> A Very Merry Commission
>  by Impossible Numbers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> A Very Merry Commission
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


‘Twas the night before Derpy would visit the house. And poor Rarity’s heart was as faint as a mouse.


On a normal occasion, the mare would be busy: with friends wanting dresses to make them look pretty.


But when Derpy had asked for a special commission, young Rarity’s heart fairly quaked with suspicion:


For a special event would be looming ahead, and Derpy one night had come over and said,


“Now I have a request, if the time can be spared; would you make me a dress so I’m nice and prepared?”


(Though she didn’t quite say it in that kind of way), “I’ve got money to spare and a favour to pay.”


And the generous spirit did work its own magic: on the dressmaker’s mind, with results somewhat tragic.


She had drunk lots of coffee (and much else besides), all to finish a work that she’d rather deride.


But the sun has arisen, (tomorrow is here!), and now Rarity’s pity surrenders to fear.


For this order is strange and the visit is nigh, and the Carousel owner must ask herself: “Why?”


For this order is strange and the visit is nigh, and the Carousel owner must ask herself: “WWWWHHHHYYYY!?”






Someone knocked on the front door. Repeatedly and enthusiastically, so that it sounded like a troupe of children’s entertainers had come calling and hadn’t decided which of them would knock on behalf of the rest.

The knocks echoed through the main shop, where an international consultation of dresses waited silently and proudly on various hangers and mannequins. Mirrors encircled a display platform, which could have been a ringmaster’s stand.

Next, the knocks reached the studio on the next level of Carousel Boutique, where fabrics and fashion accessories stood rank and file along the desks and shelves. A marching band they were – of all colours – waiting for the horn before going out for duty and for the delight of an audience.

And finally, the knocks reached the bedroom on the highest level, which was pink and lacy and in training to become a princess’s boudoir. Around the four-poster bed, Rarity the Unicorn paced back and forth. Sketches floated about her head, and she levitated a pencil and made adjustments and quickly tried out a few new ideas and angrily crumpled and binned the failed ones.

At the sound of the knocks, she dropped everything and hurried downstairs. A lady prided herself as a gracious host. It was bad manners to leave someone waiting at the door.

She summoned her best welcoming smile, opened the door, and immediately hit a problem.

“Ah,” she said. “Derpy. I, uh, wasn’t expecting you so early.”

“I couldn’t wait!” Derpy, totally ignorant of refined manners, hopped and flew into the Carousel Boutique’s main hall without invitation. “I’m so excited! Where is it? Where is it? I bet it’s magnificent! Everything you do is magnificent!”

“You’re too kind.” Rarity winced as Derpy’s flapping wings threatened to topple a few nearby mannequins. She shut the door and tilted them back into position. “Though I must admit it was an…” Odd? Strange? “…an unconventional commission.”

Derpy dropped a package on the floor; Rarity winced at the thump.

“I got your delivery extra early today,” said Derpy, hunting through the display of dresses. “I don’t do that a lot, but you’ve been so amazing this week, I just had to. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have – please be careful with that, it’s very delicate! – after all, one does what one can. You don’t have to – please don’t touch that, the fabric soils easily! – reward me for it, my dear. Erm, would you mind standing still for a moment? I’ll go and get your order for you, if you like.”

Something clattered. Derpy landed at once, prompted no doubt by guilt.

“Sorry.” She reached down and picked up the mannequin. “At least I’m getting better, huh?”

“Yes, you didn’t start a dominoes effect. Most commendable.”

“And you’ll get my order now?” Derpy’s eyes lit up.

“Of course. I know exactly where it is. No, no, don’t get up. I’ll be right back.”

Rarity ventured into the committee of clothes. In truth, her own incredibly detailed mental map of the floor was hardly needed. Derpy’s order stood out among the refinery and taste like a porcupine in a kitty cat sanctuary. It was horrible to think Derpy might not notice the quality difference.

Cringing a little, she levitated the lot off the mannequin, which she’d carefully hidden – no, placed – at the back of the collection. “Ah, here we are. Let me see… a Private Pansy wide-brimmed helmet with holly and tinsel decorations…”

“Private Pansy’s my favourite Hearth’s Warming founder,” said Derpy.

What, the bumbling good-natured side character? My word. What a peculiar and hard-to-explain choice, I’m sure. “How nice. I will admit to a soft spot for Clover the Clever myself, even if Princess Platinum has the most exquisite taste in jewellery. And what else? Ah, yes. A Hearth’s Warming woolly jumper with a picture of the three main founders on it.”

“And the Yew Tree Log,” added Derpy helpfully.

“And the Yew Tree Log, yes.”

