a nest out of shiny junk, and besides, there’s more surgery and pills for sale than knickknacks for my room. Most of the time that Rarity is away, I just end up reading, and Epiphany and I tend to keep each other company. She’s not so bad.
“Mmm?” I prompt her, and slide my placeholder back into the book. It wasn’t that interesting anyway.
“So, I was going for a jog outside. I know I don’t technically have to exercise anymore, but I kind of like to, so I was... yeah,” she says, nodding at nothing in particular, her gaze more to the window than to me. “And I stopped in this one shop and I noticed that really sweet smell that’s always on set? And I thought, ‘That’s funny. Somepony here must use the same makeup the Pavilion does.’ But, then I noticed the smell was following me outside and I realized—that’s me. This whole time I thought that flowery smell was the stuff they put on me, but it’s been me sweating under the lights.”
I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say to that, but she doesn't seem to expect me to say anything. She just goes on, staring at the wall. “And I felt pretty stupid right about then. Everypony knows that markers smell like Poison Joke. But I’m so used to my own scent, you know? It’s instinctive. I didn’t put it together.” She shakes her head, her words coming quick, her body tense.
“And I know you’re an abstenist. And I know there are a lot of abstenists who don’t have any problems with markers—they just don’t like Poison Joke themselves. And that’s totally okay!” she says, her pace picking up. “I can totally understand why you’d feel that way. It’s only, that one time I gave you a hug, I saw you wrinkle your muzzle and then sneak off to the bathroom first chance, and I thought that was because I smeared makeup on you, but there wasn’t really that much of it, so I guess I’m asking... do you think I stink?”
Her room also has a clock. Mine doesn't have a clock. I just tell the servants to wake me up at so-and-so time. I should get a clock so I can tell what time it is when I wake up. The only problem is it would tick. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
“Most ponies stink when they work up a good sweat, Epiphany,” I say, selling it with an awkward little smile. Embarrassed by the accusation, but quick to dismiss it.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “But... you know. Do you think I stink?”
“I don’t think unwashed-body funk or I-took-a-bath-in-perfume are particularly pleasant,” I assure her with a little wave of my hoof. “Does it really matter which one smells worse?”
“Yeah, but I’m not actually asking how you think I smell,” she says. Thanks, Epiphany, I really needed help putting that together. “I mean, I sort of am, but mostly I just wanted to know... you know.”
“It’s fine, Epiphany,” I say, opening my book and looking back to the page. Honestly, I’ve given her a perfectly reasonable answer. There’s no point in letting her pick at it until I happen to stumble upon exactly what she wants me to say.
“You know that markers don’t actually sweat Poison Joke, right?” she asks, like she was clarifying some quick question. “You aren’t exposed to it by touching us. We smell like it, but the smell in the sweat is just caused by sugar buildup in—”
“I understand, Epiphany. It’s all in your heart,” I say, keeping my eyes on the book. “You know, they brought a pony into the hospital last night? Severe chest wounds. Apparently a marker who was so far into withdrawal she was basically rabid tried to tear out his heart to get to the stuff inside. Security got to her first though. Another immigrant to the Wharf, right?”
For a moment, nopony says anything.
“I’ve really enjoyed our time together, Siren. You’ve been very supportive of me since we met. And-and very nice to me,” she says, gazing down at her hooves.
“So, you know,” she adds. “I forgive you.”
I look up at her.
“I need to be alone for a little while,” she says, rising off the bed, and I can hear a faint sniffle. “Sorry.” Before I can object, she’s scuttled off to her bathroom and shut the door behind her.
“You’re uncommonly quiet this week,” Rarity says, tilting her head a little and looking across the table at me. “Something you want to talk about?”
We’re studying a collection of watercolors. Rarity’s work. She doesn't really know the medium well, but they’re very different from other works I’ve seen. They’re dark, muddled, full of lurking shapes and regrets. The one that she’s showing me right now is entitled Unsaid. A depressing thing of blues and blacks.
I hate watercolors.
I don’t know. Is there something I want to talk with you about, Rarity? Is there something I want to tell you? Something that might get me out of this awful place?
I look up at her eyes. Does she like me that much yet? I’ve been able to sound out some of her feelings on Celestia, but it’s slow going. It’s such a risk. And I don’t have anything else to tell her.
“What made you pick these pieces?” I ask quietly.
“Oh, nothing particular—I thought it was their time,” she says airily, with a little shrug. “We did music two days ago and architecture the week before that, and you certainly aren't ready for my work with ponies yet. Why? Is the pace of your education... not to your liking?” she asks sweetly.
“Oh, no, it’s perfect,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just, I love watercolors, but I don’t recall ever mentioning that to you. I was wondering if it was a coincidence.” My delivery is perfect of course, but that wasn’t the most inspired line ever, and I sip my tea to stall for time while I think of something to say. This stuff is always foul, but I think it tastes extra bitter today.
It’s Saturday, so the Pavilion concourse is packed. The way the guards tell it, ponies with golden tickets start lining up outside the gates at five in the morning, determined to get as much as they can out of the day while it’s all on Rarity’s tab. By the time Epiphany and I show up, every store is mobbed. We’re not much for shopping though, and we usually end up going for a walk through the twisting passages or sitting on one of the benches. I’ve never told her that I can’t leave the Pavilion, but I think she’s put it together. Besides, she says it’s nice to be able to wander without worrying we’ll stumble onto a bad part of the city.
And, you know. I keep her company. I’m a good friend like that.
“So. Um,” I say. Usually she’s the one who fills every silence with incessant chatter, but she’s been quiet lately for some stupid reason. “You wanna... talk about something?”
“Sure,” she says, with a little shrug. “What do you want to talk about?”
“No, I’m good, just...” You usually start the conversation. Because you’re an irritating box full of smalltalk. “You want to do something?”
She casts her eyes over at the many stores around us, but no new establishments have materialized in the five minutes since she last looked. “I’m good relaxing here. Unless there’s something you want to do.”
“Um... we could go get some ice cream?” I suggest, and she glances towards the little blue earth pony who pulls his ice cream cart around the concourse every morning. At the moment, of course, he’s not going anywhere.
“That line must be half an hour long,” she says, shaking her head. “Seems a bit of a wait.”
“Yeah,” I agree, turning my head down to the floor.
Then I look back up.
“You know what? Yeah,” I agree, scrambling off the bench and kicking a little enthusiasm into my voice. The sudden change gets her attention, and she looks up almost as sharply as I did. “Come on, let’s go.”
“You really want ice cream that bad?” she asks, though she unfolds her legs as well, stepping off after me.
“No, we’re not getting ice cream,” I say, pulling her along towards the stand. “We’re cutting in line.”
“Wait, what?” she asks, eyes refocusing on me. She tries to come to a stop, but I give her rear a little push with my magic, and she reflexively stumbles forward after me. “We can’t do that! All those ponies have been waiting forever! It’s rude!”
“That’s what makes it fun! We won’t hold them up long. Come on,” I say, but this time, she grinds her hooves into the ground, not letting me pull her along.
“Siren, I’m serious,” she insists, trying to get my attention—to get me to meet her gaze. “Those ponies have been waiting forever. If we cut in line they’ll beat us to death. You can’t do that.”
I pause, glancing at her, at her braced hooves. Once an earth pony digs in—in any sense of the phrase—there’s no point in trying to push them. No matter though. There are subtler ways I can play this.
“But you can ask, right?” I point out playfully, and she gives me a confused look. “You can ask somepony if you can have their place in line. That’s okay, right?”
“Siren! You can’t—”
“You can,” I say, gesturing out towards the line. “Epiphany, you’re not dumpster-diving anymore. You don’t have to scurry around like you’re worried about security busting you for loitering. Act like you own the building and ponies will treat you like you do.” She’s clearly not getting it, so I shake my head. “Fine. You can stay here then. I’m going,” I say, and I turn and trot off without her.
Trotting, trotting, any second now. Come on!
