Come Together

by A Hoof-ful of Dust

1.

1.

---

It looked like a bomb had gone off.

Now, that wasn’t a completely unusual states of affairs for Rarity’s workspace, but whenever she left swatches and scissors and scraps of fabric all over the place in a whirlwind of inspiration, she had some idea of where everything was. That was organized chaos. This was just… regular chaos.

Rarity sighed and narrowed her eyes. This would mean complete reorganization. She wrinkled her nose. Ugh.

How best to sort things? The last time had been by size, the rolls of fabric and bare ponyquinns to one end and a table with trays of buttons and spools of thread to the other. That was a mess. Before that she’d tried to group everything by function in a short-lived resolution of keeping her creative space orderly; that had broken down when it turned out too many things were ending up in the pile of Things That Get Used All The Time And So Don’t Have A Permanent Home. Before that… she couldn’t remember. What about when Sweetie Belle had sorted her materials by color of all things? Glancing around the room, she saw that wouldn’t do, either; somehow everything was some variation of tan or flannel.

She could just tidy up. Pretend she was starting a fresh project. First, she would need to have a blank sheet on her drawing board. A magical glow surrounded the sketch on the stand and tore the page away. She dropped the page somewhere near the doorway to deal with later. Then she would need some charcoal… where was that? After a moment of looking around, she found a stick by her sewing machine where it didn’t belong at all. Charcoal back in place, she took the garment out of the mouth of the sewing machine, ready to dump it by the doorway also, when something stopped her. Rarity held it out in front of her with her magic, straightening it out, turning it this way and that. After a moment of consideration, she slipped it over the head of the unused ponyquinn.

Had Applejack made this? The color choice didn’t exactly thrill her, and some of the stitching was a little rough, but… overall, not bad. Not a complete disaster, certainly nothing like Pinkie had made of Sweet Apple Acres or she of the weather. Rarity cast her eye around for some pins in the mess, sticking up an area on the left side that was a little uneven. She circled around the ponyquinn, evaluating. The shape was good. Simple, practical, direct – like Applejack herself. There were two big sections on the side that Rarity had taken for decorative patches at first, but on closer inspection turned out to be pockets, deep roomy ones that looked big enough to serve in place of small saddlebags. That wasn’t a bad idea… and were those stitched together by hoof? Where did Applejack learn to do that? She pulled and tugged on one of the pockets, testing it. Sturdy. The stitching was nothing fancy, but it would hold the whole thing together quite well.

Rarity turned back to the doorway and picked up the discarded sketch, putting it back on the drawing board. Her own sketching style was messy and frenetic, an overall impression that emerged out of layers of overlapping lines. Applejack’s was the complete opposite, strong decisive lines that cut across the page. It looked a lot closer to the half-finished product than many of Rarity’s own sketches did, too. She still wasn’t in love with the color choice, but for a first effort…

Assuming this was a first effort, and that Applejack didn’t have some secret double life as a designer of day-to-day farmwear or anything.

According to the sketch, there was a hat that went with it. Rarity took a look around the workspace, trying to see if it was sitting around somewhere… aha, there, on the table. She set it on the head of the ponyquinn and took a step back. The hat sort of balanced everything out, drawing the focus off the body and more to the accents on the legs. It was a subtle effect, but it turned what she was looking at from a garment to an outfit. This was no longer in the vicinity of “not bad” or “good first try”.

Rarity had to talk to Applejack. Right now.

---

“I dunno, Rarity,” Applejack said, “we’ve still got a whole field to re-sow…”

“Whenever is most convenient for you!” Rarity said, stepping back out of range of the plow and the spray of dirt it was creating. “When you find a spare moment.”

“That ain’t gonna be for a while, by the looks of things.”

“I’ll wait. I can wait.”

Applejack paused in hauling the plow and looked at her. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t’cha?”

Rarity nodded.

“Well… well, guess I’ll pay y’ a visit later tonight, then.”

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” Rarity hopped on the spot. “I’d, uh, give you hug, but…”

Applejack looked down at her muddied legs. “Yeah, I get it. Get back to me on it?”

“Deal.”

Applejack titled her hat back on her head to wipe off her brow. “Listen, Rarity… I can’t promise I’ll be any great help to you or anything.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Rarity said, “you’ll do fine.”