“Oh, and the Old Equestrian Flag! And the little bobbly things and bells. And the holly-and-bauble pattern on green.”

“We pride ourselves on meeting the demands of the customer,” recited Rarity. That mantra had kept her going through the really tough times. “And lastly… the paper bag costume upgraded to – and I quote – ‘festive’.”

Which basically meant painting it red and adding faux ermine to the edges. Rarity shuddered. It was all for a good cause, it was all for a good cause…

“Brilliant!” Derpy stretched her wings out and jerked her head back, signalling for the clothes to land along the wide space provided. “I knew I could count on you, Rarity. You have a gift.”

Well, right now seemed like the best opportunity. Rarity took a deep breath. She would never fault the pegasus for her boundless energy, for the joy and happiness that shone out of her face, and certainly not for a little bit of bad luck that happened to follow her everywhere like an extremely vindictive storm cloud. But sometimes, she wondered if she should have a little talk with the girl. Sometimes, she wondered if Derpy – unintentionally, she was sure – courted trouble a little too easily.

“Erm,” said Rarity, not sure how to broach the subject.

“I’ve already set up the Hearth’s Warming decorations in my house,” said Derpy, putting on the paper hat. “Ooh, I like this fake fur stuff. What’s it called? Vermin? Mermaid?”

“Ermine,” said Rarity before she could stop herself. “Listen, Derpy –”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Derpy nudged the package, and another one fell out behind it. “I got a present for you early this year. In fact, I’ve got presents for everyone early this year. Which is really good for me! Mostly, I keep forgetting or getting them at the last minute. I think I’m improving.”

“Bravo! Well done! Now, look. I really must ask you –”

“Oh my, it’s going to be great. I’ve already talked to Pinkie and to Doc and to Twilight about sorting out the events this year. I bet Pinkie could make a whole gingerbread city this time! And Doc could make a machine that would play everyone’s favourite Hearth’s Warming carols forever and ever! And Twilight could light up the whole of Ponyville like a decorative tree! Wouldn’t that look amazing from Cloudsdale?”

Rarity looked at the second package. It was clearly something Derpy had wrapped. No one else could make a mere box wrapped in paper look like the result of a factory imploding. Bits of wrapping paper stuck out that were bigger than the package itself.

To her surprise, Derpy sighed dreamily. “I wish it could be Hearth’s Warming… every day.”

“Hm. I think it might spoil the magic a bit,” said Rarity. Oh my, she thought, what a terrible idea. Businesses closed every day, ponies struggling to find enough food and tinsel, carol singers with sore throats… Even Pinkie would crack sooner or later, with or without Twilight keeping it from collapsing after the first week.

As though expecting it to explode, Rarity summoned the “gift” to her side. There must have been at least five bows on the thing. Certainly, there was enough ribbon to wrap a mummy.

“Spoil the magic,” said Derpy sadly. “I guess so. But it’s so much fun; wouldn’t it be nice if every day was nice like that?”

Rarity put her hoof down, figuratively and literally as a stamp. “Derpy.”

“Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes!?”

Rarity took a deep breath. “You do know it’s the middle of summer, don’t you?”

Sunshine cut through the windows.

Birdsong twittered on. A butterfly fluttered past the glass.

And a small blush worked its way across Derpy’s face. “Yeah, yeah. I knew that. Um…”

The happy laughter of children playing outside. The notably festive “summery meadow” look of most of the clothes. The treetops outside which clearly still had their leaves. The calendar on the wall with the Summer Sun Celebration circled quite prominently.

“I just… uh, planned… to practice… Hearth’s Warming… ahead of time.” Derpy shuffled the jumper and helmet on her back; the paper hat began sliding over one ear.

“It’s half a year away,” said Rarity in what she hoped was a reasonable voice. “Some might think this practice a bit excessive.”

“Oh. You think so?”

“That would be my best guess, yes.”

“Ah, I see. This is one of those subtle social thingies, isn’t it?”

Rarity nodded, trying to convey that this was a reasonable inference for a sophisticated pegasus to make, rather than something so blatantly obvious a child could’ve pointed it out.

“Nevertheless, so long as you’re having fun…?” Rarity hung the question tantalizingly like a lifebelt.

Grabbing at this chance, Derpy eagerly said, “Yeah! Yeah! Absolutely. In that case, can you open your present now? I’d love to see the look on your face!”

“It would be my pleasure.” Rarity tried not to grimace as she ripped layer after layer off. Much as she’d wanted to peel back the wrapping in a delicate, careful way, she also wanted to have it untangled before the day was out, and sometimes brute magical force was a necessary evil, if a lifesaver in its own right.