“Siren, wait!” Right. I slow my pace a little to let her catch me, but don’t stop, pulling her along with my presence towards the line. “Siren, this really isn’t okay,” she insists as we reach the far end of the line, trotting right past it towards the front. “Look, let’s just wait in the back and—”
“Excuse me,” I call sweetly, picking a promising candidate out of the line. Second from the front. An athletic unicorn stallion, blue with a silver mane. His real cutie mark is a yellow bolt of lightning, and a field of stars adorns his left cheek. He’s wearing a belt, but it’s ill-fitting, too tight around his barrel, and I spot one of Rarity’s charitable little tickets tucked into the side. I’m guessing he was not that toned this morning and hasn’t had time to, as it were, adjust his standards. He turns at the sound of my voice, and looks at the two of us.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” I say politely, careful to add a little amused kick to my tone. “But my friend noticed you from across the way.” Epiphany couldn't play her part better if she was trying, her blush and nervous glance downwards open to interpretation. Somehow, I don’t think ‘embarrassed about cutting in line’ is the interpretation he’ll settle on. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but, could we have your place in line? We’ve just been on our hooves all day, and, well, you know.”
While he’s struggling to string two words together, the line advances a step ahead of him, and suddenly there’s an open space in front of us. The vendor shoots the three of us an impatient look, nailing the stallion to the spot with his gaze. Like I wasn’t already doing that. “Yeah!” he blurts out, spastically stepping out of the way, his legs jerked into motion. “Sure, go ahead.”
“No, Siren—” Epiphany tries to object.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Say hello!” I insist, keeping the theme rolling. “Two, please. Vanilla and strawberry,” I say to the vendor, pretending I don’t notice Epiphany’s blushing glance at the line behind us or at the stallion beside her.
“Um... thanks,” she stammers, nervously meeting his eyes. “I’m Epiphany, by the way.”
“Dynamo,” he introduces himself. “So... what brings you here?”
“Oh, I work here. I’m a model, actually,” she says, letting out a nervous little laugh. I give the vendor the money and levitate the two cones alongside me. “So, what do you—?”
“Oh, gosh, Epiphany, we should be on our way,” I say. Splitting my levitation between three objects takes a bit of doing, but I manage to give her a little shove, and she obligingly steps out of line and after me. “Say goodbye.”
“Oh, what, but—” she stammers, and on cue, the next pony in line steps between her and Dynamo. “Um. Thanks! It was nice to meet you!” she calls over her shoulder, waving as we walk off. I’m assuming he waves back, but I don’t bother checking.
It’s not until we’re safely out of hearing range that I start to giggle. Epiphany makes it easy, blushing like nothing else. I’d swear I could feel the heat radiating off her ears. “That was not funny!” she insists, and it only makes me laugh harder.
“You enjoyed it,” I tease her, taking a lick of my ice cream cone. Strawberry is good.
“That’s not the point! We took advantage of that poor stallion,” she says with a firm shake of her head. Really, very firm. I’m totally buying it, Epiphany.
“Oh, please,” I say, giving a good-natured little roll of the eyes. “You just told him that rich, powerful, and hot mares think he’s cute. That made his day far more than ice cream would have.”
“That’s not the point either!” she says, giving a little stomp of her hoof as we walk. It’s so cute.
“So then what is the point?” I ask evenly, glancing at her as we move.
“That—that you’re a presumptuous, snobby jerk who takes advantage of other ponies and that’s not okay!” she says, with an indignant little snort.
Wait for it. Wait for it...
“And give me my ice cream,” she adds, extra indignant.
“Epiphany has seemed rather different lately. Have you noticed?” Rarity asks as we look out over the concourse, her ears up and alert. “Tense, but bolder. She actually corrected me yesterday. On set no less! Can you believe it? I’d gotten one of the poses wrong.”
“Well, she’s just coming into her own,” I say, shrugging and sipping my tea. I don’t need a pause to think, but it serves as a good method of emphasis, and Rarity gives me the gentlest of approving nods. I can kinda see the appeal now, even if it does still upset my stomach a bit. This stuff is so awful it sort of curves around the other side and becomes ironically good. “I’m sure she’ll level out soon enough.”
“Oh, you’re probably right,” Rarity agrees, smiling at me and making a little dismissive wave with one hoof. “I’m so picky when it comes to my projects, always afraid other ponies are going to ruin them with a touch. But she has been developing much faster than I had expected.” She raises a hoof to hide her smile, letting out a little hiss of breath. “I suppose it’s time I showed a little trust.”
For a moment, I think I must have misunderstood. There’s no way she’s saying she trusts me with... well, I mean. Of course she’s saying that! I am an artistic genius, after all. I’m careful to appear suitably grateful when I look up at her, wide eyes, a little blush, timid smile. “Thank you, Rarity.”
“Oh, think nothing of it, dear. It’s been an absolute pleasure having you as my guest,” she says, putting on a perfect poker face and delicately lowering her hoof back to the table. Not perfect enough for me of course, but, she’s good. “Although, we are going to have to do something about your tastes,” she adds, giving me a more critical look. “Herbal tea, cheap ice cream, honestly.” She shakes her head.
“Um,” I manage, looking down at my cup. How do I play this? She seemed happy with me a moment ago. “Right.” After a second, I add, “Well, nopony is perfect.”
“I suppose,” she agrees, noncommittal.
“Let me out! Let me out, ya stupid, worthless mules!” Green bellows, the sound carrying down the hall, echoing out from her little door. “Y’all know what’s gonna happen? Trixie is gonna bowl over this whole place, and she’ll kill all of you! She’s gonna bust me out of here, and I’m gonna watch y’all dance in the air! You hear me!? I’ll string you up from the rafters!”
For a moment, there’s silence. The nurse and guard look at me, faces worn, indifferent to it all.
“I’m sorry,” she calls out, her voice carrying down the hallway. I can hear that it’s strained, weak, wavering up and down as though threatening to cry. The rural accent is suddenly gone too, replaced with those clean Canterlot intonations. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to threaten you. I’m just having a little trouble dealing with this right now. Please, can you untie me? I promise I won’t run away. I just want to stretch my legs.” The guards of course, say nothing. “Okay. Okay, you don’t have to untie me. Can we just take the blindfold off? Please? I’ve been wearing it so long, I’m starting to think I’m actually blind.”
The guard and nurse say nothing.
“Fine! Up yours!” she screams, and I hear the metal bedframe rattling inside.
“She’s been like that all day,” the guard says, quiet enough that Green won’t hear him. “We could sedate her, but we’ve given her a lot of drugs already this week, and the attending thought it was worth seeing if she'd shout herself out eventually.”
“She was functional when she came in here,” I say, glancing at the nurse. “Do markers usually degrade this fast?”
“Oh, goodness no. That takes months or years,” she answers, shaking her head. “If she’s this bad, she was always this bad, she just hid it. Probably the reason we’re seeing it now is because she’s under stress. Widens the cracks, you know? We make sure she gets to walk around a bit each day, but the last time we let her up, she tried to gore an orderly with her horn. You understand we—”
“I understand,” I say, shaking my head. “Still, I can go in?”
“If you like,” the guard says. “Shout if you need any help. I’ll be right here.” I nod, levitating the little basket of grass next to me and trotting on inside.
“It’s me, Green,” I say, before she can panic at the sound of somepony entering the room. Her wild thrashing stops, and she tilts her ears to face me. Even if I know she’s been treated and allowed to exercise, it still feels like she hasn’t budged an inch since I first saw her here—all bundled up in those restraints. “Do you need me to prove it?” She nods. “When we were alone in Tiara Tower, a single drop of ice water hit my back, and you smiled at how silly I looked.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Siren,” she says, slumping back against the bed. She seems so tired—worn at the edges. “I knew you were alive because she was keeping me alive, but I didn’t know what was happening to you.” She tilts her ears around to hear if anypony else is in the room, and then drops her voice to a whisper. “I think Rarity was here. Watching me.”
“I’m fine, Green,” I assure her as I reach out to smooth her mane back, the motion complementing my gentle tone. I... there’s no point in addressing the other thing. She’s sweaty, and I can feel that cloying grease in her coat. At least her mane isn’t that bad. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t able to convince Rarity to let you out of the restraints,” I say. And it’s true. Rarity would never have said yes to that in a million years, so not asking her doesn't really do any harm. This way, I build up some good will with her, and we both get out of here sooner. It’s fine. “I brought you some grass though. Real food. I can keep you company for a bit.”
