Tributaries
Your feet step lightly through the front entrance to Sugarcube Corner—full of fuzzy ponies and happy families chatting and eating and nuzzling—and you get the distinct impression that you don't belong here.
It is a familiar feeling.
In contemplating this, you linger in place for a long while. You don't even notice you're being talked to until Mrs. Cake's plump face leans in slightly to interrupt your gaze with an even plumper smile. You jolt—startled—but then you remember to play it cool.
"Can I help you?" you ask in a deep voice. Idiot.
The mare chortles slightly, her tone ever pleasant and motherly. "Actually, I was just asking the same thing of you, dearie." She smiles, lifting one adorable forelimb with equine grace. "Welcome to Sugarcube Corner. Care to have a bite to eat?"
You exhale. The temptation to turn right around and march back to the castle gnaws at the gut, the heart. But you're sick of being a coward. You're sick of always wondering. It's almost two o'clock.
She'll be here soon.
"I'll... uh..." You fidget, squirm. "I'll have..." You look at the glass counter full of baked goods. Your stomach is empty, growling. But nothing here appeals to you. Naturally, you can't just sit in the corner at an empty table; that would be too weird. Best to order something horse-y, that way you won't raise suspicion. Still, you can't fathom actually downing a plate full of extra crispy hay. If only—
"How about our very special patented Ponyville Banana Bread?" Mrs. Cake offers with such a cheerful melody to her voice that it feels like an abominable sin to refuse her. "Our talented local baker Pinkie Pie made it just this morning!"
That'll do. Also... guh, Pinkie Pie... You really really hope you don't run into her right now. Or any other pony else for that matter. This is going to be awkward enough as it is.
Shoot, Mrs. Pie is still staring at you...
"Yes! Sure thing! Banana Bread!" You blurt. You smile. It isn't until the second half of your lungs have emptied that you manage to lower your voice once again. "Thank you Mrs... Ms."
She doesn't seem to notice any change in your tone. "Mrs. Cake." She smiles—a happy, trusting pony. "Would you like the whole loaf or half?"
"Uhm... whole," you say, instantly regretting it. "How much?"
"Normally three bits. But—for a visitor's discount—we'll make it just two for today!"
"Jee. Thanks," you murmur, genuinely surprised. Maybe even a little bit tingly.
"Don't mention it! Have a seat and I'll bring it right out for ya!" She trots merrily away. "And do enjoy your stay in Ponyville!"
You exhale with relief. Part of you wants to stand there and talk to Mrs. Cake forever. But that's not what you've come here for. Carrying a straight posture, you walk decidedly across the lobby, making for an empty booth on the far end. As you proceed, ponies glance your way. Half of them wave, the other half nod. All of them smile.
So much eye contact—deliberate and darling and unafraid. A sour pit grows in your stomach, laced with coals. You hold your breath for the moment, not wanting to exhale. To cry would be even worse. It's not even two o'clock yet and you don't know how you'll handle it. Handle her.
Everypony really is friendlier today. It can't just be your imagination.
At last, you sit down. The table-top wobbles slightly, and that's how you know you're shivering. You clasp your hands together and take even breaths. Meditating. Calming. What's Fluttershy's new way of putting it? "Mind over matter?"
You think you've succeeded... but then the clap of the plate of banana bread landing on your table startles you back to the jittery moment.
"Heehee..." Mrs. Cake blushes apologetically. "I'm sorry, dearie. I'll try to be quieter next time."
"It's... uh..." You clear your voice as you fish around for some bits. "It's okay..."
"Did you travel through the Everfree Passage to get here?" she asks with a curious tilt of her head. "Lots of folk who arrive from the south are understandably anxious. I don't rightly blame them. Such spooky woods give me the willies!"
"No." You finally produce two coins and hold them out in your palm. "Just the weather, I guess."
"Hmmmm..." Her blue muzzle scrunches slightly. "Then you must be from Stalliongrad—for bright sunny skies to make you that uneasy." She takes the bits, curtsies, and offers a lasting smile. "Well, you can certainly relax around here. This is Ponyville—the Friendship Capital of Equestria!" An added wink, for extra measure. "Just give the gab with anyone—anyone whatsoever—and you'll feel better instantly!"