The box opened itself in midair. Dreading what she might find, Rarity lifted the contents out. Felt light enough, and… oddly shaped.

“Ah,” she said when she saw it.

“I’m sure it’ll prove helpful on your quest!” said Derpy brightly. “I spent ages looking for the exact one.”

It wasn’t “so last season”. It had passed that stage several years ago. Of course, seasons came and went, came and went, came and went, but there were also seasons that had their time, as it were, under the sun, and then went and never, ever came back, for fear of the mockery they might receive.

Well yes, she’d worn one just like it – once – but the fashion world never looked back, except maybe to point and laugh. She’d had one of those… odd moods back then. Only that could explain why she’d ever felt a hat like this was likely to look good. Perhaps it had been Pinkie’s influence, or too much eggnog. Or Pinkie’s influence after too much eggnog.

The hat was certainly festive, she’d grant it that. Festive in the same way that wretched green jumper had been; in a way which made a dull, rainy, fun-free afternoon look positively welcoming.

“It’s very nice,” she lied, and was surprised the universe didn’t explode with sheer outrage.

“I call it the Yew Tree Hat!” said Derpy proudly. “It looks just like the one you wore when you did that Hearth’s Warming Pageant in Canterlot. Remember? The one you gave to charity?”

“I thought I’d burnt it,” said Rarity, but she was looking at the hat. Oh, it looked like a tree, all right. And there was an old tradition during the winter season, based around the Yew Tree: some festival, or something Twilight had mentioned once. That still wasn’t an excuse.

“Glad you like it!” said Derpy, who had the unerring inability to distinguish shocked delight from plain old shock. “Thanks again for the clothes, Rarity. You’re a star. Happy Hearth’s Warming! I mean, Six-Months-Early Happy Hearth’s Warming! Bye bye!”

The door slammed, and in accordance with Derpy’s constant bad luck, bits of the woodwork and doorframe cracked. Rarity sighed and opened the other – the official – package. Rare pegasus snowflake decorations, now smashed to bits.

She went upstairs to compose a complaints letter, careful not to mention Derpy’s name whatsoever. After all, the poor girl had enough problems to face as it was without laying more at her feet.

The hat was swiftly buried in a cupboard, which she coincidentally padlocked and blocked up with boxes and put up a sign nearby saying “beware of the leopard”. Then she removed the sign on the grounds that it would only attract attention rather than keep it away. And it was a bit excessive. She wasn’t even sure where she’d got it from.

Carefully, she licked the nib of the pen and practised her best writing, which made calligraphy look like a foal’s scribble. She dotted her “i’s” and crossed her “t’s” and added lots of little curly bits. A casual reader would struggle, but they’d at least admit it looked very impressive.

After a while, Rarity stopped. “Wait a minute…”

She blinked.

Eventually, she said, “What quest? What on earth was she talking about?”





The next day, Rarity cringed and scrunched up one of her many feeble sketches before throwing it into the wastepaper basket. What had she been thinking? Ribbons and rubies? It was a crime, it was an atrocity, it was an existential threat towards all things in good taste.

Well, OK, pink with red was a little tacky.

She fished the thing out of the basket and unfurled it again. Perhaps a slight reduction of the ornamentation would suffice.

Levitating her pencil rubber-first, she rubbed out the offending pencil lines, then stepped backwards to have a look at the overall effect.

Irritably, she sighed. “All right, so it’s not… terrible. But you have to be careful about these things. First, it’s a little neglected piece of ribbon, an off-note in a symphony. Then you let a little more lace into the collar, because it’s manageable. Then you Take Liberties. Then you Scoff At Tradition. Then you GO IT ALONE. And then the whole thing comes crashing down, and all they remember is the orchestra fell through the floor of the pit!”

Around this point, Rarity decided she needed some fresh air and went outside.

What she needed, she decided soon after, was a reminder of what she was doing this for, and under the summer sunlight, she found it at once.

Overhead, the sun purified the air so brightly that anyone with a camera could have gotten a very snazzy lens flare effect. Butterflies fluttered across the grassy land of Ponyville’s streets and open spaces, and the trees whispered like gentlecolts discussing the delightful breeze that ruffled their tops.

When Rarity breathed in, godliness breathed out again. Already, her mind was cleansed for the Muse of Inspiration.

Perhaps a short jaunt through Nature’s finest day would raise the spirits. She set off, pleased to see other ponies who were scattered about. Not an off-note among them; just joy, and contentedness, and excitement at the possibilities of summer freedom.

“Morning, Rarity!” Bon Bon waved at her as she passed.