“Is she here?” Green asks, weak and fearful. “You should go. She won’t like if it she knows you’re here. You need to—”
“It’s fine, Green,” I say, pressing a hoof against her sides. She wraps her legs around mine, holding tight to me. “You... you don’t need to talk. Okay? I’m here.”
“Siren, please,” she says, and even though she can’t see, she turns her blindfolded eyes to face me. “Sweetheart, you need to get out of—”
“I don’t have to visit you, you know!” I snap, just to make a point. It’s a good point too! Getting all worked up over this will not help her recovery. She needs to calm down for her own good. “I got it the first time, okay? Stop harping on it!”
“Okay,” she whispers, going still at once, clinging as tight to my leg as the soft, padded restraints will allow. “Okay. Okay, Siren. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say after a moment, drawing a breath and moderating my tone. To show her no hard feelings. “It’s fine. You just need to keep calm. I’ll have you out of here soon. All you need to do is hold on until I do. Now, here, grass. Say ‘ah.’” I levitate a clump of it over to her, and she takes it thankfully, munching quietly.
“I mean it,” I say, after a few more mouthfuls of grass. “I’ll have us out of here soon. Rarity and I have been spending a lot of time together. She likes me. I don’t think she quite likes me enough yet, but she’s starting to trust me. Once she does, I’ll bring up my old mentor and see about getting us out of here.” Green doesn't say anything. “I know what I’m doing.”
She draws a heavy breath. Taking a moment to compose herself.
“Have you ever lost moments, Siren?” she asks, flinching like she expects to be struck. “Moved from one time to the next without seeing what happened in between?”
“Green, you’re in a very quiet room with a blindfold over your eyes. Losing track of time is normal. Actually, now that I think about it—why don’t I see if we can get you a record player in here?” I suggest. I should have put that together before. Sensory deprivation. No wonder she’s going crazy. I can do something about that.
“Have you ever seen something that shouldn't be?” she asks, so quiet I can barely hear her. “Stairwells that go down but take you to a higher floor? Liquids that are cold but burn you when you touch them?”
“Right, sure.” I let out an irritated hiss, seeing where this is going. Honestly, I don’t know why I bother visiting. I mean, I do, because she needs somepony to talk to, but I’m being nice to her here! She should repay me by putting her paranoia to one side for five minutes. Make some conversation. “Listen, I’m going to go see about that record player, okay?”
“Has she ever known something you’ve never told anypony?”
“I get it, Green!” I snap, ripping my leg out of her grip. “You know, I’m trying to be nice here, and you’re not making it easy. You just don’t appreciate her work.”
“I am her work!”
“Well her new work is nicer than you!” I snap. “She likes me! And...” And that’s all I need to say! “And I’ll see about that record player. And maybe getting the blindfold off.” I turn, headed to the door. “Goodbye, Green.”
“Mph!” Epiphany starts, reflexively spitting her sip back up into her cup. She actually gags, rushing to the bathroom to hack over the sink, and it’s only after I hear her rinse her mouth out that she speaks. “Oh, ponyfeathers. Siren, how can you drink that? It tastes like something died in my mouth! After rolling around in industrial waste!”
“You get used to it,” I say, sitting back on my bed. There’s a pile of books on the end table, along with a teapot and two cups. The books are mostly portfolios of dresses from Equestria and artificial cutie marks from Vision. All Rarity’s work, of course. I want to impress her when next we meet. “It’s got a really distinctive flavor.”
“Have you considered the possibility that you only think that because it’s killed all your tastebuds?” she asks, stepping back out of the bathroom to join me. She’s not much for art. She has a book on posture instead. I’m teaching her how to strut.
“You don’t get it,” I say with a shrug. “It’s about understanding. You experience her work, and it teaches you something about the world.”
“So precisely what do you learn from bad tea?” she asks, moving to the bedside and picking up her book, laying it out on the covers and opening it to her page.
“That real beauty takes time to learn to appreciate,” I say, taking another sip and paging through some pictures of Rarity’s gowns.
“Sounds snobby,” Epiphany observes with a frown. “So if you don’t like her tea, you’re not good enough to look at her art?”
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head. “It’s... Her work is often difficult to understand. Abstract. Like, she has this one piece. It’s a muffin that lasts forever.”
“What, like, it doesn't spoil?” she asks, confused.
“No no,” I say, making a wide, sweeping gesture with both forehooves. “Like, no matter how much you eat it, it’s never gone. You can take a bite, but the muffin remains. So, at first glance, it’s just a magical pastry, but when you think about it, it’s a ‘take that’ to every piece that’s been written about how beauty decays and you need to come to terms with the passage of time. It’s her way of saying that some work really is eternal.”
“Wait, wait, hold on. It actually lasts forever? Like, it is an infinite amount of muffin?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me, trying to puzzle it out. “There’s no like... reason you can’t eat it?”
“Right. That’s the point,” I say, gesturing to make my words clear, my tone bright and enthusiastic. “It doesn't lose any value with use. It’s a statement about the nature of time and our place in history.”
“That’s not what I’m getting from it.” She frowns.
“Oh, come on, you haven't even seen it,” I insist. “What do you think it means?”
“‘I think my art is more important than you starving to death,’” she says, with a disapproving little shake of her head.
“Uh...” I stammer. It should have occurred to me that she really just doesn't get art. Trying to explain it was a mistake. “Whoa. Um. Where did that come from?” I ask, putting a little disbelief into my voice. Not offended, but shocked, and I shake my head. “I don’t think a pony in your position can really criticize Rarity for not doing enough to help the city. Besides, the city produces plenty of food. I don’t think a muffin is going to make the difference.”
“I...” she starts, looking up at me. Then she stops, closing her mouth and pausing for a moment. “You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry. Why don’t you help me practice this?”
“You need to be more aloof,” I say, turning back to my book.
“I haven't even started yet!” she says, annoyed, but not really annoyed. She knows I’m right. “And you’re not even looking at me.”
“And? You always look like you care what other ponies think. It makes them respect you less,” I say. “Just try to look a little bit more aware of how pretty you are compared to them.”
“Pretentious jerk,” she grumbles.
“Says the pony practicing strutting,” I reply.
“Um... Rarity,” I say, glancing away from the window. The concourse is getting cleaned today. It’s the first time I’ve seen it without a crowd, the walkways empty save for lines of those white-suited workers and their mops and brushes. It seems a little excessive to me, but Rarity does like a nice sterile environment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always, dear. Go right ahead,” she encourages, glancing at me briefly before returning her gaze to the window.
“The muffin you showed me. It’s not sustaining, right?” I check. She glances at me again, this time with a puzzled expression. “That is, I assumed it was when I first saw it, but I’ve been thinking it over recently. Once, I saw an illusionist conjure a feast, and you could eat it and touch it, but it wasn’t actually food and you couldn’t survive on it. That’s how the muffin works, right? It’s some clever enchantment?”
“Siren, we were having such a relaxing chat. Why did you have to go and spoil it by reminding me who you’re related to?” she asks with a curt little sigh. Her ears fold back a little, and her mouth folds into a tight line—like she just tasted something sour.
“Oh, no! No, I didn’t mean—” Okay, okay, think fast, Siren! “Not her! Not that! I was just... wondering about the piece. I can’t keep it out of my head, you know? Wondering what other works you might have to show me.”
“Of course,” Rarity agrees, her voice flat, not so much as glancing my way. “Well then, to answer your question, no. It’s quite real in every way.”
“So, to make sure I understand, you could feed a room full of starving ponies with it. Right?” I check, glancing down at the table. “As a hypothetical.”
“I suppose hypothetically you could, yes,” she says, her sour mood at least partially replaced by a thoughtful air. She even raises her hoof to her chin. “That would actually be quite amusing. Pass it around over lunch. I dare say hunger would put an edge on its beauty.” For a moment, she seems to seriously contemplate the matter, looking up at the ceiling. “Sadly, I don’t think I’ll ever find enough ponies who really get my work to host that sort of party. But it is a nice idea.”
“I uh...” I nod. That’s fine. It’s fine. “Yes, Rarity.”