"Sure thing, Ms." You nod as she shuffles away. "I'll be sure to... r-remember that..." You freeze in place.
For as Mrs. Cake's plump figure trots out of view, something else appears in the distance. Someone else. The one and only. Her snow white coat stabs you from afar, and you feel your heart quickening. Panicked eyes dart towards the clock. It's fifteen minutes before two o'clock.
She's early to her midday lunch break. You didn't have time to prepare! You never have time to prepare.
You think of many things. Ducking under the table. Leaping out the nearest window. Running to the bathroom and locking the door.
The only thing you lock is your body—in place. Frozen to the seat. Paralyzed by the moment... the drift of her sapphire eyes... the flounce of her regal curls, purple and pristine and sparkling.
How will you even start a conversation with her? What would you even say? How would she even respond? This started from nowhere and it would only go nowhere. It was a bad idea to come here. It was an even worse idea to wake up this morning... like all mornings... yearning and meandering but never quite understanding.
Really, you should just leave. You're pathetic. A creep. A loser. A million times a dreamer than a doer and now you're anchored to banana bread and shame with a dozen curious pairs of pony eyes looking your way.
Including hers.
Oh shoot...
She cocks her head to the side. Eyes like diamonds. Dazzling. Observing. Studying. Sizing.
Oh shoot oh shoot oh shoot...
She speaks indiscernible distant words out the side of her muzzle: alabaster velvet twinkling with beauty and grace. Mrs. Cake presents a cup of tea, and it levitates to the unicorn's mouth in one swift arc—like a comet—and she sips the cosmic ambrosia without shifting, without moving—glimmering eyes locked on you with intensifying scrutiny between each pounding heartbeat. By the time the arctic glaciers beyond everything have long melted, she's finally shifted. More like the entire world pivots under her holy hooves to aim her towards you, trotting one airy step after another, cutting a pallid path through the pink furnishing until you're both inevitably stranded at that damnable booth. With the banana bread.
The most logical thing to do right now is flip the table in her face and run all the way to Yakyakistan or Griffonstone and never return.
Instead, you sit right in place. There is no way to be "casual" now, but you try anyway. There are less epic ways to die, after all.
"Good afternoon, there," she says—the most ordinary greeting with the most extraordinary musical lilt to her hyperfeminine voice and you want to curl into a ball and sob. Happiness? Dread? Shame? Shhhhhh... she's still talking to you. "Is this seat taken?"
There are at least five other empty seats—and tables—available throughout the entirety of Sugarcube Corner right this very second. It took an act of deliberate purpose to bring her body here, teetering upon the cusp of a most pretentious question. You know how flimsy the inquiry is, and she knows that you know. That's what makes Rarity so predictably self-absorbed, so very much the queen of everything she understands—and doesn't. It's also one of the many many reasons you can't stop thinking about her. Even now—staring back at her graceful smile and ocean eyes—you feel like there's another her, just like there's another you, and the two of them can never meet. Not like this.
But, then again, this isn't really meeting either, is it?
Mind over matter. That about does it. When you speak, you no longer try to deepen your voice. It makes no difference and you know that and—all things considered—you know her. At least well enough. This shouldn't be bad. This shouldn't be...
"No, this seat is not taken," you say. Your first regret is how stilted your delivery is.
"Ah!" she chirps. A veritable swan. "How quaint." She sits down across from you, unabashedly herself. Another sip of the teacup, and Rarity spends five little seconds wriggling gracefully into her little place with little pony exhales. "I do hope you don't mind, but you looked like you could use some company."
There's only one thing that throws Rarity off—you've discovered—and that's to be bolder than her... even if it's an impossibility. "What makes you say that?" you remark.
She freezes slightly—not alarmed, but not amused either. Her eyebrow arches a millimeter or two, subtle and studying. "Naturally, I do not mean to intrude."
"What I mean is..." You swallow a lump down your throat, fumbling to save the moment. Or perhaps sabotage it. Everything's still too early. "...how did you know I wasn't from around here?"