---

The first thing Applejack said that night was, “I’m real sorry ‘bout the mess I left up there.”

“No, it’s quite all right. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just, we left here in such a hurry, with all that was happenin’ with Twilight and all…”

“Really, not a problem.”

“…And on the farm you can’t just go leavin’ your tools out overnight, so I just thought that you’d–”

Rarity rested a hoof on Applejack’s shoulder. “Would you just listen when I’m trying to say you don’t need to apologize?” she said with a smile.

“Only if you’ll listen to me tryin’ to say I’m sorry,” Applejack said with a grin of her own.

The whistle of a teakettle broke the moment between them. “Tea?” Rarity asked.

“Uh, sure. Tea’d be swell.”

“I’ll bring it up, won’t be a second. Go up, go up.” Rarity floated two teacups in front of her up the stairs, just behind Applejack. “Now,” she said, arriving at the top of the stairs, “where should we start?”

Applejack had taken her hat off and placed it on an already-full hat-rack in the corner. It looked out of place among Rarity’s showy accessories. “Did I make that?” she asked, scratching her head.

Rarity set the tea down, brushing aside some spindles of ribbon to make room. “Of course you did.”

“It don’t look all that good…”

“Well, that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.”

“I…” Applejack turned to Rarity. “Shouldn’t you be finishin’ it? Y’ know, since this is your thing and all.”

“But this is your outfit,” Rarity said, turning Applejack’s head back towards the ponyquinn with a firm hoof. “I can’t see the vision you were inspired by. My muse is not your muse.”

“Well, I don’t know how much muse was involved,” Applejack said, stepping slowly towards the outfit. “It just looks like I was tryin’ to make something that’d keep the rain off.”

“Good! Good, go with that.”

“Well, ‘cause, see here?” Applejack pointed to the hat. “I always need to dry my hat out by the fire if it gets too wet, but water’d just roll off this. Pockets’re made of the same stuff, ‘cause for some reason nopony’s ever thought of makin’ a weatherproof saddlebag. But the whole thing’s not made of leather, ‘cause–”

“It would be too heavy,” Rarity finished. “Too stiff.” She mimed inflexibility with her hooves.

“That’n I don’t think I’m tough enough to stitch through leather, least not with all the tiny needles y’ got.”

“And the patches around the legs, they’re for–”

“Splashes, yeah. Y’ saw that on the farm today. There was supposed to be a set of boots, too, real heavy-duty ones…”

“Oh!” Rarity exclaimed, rushing to where the sketch was pinned up. “Boots! Yes, I see it now.”

“…But I don’t know the first thing about makin’ boots,” Applejack said.

“But sewing?” Rarity asked with a raised eyebrow. “That you know how to do.”

“Yeah, a little. Just patchin’ clothes, makin’ quilts, things like that.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“I’m not really sure. Ma and Granny Smith, I ‘spose.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things you pick up.”

“Well, I must say that, for a pony with no formal training, you have excellent technique.”

Applejack glanced around the room, as if she could find the right way to respond sitting among the buttonhooks and pincushions. “Shoot,” she said at last, “thank you, Rarity.”

“I mean it! You are a natural talent.”

“That’s all well and good,” Applejack said, tilting her head at the outfit, “but I still don’t really know where I should start.”

“Hm. Close your eyes.”

“‘Scuse me?”

Rarity waved Applejack’s objections off with a hoof. “Close your eyes. It’s what I do when I need to center myself.”

Applejack’s brows knitted together for a second, then she closed her eyes. “Alright. Now what?”

“Take a deep breath. Exhale.” Applejack did so. “Now, imagine the piece in front of you. Don’t see it like it is now, but how you want it to be. Every little detail, all laid out.” Rarity stood beside Applejack in silence for a moment, then asked, “Are you imagining?”

“I would be,” said Applejack, perturbed, “if some busy little bee wasn’t a-buzzin’ in my ear the whole time.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Rarity backed away and floated one of the teacups towards her. “I’ll be quiet,” she said, and took a sip of her tea.

After a long period of silence, Applejack let out a huff and turned to face Rarity. “I’m just not seein’ it,” she said, a pained expression on her face.

“It sometimes takes me a while,” Rarity said, hastily finding a spot to put her teacup down, “sometimes I can’t get a clear picture in my head for days, but when I do it’s–”

“No, that ain’t it.” Applejack rubbed the back of her neck. “This is your method, not mine. Don’t suppose you’ve ever been around when we’ve been buildin’ a barn, have you?”