“I’m so out of shape,” I say, wheezing and huffing as I make my way up yet another stairwell. It’s not true, of course. I’m in great shape! That shape is just small and cute instead of optimized for physical labor. Like lugging heavy objects up all these stupid stairs! “Epiphany! You’d better be up here!”
“I am,” she calls back, although I mentally groan at how far above me she is. We’re in the center of the concourse, in the big structure in the middle that supports all the tram rails. I have no idea what Epiphany is doing up here, but one of the guards saw her come this way, so five stupid flights of stairs later, here I am. A unicorn. Lugging heavy objects for an earth pony. Ugh. “Up here at the top.” Yeah, thanks.
By the time I reach her, I’m sweating and panting, and I’m not too proud to admit my knees are shaking a little. We’re way up in the rafters now, a maintenance space, I guess. The floor under us is little more than a metal plate welded to some beams, with a thin railing around the outside. The ceiling is dripping, and where water hits, the floor has started to rust. It’s a claustrophobic sort of space, despite our height and commanding view of the concourse. All of the beams and equipment running from the ceiling down through the metal floor give it a closed-off feel, like they were pushing us towards the cliff edge. Not that it bothers Epiphany. She’s sitting right up against the railing.
“Epiphany!” I say, dropping the heavy mailbag that’s been draped over my back. That takes a little bit out of me, and I pause for a moment to catch my breath. She doesn't look at me, but one of her ears swivels back. “What in the vast and dark ocean are you doing... up... here?” I squint at her back, along her croup, just above the base of her tail.
An upraised ear beside a ringing silver bell.
“Oh,” I say. She nods, but doesn't turn her head. “That’s... new.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” she says, quiet. I should have noticed when I came up. She’s not usually that expressive with her ears, having them point in two distinctly different directions like that. “Sorry I didn’t mention it, but I knew you wouldn't approve,” she says, glancing back at me. “What’s with the bag?”
“Um,” I say, looking at her ears. One is pointed at me, along with her eyes, and the other is swiveled down to the concourse. I’d swear they’re bigger than they used to be, or maybe just fuzzier inside? More alert, certainly. “You’ve... um.” I shake my head. Don’t stare, Siren. “You’ve got mail.”
“Mail?” she asks, curiously, and I pull the bag up to her side. After a second, I sit down next to her, with the bag between us. So she can get to it.
“Yeah, mail! Your first bit ran two days ago, remember? With the earrings.” I rip the bag open, letters spilling out onto the walk in front of us.
“I got all this in two days?” she asks, surprised and a bit wide-eyed, leaning back to take in the heavy mail bundle.
“You got three of these in two days,” I say, grinning. I opened a few for her in advance. You know, for her own good. Just to make sure they weren't creepy or anything. “I only brought up the first one. Take a look!” I say, sliding the envelope over to her.
“Dear Epiphany,” she reads aloud. Epiphany reads pretty slowly, sometimes stopping to sound out the words. “My name is Spring Showers. I am fifteen years old and living in New Cloudsdale. I read the article on you in Quarter Horse and about how you used to be homeless, and you are an in... in... spear... oh, inspiration. I have always wanted to be a model, but my parents told me that couldn't happen since I am a stormworker’s app... ren... apprentice, and those jobs are given to ponies with rich and connected parents.
“I really liked your freeform pictures from Ceto Station. So many of the other actresses and famous ponies get themselves shot against fields or forests. As I have never seen the surface, these pictures are often very strange to me. Seeing you shot against a place I have actually been made it feel very friendly, and I’ve had my mane cut the same way yours was in that photo. I have seen the gear you were in front of, though the station crew don’t let you climb up there.”
For a moment, Epiphany puts the letter down. “I don’t remember doing any shots in a tram station.”
“They added the station in post,” I say, urging her on. “Keep reading.”
“When I was younger,” Epiphany continues, “my dad won the factory lottery and we got to visit the Pavilion. It was amazing, and I am gee... ah... loose...” She frowns, turning the letter to me.
“Jealous,” I supply.
“And I am jealous,” Epiphany continues, “that you get to live there. I have always made sure that he enters us in every drawing, but we have not won again. If we do, could you and I meet?
“Since I’m such a huge fan, I would love it if you would autograph your picture and send it to me to hang in my room to adore every day. I would appreciate it more than words, though I will understand if you don’t respond since I know you must have a busy schedule. However, if you would like to send one, I included an addressed and stamped envelope.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to read my letter. I know great things lie ahead of you.
“Sincerely,
“Spring Showers.”
Epiphany puts the letter down.
“Isn’t it great?” I ask, keeping my voice encouraging, upbeat. I know she’s just going to get all philosophical and serious about this if I don’t stop her. As is, she’s probably going to be one of those celebrities who actually answers every piece of mail. “They’re all like that! Fillies think you’re an inspiration, mares are glad their daughters have somepony virtuous to look up to instead of shallow pop idols, and what colts and stallions think of you is probably better left unsaid.” I blush a little when I say it, but come on, it’s true! “I’ll bet you there’s a marriage proposal in that bag.”
“Why would she write this?” Epiphany asks, and right on cue, I hear her getting all serious. Time to nip that in the bud.
“Oh, relax. It’s not actually all that personal. I used to get these from time to time when”—I lived in Equestria—“my acting career was a little hotter. She needs somepony to look up to, and you’ve got an inspiring life story.”
“But—but, I don’t!” Epiphany insists, getting agitated. “I didn’t do anything to earn this position! Rarity gave it to me! Spring Shower’s parents are right. Rarity treats being a model as a prize to give away to ponies she likes. There’s no way to get the job except for her to like you, or for one of her friends to like you. The one mare I’ve met who actually worked hard to get here was fired on my third day!” she shouts.
“Whoa, calm down,” I say, raising a hoof. I was expecting her to take it a little rough at first, but not that bad. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“What’s wrong is that a stormworker—a filly who probably spends ten hours a day jumping up and down on stormclouds to make lighting—feels that she needs to wish me well. She needs to wish me good luck. I should be thanking her for thinking I’m pretty, and she wants to build a shrine to me!” Epiphany yells, her voice and pitch rising as one. “That’s... that’s messed up!”
“Okay, okay, no more fan mail!” I say, turning the bag away from her. Eech. That wasn’t even one of the creepy ones. “Just... relax. Relax. It’s one teenage filly. She got overly excited probably.”
“Probably!” Epiphany snaps, her tail lashing to and fro. She turns away from me, ears focusing back down on the Pavilion.
I’m going to... let this silence hang a bit. No need to go poking at that.
“Sorry!” she shouts, in one of the most angry apologies I’ve ever heard. She draws in a breath, letting it out through her nose. “Sorry,” she repeats, voice still tense, but she’s trying to force some calm into it. Her whole body is stiff, and even with her head turned away, I can tell she’s glaring down at the concourse.
“It’s okay,” I say gently. I reach out with my magic, sweeping the other letters back into the bag and tying it up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d be excited. You always like it when ponies come up to you in the concourse.”
“That’s...” she sighs, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to make you drag that bag up the stairs.”
“You didn’t. I just was excited,” I say, turning down to the floor. “And it wasn’t that heavy.”
For a while, there’s quiet. Well, not really—the station clocks are ticking and the building rattles whenever a tram arrives and the lights hum and pulse, but there’s always so much mechanical noise in Vision that you learn to filter it out. I guess I got used it, and now I don’t even hear it.
I bet she hears it really really well though.
Right.
“Doesn't the tram bother you?” I ask. She looks up, and I catch her eyes. “The screech when it comes into the station.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She nods. “Yeah, that’s pretty loud. It doesn't hurt though. It’s just annoying.”
“Oh. Cool,” I say. “So um... yeah. Nice view up here. How’d you find this place?”
“Siren, I appreciate that you’re trying to be nice to me,” she says, her voice strained. She briefly shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “But you’re obviously really uncomfortable and... look, I know how you feel about mantles. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I know you know. But... it’s here and you’re suddenly really upset and I can’t help but feel those two are related,” I say, and I sell it. It’s not a stock pose, but, I’m good like that. Turn that stiff tone into a sweet big-sister sort of vibe. It’s subtle, but it’s there. “So, if you want to talk about what’s wrong, I can listen.”