"I didn't! But—in truth—I had my suspicions. You are a complete stranger, after all."
You are a complete idiot. You clench your teeth shut, avoiding her gaze, until—
"Ponies rarely come to this quaint little town by accident, darling," she says, her tone inviting. Warm. Generous.
Rarity.
"Either they seek a meeting with the Princess of Friendship..." She continues, making herself comfortable. You spot a saddlebag on her person for the first time—just as she unfastens it and lays it comfortably on the floor, leaning against her chair. "...or they arrive here unceremoniously, desiring simply the latter. Even without knowing it."
You nod slightly. "It's a very welcoming town. I already feel like everypony here is my friend, somehow."
"You simply cannot welcome souls enough to anyplace. Such is the delicate, precious gift that is life. So..." She leans her head ever so slightly forward. Her smile is fragile as porcelain, and just as priceless. "Welcome, darling. I'm Rarity, owner and dress-maker of Carousel Boutique, uptown. Usually, I'd be hard at work on my client's latest commission, but I visit here regularly at around this time to take a break and mingle. That's myself in a glorious nutshell, so to speak. Now... if I may so brazenly inquire... who might you be?"
Perhaps you too can be speak as confidently as she does. Or—perhaps—you can also flap your arms and fly to the moon.
"What's in a name?" you ask with a casual shrug.
"Everything," she responds immediately. "Purpose. Accomplishment. Identity." She leans back with a thoughtful breath. Not once do her eyes detach from you. Not once are they anything but observing, mapping, perfecting. "Legacy. Ambition. Possession." She raises her teacup, if only to punctuate the breath... to deflate the moment and see what other gems can spill out. "Significance. Benevolence. Permanence." Something coy grows across her pristine face, and it manifests through the smallest of smiles. "You can't very well leave a mark without the mark itself, hmmm?" And she finally sips.
You're shrugging again. "Would it... terribly offend you if I chose to remain anonymous?"
"Mmmm." She lowers the cup, swallows. "'Anonymous.' That is more than fine. Admirable, even."
"Oh?"
"Yes. After all, I've designed several dresses anonymously." She opens her saddlebag as she says this. "In the early days. T'was a safe thing. A smart thing. Anonymity masks failure while allowing oneself to grow and improve... to find your place in the grand ripple of creativity's ocean, as t'were."
You narrow your eyes on her. "But... you eventually chose to be 'Rarity.'"
She giggles, her horn glowing. "Only in time. I do very much prefer to be the one rather than the none." A sketchpad rises up between the two of you, accompanied by a pen. "No offense, of course. We all follow our own different paths."
"But your path abandoned being 'anonymous'..."
"Mmmmhmmm."
"What made you decide to do so?"
She places the pen to paper, pauses, and looks at you again. "Well, it's awfully lonely, is it not?"
You exhale. Heavily. "There are lonelier things."
She gives a slow nod. Knowing and not knowing. "No doubt." Her eyes dart back to the page as the pen draws the first of many, many lines. "Well, let's start by asking you where you came from."
"That..." You blink. "...would not keep me very 'anonymous' anymore, now would it?"
"Hmmmm..." A humored smile, and she continues sketching. "Quite true. Very well—How about where do you intend to be headed to in the future?"
"Uhhhhh..."
A flicker of those sapphire eyes, aimed at you. "Paths can always change, yes?"
"Very well." You sit up straight, folding your fingers together. "I... uh... always wanted to visit Seaddle."
"Uhhh huh..." She sketches.
"And... maybe check out the ancient temples in Saddle Arabia..."
"Interesting..." She sketches and sketches. "Do go on."
"There are... lots of pony places named after 'saddles.'" You scratch the back of your head with your hand. "It's... kind of silly when you think about it."
"Very much so."
"And... uhm..." You look at her funny. "I'm secretly a giant cockroach wearing a pony costume displaced from the Bug Dimension during Nightmare Night."
"Mmmmhmmm..."
"Err... Miss?" You crane your neck. "Miss Rarity? Are you even listening...?"