“Only after it was finished. Does that count?” Rarity pursed her lips, and Applejack laughed. “No, I’ve never been present for any barn-raising.”

“Well, y’ don’t ever really think about what it’s gonna look like at the end – not beyond what color y’ paint it, anyways. It’s all a process, like if you were to bake a cake or somethin’. If you know you want a barn that’s so wide and so deep–” She measured a miniature barn in midair with her hooves. “–Then you know the roof’s gonna need to be so wide and so high. Y’ follow?”

“I think I do.” Rarity paused, considering. “So, if you were to mismeasure one of the walls… what would you have to do, to get the barn finished?”

“Well, you kinda fiddle with it, shave off a piece here ‘n a piece there ‘til it’s squared off.”

“Which is just what we’re doing right now.”

Applejack turned back to the outfit. “This,” she said after studying it for a moment, “might take an awful lot of fiddlin’.”

“I’m up to it if you are.”

“And the boots haven’t even been started on.”

“I’ll take care of the boots. You just tell me how they need to be.”

“Well…” Applejack looked introspective for a moment, then her eyes brightened. “Alright, let’s get to it!”

“Alright!”

“Oh! Uh, can I ask y’ one more thing?”

“Most certainly.”

Applejack eyed the other teacup. “Tea ain’t really my thing. Don’t suppose y’ have any salt, do ya?”

“Well, I mean, maybe a little. For cooking.”

“That’ll do. We’ll need two licks o’ salt.”

“Two…?”

“Yep. One for me ‘n one for you. ‘S the first thing I’d do if I was fixin’ a barn that didn’t want t’ be fixed.”

“Oh, no, I mean, I couldn’t–”

“If we’re doin’ this my way,” Applejack said, looking Rarity squarely in the eye, “then we’re doin’ it my way all the way.”

“Well,” Rarity said, feeling heat in her cheeks, “I can’t argue with that, can I?”

As she descended the stairs, she heard Applejack mutter to herself, “Now, where were those darn pins?”

---

“So,” Rarity asked, “why rain?”

“What d’ y’ mean?” Applejack asked around a mouthful of pins.

“Well, you must have been thinking about the rain while you were planning this outfit, and it hasn’t rained for weeks in Ponyville.” She paused, then added: “Excluding some abnormal weather activity yesterday, that is.”

“That might’ve had somethin’ to do with it.” Applejack dropped the pins in the little tray. “There’s always a day right at the beginnin’ of apple season when it rains enough to get me soakin’ wet while I’m at the apple stand but not enough that everypony stays inside and doesn’t buy nothin’, and every time that day comes I get sour like a bear with a sore head, and I guess I was in a mighty sour mood most of yesterday.” She smoothed out one of the legs and moved around to the other side of the ponyquinn to inspect there. “And I guess I was thinking if I had somethin’ to wear while I was standin’ out in the rain, I wouldn’t have to feel so sour.”

“Even though you wouldn’t have any reason to go standing in the rain in the first place,” Rarity pointed out.

“Funny how that works, ain’t it?” Applejack stepped back from the ponyquinn, observing. “How’re them boots comin’ along?”

“Two finished,” Rarity said, “the other pair just need the buckles.”

The boots were heavy and no-nonsense, fastening with two straps that the wearer needed to, according to Applejack, “be able to pull ‘em tight with her teeth, like puttin’ on a belt”. Shoes in Rarity’s ensembles were strictly decorative; the workboots had been a tough challenge, but in her humble opinion she had risen to it admirably.

Applejack stood beside where Rarity had been working. “Wanna put it all together?”

“I think we’re ready to.”

“Lemme just try on these boots…”

“Oh no no,” Rarity said, lifting the complete outfit off the ponyquinn with her magic, “not just yet.”

Applejack screwed up her face in puzzlement. “But they’re my clothes.”

“Which is why I must be your model. Clothes need to be on another pony for you to inspect them properly.” And before Applejack could raise any objections, she started pulling her legs into the outfit.

“I thought that’s what the, whatchamacallit, ponyquinn was for.”