She doesn't say anything for some time, turning her gaze back to the concourse in front of us.
“I like listening to ponies.” When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “I mean, I lived in a box. I begged a bit, dumpster dived, but for the most part, not a lot to do except listen to what ponies out on the street are saying. It was relaxing. Particularly when I was hungry and needed to take my mind off it. I’ve really missed that since I came here. The pony at the shop said this would let me hear every conversation in the concourse at once.”
“Can you?” I ask, and she laughs, shaking her head.
“Um. Not really, no. But I can make out individual conversations, as long as they’re talking a little loudly,” she says, adding, “Or sitting on the southwest lower level. The acoustics there seem to be a bit better.” She’s adding it to avoid talking about something else. She does like her small talk.
“And what do they talk about?” I ask.
“Some of them are happy to be here,” she says, quietly. “Some of them are nervous, trying to get as much out of it as they can, since they know they won’t come here again. But none of them really think it’s going to make their lives better, you know? They think they get a really nice weekend, or a chance to grab a bunch of free stuff, and then it’s back to the status quo. And do we ever see the same pony twice?” It’s a question, but it’s rhetorical, her words coming too quick for an answer.
“The stallions who come up to me in the crowd... I just liked that they thought I was pretty!” Her tail lashes back and forth as she talks, her tone growing strained. “It was very flattering. But that’s not it at all. That’s not going to be their day—it’s going to be their month, their year! Remember the time I went there and that mare who was so far out of my league said hello to me? They’ll brag to their friends about it! Everypony idolizes this place as this beautiful center of culture, but I’m not sure it actually helps anypony. It just shows them things they can’t have—it doesn't deserve the attention it gets. And...” She takes a breath.
“And I don’t like fan mail,” she finishes.
“Uh... Epiphany?” I ask, after a moment. She’s really emotional and has obviously been hit by a lot of things at once, and markers are not really known for mental stability in general, so this is probably nothing, in fact almost certainly nothing, but just to check. “You aren’t thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?”
She turns, and I catch her gaze. “No. Of course not.”
“Epiphany’s planning to quit!” I shout, bursting into Rarity’s office. It’s okay though! It’ll be fine. Now that I’ve told her, Rarity knows it’s not my fault. She doesn’t answer though. Why isn't she answering? She’s sitting there at the window, staring out over the concourse. Quick March is standing just behind her, a bundle of papers held with a foreleg. There’s a pot of tea and an incense burner on the desk along with her paper and pens and a bunch of other stuff. She must be thinking it over. She doesn’t think this is my fault, does she?
“Hello to you as well, Siren,” Rarity says, rubbing her hoof against an inkpad and then stamping it on a paper. She doesn't look at me. “Thank you for knocking.”
“Oh, I uh...” I glance back at the door. Nice going, idiot—smashing open the door to her office will really make her take the news better. No, it doesn’t matter—I need to press ahead. That was bad, but she’ll understand. This is important! “Uh... sorry. But Epiphany is planning to quit. In fact, I think she’s packing her things right now!”
“Is she really?” Rarity asks, frowning at something in front of her before stamping it twice. “Well, that’s very decisive of her, isn’t it?”
“Um...” What? I don’t understand. “Yeah... I... guess it is.”
“Siren, you’re young and emotional, so I’ll try not to judge you for your simply exquisite lack of judgment in this particular instance,” she says curtly, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks at the paper in front of her. She sounds really upset. Not mad though, not angry with me. I don’t think I’m in trouble? I guess I really should have knocked before coming in. “I know you are very bright when you stop to think, so why don’t you try that now and spare me the drama.”
“You. Um...” She’s not blaming me for this is she? It’s not my fault! No... no. That’s not it. She wants me to say something. But what? Think, Siren! Think think think think! “You...” She’s quizzing me. Not alarmed, not taking any action when she gets the news. “You planned for this?”
“Good. Keep going,” Rarity says, not looking up from her desk.
“This... oh, this is supposed to happen,” I say, picking up on her hint and running with it. “I mean, this is the next step,” I say, checking her for little expressions of approval. “Just like she was supposed to go behind your back over Church Bell, she’s supposed to quit now.”
“Good,” she murmurs. Her tone is flat, like she wasn’t paying me any mind, but I catch that little glance my way. Right answer! “Now can you tell me why she’s supposed to quit?”
“Because...” Because why? Because she hates her work? No, lots of ponies in Vision hate their work. She needs to grow as a person. But what about hating her job makes her a better pony? Think! What did she say to you in the concourse? “Because... her job doesn’t mean anything?” I say it without thinking—I can’t insult Rarity’s work like that! She doesn’t seem angry though. It’s like she...
It clicks in my head right as I catch the little hint of a smile.
“You gave her a meaningless job on purpose,” I say as it all comes together. “Wait... you didn’t just do that. You gave her a meaningless job and the power to see what’s wrong with—oh! Oh, that’s clever! That’s brilliant!” I shout, as all the last few weeks suddenly fall into place. Even better, I’m not in any trouble! “You also really messed up the last pony who offended you, and you made a point of doing it in front of her. It’s a test of bravery! She has to give up all of this and risk incurring your wrath just to be a good pony. She’s going to risk everything just for a chance to do the right thing.” I’m actually getting a little excited, seeing it all come together this way. “This is the big finale, isn’t it?”
“Oh. Yes. It. Is!” she says, drawing out a pause between each word and finishing the sentence by slamming her hoof down on the desk, whirling her head up to look at me. The noise makes me leap back, and then she’s on her hooves, springing across the room to cover the distance, sweeping me up with a leg and turning me around like we were dancing. “Today is the day Epiphany takes that last step! Compassion she has always had, but today! Today she pairs it with action. Today is the day she decides that whatever the cost, no matter how little a difference it will make, she will stand up for what she knows is right! Be a part of the cruelties of this city no longer!” Rarity pulls me tight against her side, knocking the wind clean out of me.
“Today, Siren!” she says, dropping me back on my hooves and leaving my head spinning. “Today she becomes a hero, and at that moment of triumph, I will capture her image”—she snaps her hooves together in front of me, like she was actually grabbing something in the air—“for future generations. Forget that garbage we shot on set! Today, the moment a hero is born is preserved for all to see. No sets! No poses! You will look into her eyes and know that it is so.”
She’s so over the top, so enthusiastic, it’s impossible not to respond in kind. I find myself smiling more and more as she talks, and, well, why shouldn’t I? It’s an amazing accomplishment, weeks of effort and so much skill just for a grand artistic project. And I’m a part of it!
“Oh my gosh!” I shout, grinning like an idiot. I’m part of making a masterpiece. A real legendary masterpiece! And-and after it’s done, Rarity will be so happy. That’s it! That’s the moment to tell her where I’m from. I’ll tell her and she’ll take me home and I’ll be a real artist! “What can I do?” I ask, so wound up I feel ready to hop up and down. “How can I help?”
“You’re her friend! Go have filly talk. Brush her mane, chat about colts, put some makeup on her. Make sure she’s ready for her big moment,” Rarity says, grinning down at me. “She’ll have to be alone with me for the shot. The hero confronting the villain! It’s classic. Besides, you hold her attention too much, and we can’t have her looking off-center—but you need to make sure that she’s properly dressed up for the moment.”
“Right... right.” I nod, thinking quickly. “You’ve prepared instructions? Picked a dress?”
“March?” Rarity orders, and soon a piece of paper is handed to me. I memorize it at once, reading through it two or three times just to make sure I’ve got it all. I’m so excited, my eyes are skipping around the page.
“Got it!” I say, passing it back to him. “I won’t let you down, Rarity!”
“I know you won’t, dear,” she says, smiling at me, so bright and encouraging. “You’re a very talented young mare, and though the part you played may have been minor, I consider this our first collaboration. Now get going.”
I spring though the door and dash out into the halls. I’ll need to slow down before I reach her room, of course. Don’t want to show any sweat, need to have even breathing. I’ll be casual. No! Apologetic. She had a bad day, and I could have been nicer. I’ll give her a hug and tell her the new cutie mark looks nice, and come on, let me brush your mane. The dress will be trickier, but I’ll think of something! I’m good like that.