"You're a giant cockroach masquerading underneath an equine veneer," she nods while looking at her sketch. "But do carry on, dear. Your hyperbolic non sequiturs are delightfully amusing."
You look at Rarity, then at the sketchpad, then at her again. "Are you... dressing me up?"
"I do hope you can forgive me," she says, looking at you between each sentence. It confirms your suspicion and ties an invisible bow on top. "Every time a stranger arrives in town, I cannot help but... accessorize them. It's more than a habit. I suppose one might call it 'practice.' But it goes much deeper than that." She smiles beautifully, absorbed in the moment, the sketch pad, and you. "We all arrive on this plane as blank slates... just begging for details. Beauty wells from within; it's true. But it still needs tributaries to flow... to spread the wealth of contentment all across the spectrum. Blessed are we to possess the senses to enjoy such aesthetics... and to embellish and reinterpret and to distribute with such infinite diversity. It's the very crux of existence, I find."
"Is that..." You squirm defeatedly in your seat, staring miles deep into the stale banana bread growing staler before you. "...is that the real reason you came over here to sit with me?"
She pauses. She places the pen and paper down completely—purposefully—and looks directly into your soul. "Darling, I came here because I see in every pony something unique, beautiful, and curious... a curiosity that yearns to be quenched. And I couldn't very well accomplish that by sitting off in the corner, gazing at you from afar like some creepy stalker." She giggles inwardly. "Wouldn't be very ladylike of me, would it?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Glad that we're in agreement."
"What..." You choke on the words before they've even formed. Perhaps you're afraid of the answer... or that you already know it. Still, this whole thing unfolded far faster than you expected, and you'll never have another opportunity quite like this.
Don't be a coward.
"What... do you see when you look at me, Miss Rarity?"
She stares. She studies. She lives. "A challenge," she says. Once again, the teacup levitates to her lips, but she doesn't take a sip. She's too busy drinking in something else. "An enigma." She continues—searching, feeling. "I can't quite explain it... and I shan't pretend to say I've experienced it quite like this before... not without running the risk of offending somepony, if only myself." At last, she sips. Her muzzle scrunches, as if the tea's suddenly bitter in comparison to the epiphany she's pursuing. "There isn't a form or color or shape that can quite complement you. The ensemble eludes me. And there's nothing in life that invigorates me quite as much as that which is elusive. It's exciting and aggravating all the same."
You gulp. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not." She finally smiles. "Never ever be sorry for anything." She places the teacup down and dabs her chin with a napkin. "Simply be responsible. And give." She raises a hoof. "Not to fill the void of that which has been taken, but merely to hint at what more you have to provide." She leans back with a soft breath—an even softer grin. "I only believe in taking steps forward. I greatly suspect—nay—believe that we would all feel a great deal better about ourselves if we focused on our contributions and not our errors."
You nod at her. "Perfectionism without the perfection."
An airy laugh. "Yes. Quite." She leans gracefully on her forelimbs, chin resting against manicured fetlocks. "Self-confidence—much like creativity—is inherently paradoxical. That's why I love it so much. It's the very same reason why it stings so hard, also."
"Have you thought..." You gnaw on your bottom lip, glancing at the sketch. From where you're seated, it looks like a thoughtless vomit splotch of discordant swirls, but you know better. "...that maybe I am fine like I am?" You glance back at her. "Vacant? Blank? Mysterious?" You shake your head. "Better off without the frills, the accessories, or even color?"
"If we were meant to enter and exit this world without dressing, then why even enter in the first place?" She fluffs her mane, then tosses the weight of the hair back so that nothing's obscured between you two. From her expression, you can tell it's not very successful. She presses anyways: "You have a great deal of innate beauty, darling. Forgive me—but I simply wish I could more aptly frame it."
"What makes you so sure?" you ask. "What can you draw from an anonymous stranger?"
She looks your way at length. She's choosing something more than words. Any semblance of a smile fades, giving way to sincere assessment.