“That’s fine for getting an impression of shape,” Rarity said, “but you’re unable to see how a garment moves without a live model.” She put a hoof into the first boot and was about to buckle it with her magic, then after a second to consider, pulled the strap tight with her teeth instead.

“Makes sense. Here,” Applejack said, passing her the hat. When Rarity tried it on, Applejack wrinkled her nose. “Nah, somethin’ ain’t right about that.” Putting the hat back on the ponyquinn, she asked, “Mind if I just try somethin’?”

“Be my guest.”

Applejack reached into her mane, pulling out the band that tied it together, then started brushing Rarity’s own mane back without a moment’s hesitation. Rarity suddenly found herself face-to-face with Applejack as she gathered up her mane and bound it. Applejack was concentrating intently, not looking at her, but it would have been difficult to ignore just how close they were.

“There,” she said, and for a moment Rarity was unsure what she was talking about until Applejack put the hat back on her head.

“How does it look?” Rarity asked, turning herself around.

“Not too bad,” Applejack said, her tone filled with approval, “not too bad at all.”

Rarity stood in front of her mirror array, scrutinizing the final product. She looked completely unlike herself. The outfit alone she may have been able to pull off, with a little time and alteration, but with her mane flattened under the heavy hat she looked like she was about to head to Sweet Apple Acres to bust some sod. “Reckon I look like a real cowpoke, partner,” she said, aiming for an imitation of Applejack’s accent and falling far short.

Applejack exploded in laughter, doubling over and snorting.

“What?” Rarity pouted. “Isn’t that what I should say?”

Still laughing, Applejack said, “No my dear, of course you are absolutely correct.” Her accent wouldn’t have been out of place at a well-to-do function in Canterlot.

“That’s not fair! How are you able to do that so well?”

“Three months in Manehatten as a filly, dear,” Applejack said, not letting her accent lapse. “One simply doesn’t forget such things.”

“You mean to tell me you could have done that the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“Eeyup. Could’ve,” Applejack said, purposely adding extra twang to her voice, “but didn’t.” She glanced over at the clock. “Whew-ee, how did it get that late?”

“Time flies when one is in a creative mood.” Rarity started unbuckling the boots.

“Seems it does. Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”

“Not at all. You take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out, or anything.”

“You won’t be putting me out at all. It’s a most comfortable couch.” She re-dressed the ponyquinn and sat the boots in a neat cluster beside it.

“Well,” Applejack said, pausing to let out a loud yawn, “if you’re sure it’s no bother…”

Rarity touched a hoof to Applejack’s shoulder. “Pleasant dreams, Applejack.”

“You too, Rarity.”

---

Rarity was awoken by the sound of Applejack’s hooves on the stairs. The morning sun drew bright squares on the floor of Carousel Boutique. “Sleep well?” Rarity asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Thought I could sneak down without wakin’ you,” Applejack said. “Yeah, I slept pretty well. But I gotta get back to Sweet Apple Acres, so…”

“Of course.”

“This, ah, this was fun, though.” She looked reluctant to admit that making clothing, even an outfit as utilitarian as what she had designed, could be fun.

“Good. I’m glad you had fun.” After a moment’s quiet, Rarity said, “You have a good day.”

“You too.” Applejack looked about to turn to leave, but she stopped, having suddenly remembered something. “Hey,” she said, “I never did get my hug.”

“You know, you’re quite right,” Rarity said, raising from the couch and crossing the floor, “and I will need to remedy that immediately.” She embraced Applejack, able to smell the deep earthy scent that came with years of fieldwork mixing with the lighter fragrance of her shampoo.

“I’ll come back later today to grab m’ stuff, if all that needs doin’ is them boots.” Applejack glanced out one of the windows as they separated. “Don’t think I’ll get much of a chance to use it for a while, but you never know when it’s gonna rain next.”

“You never do know, do you? Take care, Applejack.”

“Bye, Rarity.”

It was only long after Applejack had left, shutting the door behind her, that Rarity realized her mane had still been down, and that her own mane was still tied back with Applejack’s band.

Comments

[Smirkythread]

Uhhhh...don't the pegusi control the weather, I mean I'm pretty sure the farmers negotiate some kind of schedule with them at least.

[BlueMoonHarlot]

It was only long after Applejack had left, shutting the door behind her, that Rarity realized her mane had still been down, and that her own mane was still tied back with Applejack’s band.

That's really cute.