It all goes so quickly. I find Epiphany, make small talk, play dress-up. Of course, she’s nervous. She actually goes out of her way to “discreetly” drop into the conversation that she can survive out in the city on her own. It’s so cute! She doesn't want to tell me because she thinks I’ll try to talk her out of it, but she doesn't want me to be worried about her. I’m pretty sure she’s actually planning to try to sneak off in the middle of the night instead of telling anypony, which doesn't strike me as very heroic, but I’m sure Rarity’s accounted for that.
It seems like I’ve barely gotten her in the dress before Quick March calls me away on some pretext. It’s going to happen in the reflecting room, which makes sense. Where else could you get a pony to stand right in the middle of a million cameras and stage lights without them wondering if something might be up? Most of the equipment is already there, but Rarity fiddles with it up to the last moment—cleaning, adjusting lights and mirrors, tinkering with the cameras, putting her personal touches on every detail. Then Quick March gets her attention from across the room and she shouts, “Out, out!” He rushes for the exit, and I’m dragged along with him. For a moment, I catch Rarity watching me go, see her encouraging smile—and then the doors to the reflecting room close behind us.
We don’t go far—just down the hall and around two corners so we’ll be safely out of sight of the main corridor. There’s a door there, and when Quick March holds it open for me, I can see it leads to a small lounge or a waiting room or something. Chairs and a table and carpet. “Go ahead,” he says, gesturing me in with a forehoof. It’s clear he doesn't intend to follow me though, his attention on the hallway. “I’ll let you know when Ms. Rarity needs you.”
“Can’t I wait out here with you?” I ask. No, I insist! I’m the apprentice here! I’m not going to be shuffled off like a foal sitting at the little table. He thinks about it for a moment, and then lets the door swing shut.
“Very well,” he nods. “But you must be absolutely quiet. Not a sound. You understand?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, and move to stand next to him as he waits. He’s not doing anything, just looking around the corner and waiting for Rarity to call us. The halls are quiet, not a sound but the ever-beating lights. I feel so tense, so wound up. This is it!
Okay, I’ll need to think of what to say to her. I start to open my mouth, but Quick March fixes me with a sharp stare, and I snap it shut. Shoot, no talking to myself. Maybe I should have taken the room. No! Have your dignity, Siren. Just run it through in your head. Right.
Right! First, context. Be honest with yourself—you’ve been stalling on telling Rarity who you really are, but that’s fine! It’s perfect even! Today’s the day she really accepts you as her protégé, starts to trust you. Besides, with how moody she is, it only makes sense to tell her after she’s gotten some really big bit of good news. Oh, but you can’t just blurt it out! It’ll look like I’m trying to use her genius for petty personal gain. I need to make it clear that I love her work and that I’m telling her because it’s time.
But? What am I telling her? That I’m Princess Celestia’s student. That I ran away from Equestria to study art and got shipwrecked here. No, that I ran away from Equestria searching for the Elements of Harmony and got shipwrecked here! Yeah, that’s just as flattering but a little more plausible. That I was afraid to tell her because of how the city feels about Celestia, but that I know I can trust her now. No, no no no, better! That I thought there was nothing good in the city, but she showed me things nopony ever has before. That I want to stay but I’m worried about the ponies at home, and that I know the Princess misses her. Yeah, that’s the stuff! Older mare, no foals, eager to take on an apprentice. Hit her hard with the “cute young mare” routine and then follow it up with a knockout blow right in the nostalgia.
And, it’s true, isn’t it? She’s brilliant. And more than that, she’s different. No pony in Equestria would ever produce art like hers. It’s so sharp, so unforgiving and stark. Like griffon art, a bit, but with a distinctly equine feel. I could be the one to bring that style to Equestria. Ponies would go crazy for it! Not that I’ll forget Vision, of course. It’s an awful, horrible place, but I owe it to the ponies here to convince Celestia to come and help them. I can mend that fence, the ponies who want to leave can leave, others can arrive. Rarity can hang Trixie and put the city back in order. I’ll bring glorious art and all of Vision’s knowledge to Equestria, and peace and harmony back to Vision. It’ll be perfect!
A thought occurs to me, and I can’t help but grin. I didn’t fail after all. Maybe I didn’t find Twilight Sparkle, but I’ll still be convincing the Princess’s subjects to come back to her. I’ll still be mending that old wound! And I’ll have done it all on my own. That’s what Celestia’s student should be! An artist and a diplomat. It’ll be wonderful! I can’t wait!
Of course. I have to wait. And wait. And wait. What is taking so long? Is Epiphany just being slow in making her entrance? Is Rarity taking her time to build up the moment? Is she doing additional pictures? It didn’t go wrong, did it? It feels like I’ve been pacing in the hallway for hours before I hear the distinctive whine of unicorn magic, and then a clatter of flashbulbs, dozens of them all going off at once. That’s it, it’s time! I leap forward, but Quick March blocks me with a leg across my chest.
“Why? That’s it! It’s done!” I say, trying to maneuver around him. He’s faster than I am though, and between a leg and a wing, he just about turns me in place, and I don’t go anywhere.
“Not until Rarity calls for us,” he says, and no amount of argument will persuade him. And then there’s nothing to do but pace, back and forth in the side halls. I try to sneak around Quick March but he won’t have it, making me just stand there until I think I’m about to go crazy!
Then, I hear the door swing open, and Rarity’s voice. “I! Have! Done it!” she calls, and I’m down the hall like a racing pegasus. The double doors to the reflecting room are open, and she stands in the doorway, mane wild and out of place. She’s panting for breath, her brow sweaty like she’d just finished a long physical effort, but she’s grinning ear to ear. I almost stop, but she gracefully steps to one side to let me pass, and I slide in.
It’s gorgeous.
After a second, I realize that my mouth has fallen open but... it’s perfect! All the reflecting plates in the room now show Epiphany’s image from a different angle, that moment captured in all its wondrous perfection. One shot that shows that tension in her body, one that emphasizes the little tremble in her throat, one that shows the set in her jaw. You feel her fear just looking at them, and you know that she’ll overcome it. But not a single picture shows her eyes. That honor is reserved for the center of the room, for the carving in the middle of all these pictures.
It’s made of crystal, a statue so perfect it’s like I stumbled into the Crystal Empire. It’s her, in that moment, hooves on the ground, neck up, eyes straight ahead. It’s the finest statue I’ve ever seen, and when the light catches the crystal and shines up through those eyes, it’s like I can hear her taking that stand, that final trembling breath before she said no. The statue is even in a mock-up of her actual dress, though it’s torn a little in places. The combination of the invulnerable crystal and the damaged dress is so brilliant, I actually let out a gleeful little scream. Just looking at it, it’s obvious that the pony inside is what really matters, and that the things around her are only that: things.
“Oh my goodness yes!” I shout, racing all around the room, trying to take in every picture and see the statue from every angle. “I’ve never even heard of anything like this! The framing, the setup, the medium. You’re a genius! Oh, and from a technical perspective. The presentation! I could write a book just on how you’ve used mixed materials!” My voice cracks a little and I don’t care. “I didn’t even know it was possible to work with imperial crystal!”
“It’s possible,” she says, with a laugh and a wide grin, “though only for the most powerful unicorns, and I detest using such an exotic material for lesser works. I practice with glass. You don’t know how gratifying it is to hear you say that, Siren. I was starting to think that my work would never be appreciated in its own time.”
“It is very impressive, Ms. Rarity,” Quick March says, and even he sounds a little taken with it. Excited, even. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile, and he’s grinning like a teenage colt who just got his first kiss. “I’m glad to see you took my suggestion about handling.”
“Yes! Yes, thank you, March. I had my doubts but the dress worked out beautifully,” she says, wound up but so excited. “I just went with what seemed right! Of course, I had to enchant it to hold that position after. That’s what kept me so long. Can’t have it tearing or shifting in the slightest. Took a bit of doing, but, it will always hold that shape even if it gets ruffled.”