At last, she breathes in. "You sound very, very tired." She breathes out. "Though you probably haven't worked for very long. Even sitting here in such a warm, colorful place seemingly exhausts you. And yet, you persist. You exist." She leans back, tilting her head as if to examine you from hitherto undiscovered angles. "A personal code, perhaps? Haunted by the lingering doubt that all of your labors don't really matter. And yet... you dangle upon the precipice of being rewarded... when maybe the only pony who can reward you is yourself." Her muzzle tightens. Gray lines form. It ages her to unlock you, but she attempts it anyway. Selflessly. Generosity knows no wrinkles. "You know this. You know many things. There's an intelligence in your breath—not so much divine but learned—and you keep it veiled beneath each word. I highly doubt it's your own vulnerability that you're afraid of. You strike me as a great deal tougher than you look. It's simply that you're wondering about those with whom you should share the delicate parts of yourself. And if they can be found here... in this town... or in any other town."
You're finding it very difficult to see straight. The pit of coals in your stomach has been rekindled, and you're scared of every breath you exhale. How could you be so shallow? To think she wouldn't know... that she wouldn't have an inkling?
Then again, it's always been a shallow thing with you. It's been so very long, and yet you've never seen beauty... never known beauty as she knows it... as she knows herself. And as she knows you.
The beauty has always been there. And yet, you've wanted something more, and it's perfectly understandable to hate yourself for it. For desiring something silly and nonexistent for the sake of desire itself. But gift giving—and gift receiving—is something that complements, and nothing else. She's given everything you've ever needed. What more could you have expected aside from being selfish?
Maybe if you were a creative soul—an artist—you would understand how every masterpiece starts at the canvas. But, unlike Rarity, every step you've been taking has been a leap to navigate the gaps in your life that only you can fill. An artist—anonymous or not—would at least know how to proceed, to progress, to improve. All you've ever done is feel sorry about yourself.
And you shouldn't ever have to be sorry.
"I'm sorry," you nevertheless say.
She blinks. Surprised. "What on earth for, darling?"
"Because it truly is possible to ask for too much," you say. You look beyond her. The paths are aligning, the tributaries running into a grand body. "In truth—I did come here for a reason. For somepony."
"Do tell."
So you do. "I was expecting to meet someone. I thought I might be able to talk to her in a new way... with a new voice. I thought I... might even have been able to woo her. To dazzle her. To... win her affection in ways I haven't been able to before."
"Ah. I see." She leans forward with a rosy smile. "Quite the charmer."
"No." You're not. "I'm not." A gulp. "I mean... I once thought so. But not anymore."
"What makes you say that?"
You look her way. "I met you instead. And I'm thankful for that now."
She pouts ever so slightly. "Well, now I feel quite awful."
"Please don't." You smile. "Feeling awful is for ponies who need to change, and you're perfect the way you are."
"Hmmph!" She accepts and rejects the praise with a single toss of her mane. "You flatter."
"I can't help it. But there is one thing I can help. Myself." You stand up—a bold thing, but you know she would respect no less. "Miss Rarity..." You perform a slow, gentle bow. "...it has been a pleasure."
"Awwwww... are you leaving already?"
"Yes. Sorry that you didn't get to finish your sketch. But then..." You smile. "...the enigma would vanish, wouldn't it?"
"Yes." She nods, smiling back. "And so would the challenge."
For the first time since she met you, she's wrong. But so long as she doesn't know it, she's also right. You choose to keep her flawless. Like always.
"You can enjoy the banana bread," you say. "I'm no longer hungry for it." Something else. "I must be going now."
"Will we ever have the good grace of meeting again?" she asks, almost in a foalish tone.
You shudder but ultimately say: "I'm pretty sure of it."
That gives her a lasting smile. You leave the image of her with that, entombed by a sweet pink bakery, like candy-colored gift wrapping.
On numb legs, you walk the length of Ponyville. Your head spins with the words that were just exchanged. It's a healthy nausea. You even welcome the gazes of ponies as they look at you, wave at you, acknowledge you. Nothing's strange anymore. It was only strange before.
At long last, you arrive at the door to Twilight's Castle. You have the key, but there's no need to accidentally cause any drama. So, cautiously, you knock on the door with your fist. There's a space of silence, and then the entrance unlatches from within. Starlight Glimmer sticks her muzzle out, staring blankly at you.