“You did that now? No wonder you’re exhausted!” I say, stepping up and giving the dress a gentle nudge, watching it slide back into place, exactly as it was in that moment. “Is it invulnerable as well? And the glass?” I ask, lifting the fabric to inspect it. “If you’re going to move it, it should—”
The sigh of fabric. A thump of impact. Something hits the ground below the statue. Rolls to bump against my hooves.
A little bottle of water.
I look at it.
“How did that get there?” Rarity asks, puzzled, stepping up beside me and picking up the bottle. “Well, no matter. As long as it was touching the dress, it should...” she murmurs, watching as it picks itself back up and vanishes under the fabric. It only takes a moment for it to tuck itself away again, and for the dress to return to its original shape. “Yes, there we go.”
“But... how did you not...?”
I draw a deep breath, but I can’t seem to get any air. It’s hot in here, very hot, and stale, and stagnant and bright and it’s hard to breathe and much too bright. My legs have gone all stiff and my barrel is tight and I can’t seem to move my tail and my belt is too tight and it’s too hot! It’s fine. It’s fine. You know what ponies have? Flaws. That’s right. Scars and moles and little rough patches. And this statue does not have any! No, it does not! It doesn't have that... thing! That... Epiphany had! I don’t remember it but that’s not important! Still can’t get any air!
“Siren, dear!” Rarity says, reaching out to put a hoof on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I look at Rarity. Normally when a star model disappoints me, there’s nothing I can do but use them for lesser works.
I look at the edge of the reflecting room. At the rows of glass ponies there, wearing dresses of real fabric. I detest using such an exotic material for lesser works. I practice with glass.
I look at Quick March, grinning at all the photos like it was his birthday. I’m not an artist, but working for her, I get that special sense of satisfaction I don’t get anywhere else.
I look at Rarity. “Siren?” she repeats. “Siren, what’s the matter?” I look into her eyes.
And I scream at the top of my lungs.
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Just... ...chilling.
I just love this scene. Love it to pieces. It's just got this "So Very Rarity, Except..." vibe to it. Delicious.
Of course, my favorite scene hasn't occurred yet.
But this is a contender.
*Spends week wondering about comment*
*Reads chapter*
Oh. Oooh.
Welp! That would be the sound of the post-digestive organic waste solids hitting the high velocity rotation based cooling device.
Let that be a lesson to you Siren! Just because they're nice, clean, polite and not blatantly crazy it doesn't mean they aren't terrible, terrible ponies.
I wonder if Epiphany had, at the last second, a ... sudden realization as to what Rarity was planning.
2591667
EEE!
I have been waiting so long for the reveal of what her name really means.
I love Significant Pony Names.
2591527
Full disclosure: since I've read a few chapters ahead of release, I sometimes lose track of where we are (that's why I'm very careful to not spoil anything in comments. My secret? Nothing but smarm and irreverence.) So when I saw your comment last chapter, I simply assumed that this chapter had been posted last week, and I took your comment at face value. It took Jaxie's giddy response and a bit of rereading to spot the irony.
2591527
Yeah, I laughed so hard when you made that comment. Evil laughed.
2591527
2591377
STAHP TAUNTING MEH!!!!1111!1!11!!!!!
SQUEE! New chapter!
2592143
I must know what you thought when you read it.
2592261
In the process of reading it now...
Gotta say though, I'm thinking I was right about the foreshadowing with Green in the previous chapter and the muffin.
I don't think Siren is fully appreciating Rarity's masterpiece, controlling literally, reality and the minds of those around her into an extension of her art. Something kinda doubled on when Green mentioned a staircase that goes down but takes you up.
In any case, now to see how she manages to quit.
Saw that ending coming second Siren saw the statue...
Truly a lovely chapter, Rarity, I think, kind of feels like a benevolent dictator. She's not, specifically, malevolent. Of course, but at the same time, there's no one to really just go over and say "Hey, Rarity, your perspective is getting a bit... off." She's just coming across as an artist, working with her preferred mediums and feeling compassion towards the art, but at the same time, kind of losing her ability to distinguish what exists purely to be her medium and what does not. Kind of a minor logic gap... where she thinks she's compassionate, she feels that way, but she really lost compassion for life, as art became everything.
Or at least, that's the vibe I'm getting from her.
If I'm correct though, I think this means Siren will be bonding further with green. In order to escape, she'll really need to understand all of Rarity's works, and, most likely, very quickly too. While she has so far been able to piece together the intent, it generally has taken Siren some work, and involved needing to read Rarity's reactions to figure it out. Without her assistance, I think she'll be relying on Green to get a grasp on the individual works of Rarity's art in order to escape and survive.
Again though, just speculation.
Really a lovely chapter in any case, you've outdone yourself.
Great chapter, read at one go
also, might be a typo
You have her in the same dresses as me?
2593311
I'm certain Atlas himself said such things several times right until, "Would you kindly get your head stepped on by a Big Daddy."
I will spend a night thinking about this chapter. Given this is just part one of Epiphany...I am sure we will have more epiphanies in the next one.
The earlier chapters used Siren's art sense to give substance to their plot points. Because this is the stream of conscience of Siren, I do not see this as a crutch, but it definitely limits the story to a more artistic angle on Vision . The Pavilion chapters are actually so much the better because they should be about art and its meaning rather than as a mere perspective on events. While I might say it was a bias on part of the author to put the art pony first, the plot of Bioshock has its plastic surgeon roughly here, and there are plenty of echos of his philosophy in Rarity particularly in her quotes in the last chapter.
Given the probably trajectory of the plot in which Siren goes from each of the Mane Six in their part of Vision, following the pretty much the same as in Bioshock, I hope that those chapters do as much justice to the other characters as they do to Rarity despite not being art focused.
My impression and hope of this story as a whole is that it will explore the characters and virtues of the element bearers in a very deep and appreciative manner like in End of Ponies but in this case, they are all bizarre versions of themselves.
The tea... It was hot, but tasted cold. What badness awaits? I know it's going to something awful, because this story just keeps finding new ways to turn my stomach. But what?
This may be totally out of left field, but I'll ask because of the Ponyfinder RPG blog post you made a while back. Have you ever played Exalted? The things Rarity talks about and does (*shudder*) in this chapter remind me so much of the kinds of things the First Age Solars would get up to. Making another pony's entire life into a work of art, manipulating and planning everything around that one pony until it's perfect... it's brilliant.
If you haven't played it, just imagine a very old elf with intense passions and no morals but the ones they choose. That's Rarity here. So, to those two or three of you who commented that Rarity's muffin was a very bad sign, I admit you were right. It's totally not too early to judge her Generosity as having been poisoned now. Who would have thought that grand and morbid dramatic irony was Poison Joke's true calling? Oh, the Themes being expressed here are like mana from heaven.
The decay of Rarity's perspective until a party is the first thing on her mind when bringing up feeding ponies with an infinite muffin. The fact that there aren't enough ponies who would truly understand her work out there to throw such a party. She has proven that beauty can be ageless after all, but she's also proven that the whole cast of demons and nightmares that haunt our souls can be ageless too.
The buildup of dread here was wonderful, much like in White Wash, only this time, Siren and Rarity are connected on such a deep level that everything Rarity does just leads Siren deeper and deeper into the traps of hero worship and complacency. Wunderbar.
2593504
He has, in fact, both played and GMed Exalted.
2591710
You know, Pav, I'm in that same boat. I keep thinking there's less chapters than there are, for some reason.
Thank you
...
You have shown me a perfection of story telling this day.
I shall add this distinctiveness to my own, and it shall inspire and thrive like a terrible weed in my soul, and when it has finished integrating I shall wield it in my own work.
And then shall others share in an anguished wonder.
So now, Siren, just what path will you take? You realization was rather dramatic, unfortunately (and, from my perspective, a bit delayed; I realized what had happened as soon as Siren saw the statue), but you could perhaps play it off as shock. Will you? And then you may think, well, if not for this plan of Rarity's, Epiphany would have died a homeless mare in a box, unremarked upon by any; what they would she have amounted to, and why then is this wrong? You have already shown yourself to be in accord with Rarity on other matters. Or will you take the other road, decrying this as an atrocity against equinity? Oh, not aloud, I hope, for that would seal your fate, but you have a talent for prevarication. Of course, if you ever did act on this, you'd be bereft of Rarity's protection and resources, having exchanged them for yet another enemy. Will you die, likely unpleasantly, for your principles, lie about them and praise a monster for the sake of your own survival, or praise in earnest a misunderstood genius? Whatever the answer, I look forward to the next chapter!
(Also, it wasn't until I was writing this that I got the significance of Epiphany's name; well done.)
Wa
Ha
HA!
Epiphany's fate is chilling indeed. 
i.imgur.com/65WKq.jpg (This is the best Rarity art ever, BTW)
There we go! She hid her flaw for quite a long time, but now the crazy comes out in full force! Woo!
I love what you've done with Rarity!
This actress just got played. Oh Siren, when will you ever stop being a fool? Can you stop judging poison joke users (many of whom are trying to help you, dammit) by what's in their bloodstream long enough to realize there are bigger threats to you than marker cooties?
2593489
Now you know why chapters are posted weekly although they are prewritten
Rarity needs her supply of readers' tears tea
Given how well we know Siren and Vision by now, I think most of us saw this coming. That didn't make it any less terrifying.
I was really starting to like Epiphany, she would have been a great hero.
*wake up*
*12 new comments*
EEEEEEEEEE!
2595061
Originally, the story spent six chapters in the Pavilion instead of three, so that Epiphany could be built up and introduced like any other character. Ether_Echoes convinced me that the story was getting a bit long though, and ending fatigue was a problem, so I decided to compress her story down into one*. It was a real challenge, but I'm glad to know I pulled it off!
*That is why Epiphany, Part 1 is the only chapter of Vision to use in-chapter time skips. I was worried they'd be jarring, but I spent quite a bit of time making sure the time skips felt right, and I hope it worked out.
2594300
Mmmm. Delicious tears.
2594172
Ooh, nice Rarity art! Thank you very much! Glad you liked the chapter. No spoilers on if Siren will ever learn though. You'll see soon enough!
2594164
Thanks! You'll find out just what path Siren takes over the next (and final) two chapters. I think you'll be surprised! As for the realization, I did spend a lot of time fiddling with that, because of-course the reader is going to know what happens the second Siren sees the statue.
I decided to keep that little delayed effect, because there's just no shocking a genre-savvy reader here. I expect a good number of you saw it coming the second Rarity showed up as a medical doctor in Vision . So I decided to let the delay remain, to build up that moment of horror.
2593920
*backs away slowly*
2593504
Yes! I have played Exalted. And yes, Exalted was an inspiration for many of the themes in Vision. A few of the early drafts actually contained some references to it, but I ended up cutting them since the specific words Exalted uses don't quite fit the setting. I thought of Vision! Rarity as more of an Infernal than a Solar though. Fall from grace and all that.
I'm glad you liked the chapter—and more than that, glad you picked up on all the sublties I'd intended! It's nice to know that all that time I spent worrying about themes in the story wasn't just navel gazing.
2593489
Oooh. No guys, that's cool. I'm done being evil now. You can relax.
2593402
Thank you for that interesting analysis! I suppose at this point, it's no spoiler to say that you're spot on about the story going through the rest of the Mane 6. My inspiration was actually Fallout: Equestria more than The End of Ponies, but the theme is the same. I loved that, while LittlePip may have been the protagonist, it was really the Mane 6's story as much as hers. By the end, I hope Vision will be the same way.
2592384
Thanks much! You'll see soon enough.
And just one more comment I wanted to make, regarding Rarity's identity in Vision...
Ahem.
Steinman, you real scary and imma let you finish, but Sander-fucking-Cohen is the best villain in this game!
2595061
Epiphany is a great hero, and now she will be... forever.
2595144
I am glad you enjoyed my analysis, and I pride myself in it. While I probably given my thoughts on the next climax, if you ever need this philosopher's thoughts on anything, feel free to ask.
As for Fallout Equestria, I can see the connection, but on the basis of the being crossovers of games with similar themes. I haven't read faallout Equestria, but might later.
2595126
And final? Well now, that's interesting (And a bit depressing; ONLY TWO CHAPTERS OF THIS STORY LEFT?! But... There'll be a sequel, right? Right?!). I'd assumed that, yes, in-story there were options, but, realistically, there's only one path the author could take. If we're that close to the end, though, it really could be almost any of the options.
2596285
Yes, there will be a sequel.
As for what option Siren takes—I think it'll surprise you.
<speculation-overdrive>
Twilight was alive all along under the guise of Trixie, and is running a magnificent gambit to right all the wrongs of Vision in one fell swoop.
Real Trixie is tied to her bed.
</speculation-overdrive>
2596540
Yes. Tell me more about the bed.
And there it is, the crazy.
I can't say I'm not a little disappointed, but oh well.
I await the next chapter.
2596786
Why are you disappointed? :(
2596826
I don't know how to describe it. Sorry.
2596833
You can't just leave at that! C'mon man!
2596666
Well it's a practical thing, with a frame made of real, treated wood (a luxury when you consider that they are under the ocean).
The mattress has all the comfort of an innerspring mattress and fluffiness of pegasus down, and a spell ensures that it always returns to it's original shape without need for fluffing.
It's covered with the finest velvet sheets, that magically absorb all manner of fluids without becoming wet or filthy.
2596894
The chapter was fine. It was detailed, and enjoyable and the same as every other chapter.
It's just when we got to the scene where Rarity was finally revealed, I was just...disspoiinted.
I don't know why, sorry.
2597197
Yup! Corrected to "burning in my lungs." Thank you sir.
2597205
I'm sorry, but it took you less than a page to describe it, so I don't think it's right for Vision.
2597272
Aww, okay. I suppose I understand. I hope you like the next chapter more!
2597301
Shoot! I blew my one chance at fame and fortune!
2596894
The inhabitants of Vision are either normal for their environment or obsessed/addicted and normal for their condition. They're always some kind of rational. None of them are really crazy the way you made Rarity crazy here (assuming Siren has the right idea).
You also gave Rarity a LOT of power in being able to manipulate every[pony]. Unless she has a mark for reading people, it's a bit much even for her. This actually works with the story given Green's fears. The only weird thing about this is that she can predict everyone else so well, but she fails miserably in predicting how Siren would react (again, assuming Siren has the right idea). Maybe she wanted Siren to react this way?
I'm hoping that Siren just isn't thinking clearly and has the wrong idea. Her plans for asking Rarity for a return trip don't seem like something she would normally come up with, and it would make sense if she got really excited and ended up trigger-happy.
I went back and reread Rarity's dialogue soon after Siren met Epiphany. I can see why Siren came to this conclusion, but I'm still hoping that it's a mistake.
I await the next chapter!
2597366
I would disagree with this, on two grounds:
1) Rarity being able to manipulate everypony is easy when most of the ponies she meets come from very familiar circumstances. She knows how the people of this city tick, and she was a mature mare by the time she left Equestria in the first place. Carefully selecting and grooming your targets makes it a lot easier to get into their heads.
2) At the risk of making Siren sound like a special snowflake, she is very different. More on this in the following paragraph.
Think about it: Siren is not special to Rarity because she's the Princess' student, nor because of any powers she has. Even her gift for reading ponies is irrelevant to Rarity.
What matters here, and what makes Siren different from the rest, is that she empathized with and understood Rarity, even in her tragic state. She understood and identified with the motives and actions of a monster.
Think about it a bit more, and you might see why her reaction may have surprised Rarity... or perhaps not. Wait for the next chapter and see!
2598561
You... you're right >< On both points. Damnit, that was good.
2598486
media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0hvleJyIi1qd4xn3.gif
2598561
2599415
Did... did you just successfully change someone's mind using rational argument?
On the internet?
2599530
4.6 is a rational argument to f: R -> R. I would actually argue that his argument might be irrational because I can't imagine a mapping from R^n -> S, where S contains all interpretations of his argument. I don't have proof, but you're the one that called it rational!
2601996
Yet I rocked all the same.
2602600
Yes. Whether or not it was rational, you conveyed understanding. You're now a Rarity-certified artist.
Just got caught up. I am sad I did since now i have to wait for the next chapter.