"Yes?" Her tone of voice is always rigid and stern with strangers; she takes being the Apprentice of Friendship close to heart. "Can I help you?"
"It's me, Starlight," you say stupidly.
"Uhm..." She squints. "I'm sorry, but we've never met before. Do you have an appointment with Princess Twilight or—?"
Sighing, you inevitably spout: "Omega. Zulu. Sunburst. Unlock."
Starlight Glimmer locks in place with a slight spasm. Her eyes flicker brightly—as does her horn, in a cascading light that christens her brow. Slightly dizzy, she now rubs her head then blinks at you rapidly. "Oh..." Her expression brightens with magical clarity. "Oh! Wow! Uhm... hi there!"
You smile crookedly. "Hi, yourself."
"Haha! You'd think I'd be used to this, but I guess not. Sooooooo..." She leans casually against the doorframe with a mischievous smirk. "...how'd it go? Did any of the ponies react to you differently?"
"Errr..." You wring your fingers, looking nervously over your shoulder. "Can I just come inside and have you undo the rest of the spell? After all, if Twilight gets here before—"
"Good point." She steps back and motions you inside. "Come in. Quick!"
You don't hesitate. You rush into the castle as she slams the castle door shut behind you. Together, you walk into the throne room. Once there, you waddle up and sit on the edge of the table map.
"Now..." She aims her horn at you. "...stay perfectly still."
You hold your breath as she undoes the spell from hours ago. There's a slight tingling sensation, but otherwise—everything is the same.
You're yourself.
"I guess... uh..." You touch your fingers together in a bashful gesture. "...it wouldn't have been right for me to have just walked up and said those three code words only to the ponies I wanted to recognize me from now on, huh?"
"And what kind of a life would that have been?" Starlight scoffs. "Being known by a few of us but a perfect stranger to everypony else?"
"Well, it worked well for you once, didn't it?"
"I was a villain then," she says with a brief scowl. "I was purposefully remaining incognito for months so I could... grnnngh..." A sideways sigh. "... ... ...execute my 'perfect revenge' on Twilight."
You wince slightly. "Well... uh... at least the spell's being put to good use now."
"That depends." She sits in front of you, craning her neck with an inquisitive squint. "Did it have the desired effect?"
You shrug. "Nopony recognized me. They treated me... just... like any other visiting stranger to Ponyville."
"Yeah. But did you notice any difference?" Starlight squints even more. "Did it dispel some of the fears you said you were having?"
"I dunno. I guess?"
She's silent.
"Anyways, thanks, Starlight." You hop down from the table and shuffle past her. "And thanks in advance... y'know... for not telling Twilight. She... uh... she wouldn't understand."
"She would if you told her."
You gulp. "I... just might." It's not a lie.
"I have to ask, though..."
You linger at the hallway door, looking back at her.
She arches an eyebrow from afar. "You didn't use it on anypony you know, did you?" There's a stern edge to the question; she might as well be Twilight for a brief second. "I mean... anypony who didn't know you were you at the time? Because I thought we had made an agreement..."
This time, it is a lie. Well, almost. "I didn't take advantage of any of our friends, Starlight. You don't have to worry."
She trusts you, and that's a problem. Not for much longer, you decide.
"Okay. Well... you go on and rest," she says, smiling. "You may not feel it now, but a major side effect of the spell is lingering drowsiness."
"Way ahead of ya." And you leave.
You think about Starlight's sisterly concern for you. You think about Rarity's benevolent intuition. You think about a lot of things.
And when you reach your bedroom... and you stand before the mirror and you gaze at the same purple scales and green eyes forever gazing back... you think about all of the steps you have to take, and the gifts you have to give back to those around you as you navigate the vacant gaps left by your older, less perfect skin.
"Hmmmm..." Your claws caress the edge of the mirror's frame. "...a challenge."
There are tears. But that's okay. They are the first of many things that will cleanse you. Just like her generous words.
You crawl into bed and push it off the shore. The tributaries will take you somewhere larger, more wholesome. Known.