“And a glorious Equestrian morning to you too!” Rarity called back.

Bon Bon hurried over. “Oh yes. You might like this; I heard that they’re even suspending negotiations in Canterlot at the moment, just to enjoy this day.”

Then Rarity remembered; there’d been some dispute or other about this and that, and Princess Celestia was somehow in the middle of it all. Two nations, or something, coming to blows, and the poor royal had to be referee in case of accidents, i.e. a blow missing and hitting Equestria’s midriff.

“Well, let’s hope they see what we see,” said Rarity. “On a magnificent morning such as this – what power we have! – anything should be possible.”

Bon Bon frowned. “Power?”

“You know. To make things look nice,” Rarity explained, wondering what was so puzzling that needed explaining in the first place. “How could anyone stay mad on such a fine EEEERRRARRA-HEEE HAAHAAA!”

This last remark was not, as might have been “mistaken” by some of the more accommodating cognoscenti, a neologism of Rarity’s own devising. Although a few foals did hear it on the other side of town, and then used it as a playful battle-cry in their games for a few weeks.

This last remark was, in fact, her verdict upon seeing a mare land nearby, wearing a foul jumper, a tacky helmet, and a paper hat all at once. Short on critical commentary as it was, it was also commendably clear in spirit, and therefore did not warrant the reply it got from its recipient.

“Huh?” said Derpy, confused.

Rarity raised a shaking hoof to point at her, or at least in her general direction. “DERPY!”

“Yeah?”

Another brave word charged up Rarity’s larynx. “Why?”

Then something must have clicked in Derpy’s brain, because she looked down. “Oh, this? I’m starting a trend.”

At this, Rarity gave up on nasty surprise and went for the raised eyebrow, raised voice look. “A trend?”

“Yeah!” Derpy beamed at her. “See, I was thinking about yesterday, and you’re right. Ponies don’t get the joys of Hearth’s Warming in summertime. But! I also remembered how a good pony like you could start a trend by doing something different. Then it catches on. So I’m celebrating Hearth’s Warming anyway! Isn’t it great?”

Rarity finally got a-hold of her mouth. She turned to Bon Bon, who was carefully blank in the face of Derpy-ness, and then she remembered herself. She coughed genteelly.

“Derpy,” she said, as kindly as she could, “please…”

“I got this from Rarity,” said Derpy, looking at Bon Bon and pointing at her own ghastly ensemble.

“Did you?” said Bon Bon in an equally carefully blank voice.

“Erm, no, no,” Rarity said before she remembered herself again, eager as she was to forget. “Well, yes, but only as a custom favour, not as part of my ordinary work.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” said Derpy, beaming at her again. “But that’s the sort of generous friend Rarity really is, and I wanna do right by her. Rarity,” she said, so excitedly that a lesser mare than Rarity would’ve winced, “I’m gonna let everyone know what wonderful work you do.”

Despite herself, Rarity recovered her high-headed poise and gentle smile. Small-town girl she had once been, though, she was a lady at heart, and a true lady was unflappable in the face of mortal peril.

“How thoughtful,” she said in a voice that might as well have been thanking auntie for the Hearth’s Warming box of hankies. “Most generous of you, Derpy. I really am obliged.”

Derpy nodded, eager to show willing. Beside them, Bon Bon judged it best to nod along in agreement, thus blending in.

“But…” said Rarity, picking her words carefully, “I don’t suppose you could… refrain from doing it, could you?”

“Oh, but Rarity,” said Bon Bon, grinning. “Where would the generosity be in that?”

“Exactly!” said Derpy, while in her imagination Rarity roasted Bon Bon over the fires of Tartarus.

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Rarity quickly, “and I really am grateful to you. But look: just wearing the clothes everywhere won’t do.”

“Oh. Won’t it? I thought it might get ponies asking where I’d got them from, you see. Then I could tell them it was you, and then you’d get more ponies come visit.”

To her credit, Rarity did not shudder at this. Instead, she licked her lips and eventually said, “It’s just… I have a sense about these things, and I sincerely doubt anyone in Ponyville is going to pick this particular trend up.”

Sadly, Derpy’s face fell at this. Pangs of guilt gave Rarity the lofty leer of the self-righteous, while beside her Bon Bon settled for an amused titter. Yet, if there must be casualties for Rarity and Carousel, then they must be borne bravely.

“Not quite the place to be walking around in jumpers, you see,” she continued.

“Oh.” Derpy slumped. “I see.”

Rarity was moved to say, “You’re not upset?”

“No, no, it’s OK.”

“I wouldn’t like to be too hard on your judgement. Or on you.”

“You were right to point it out. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure!” Never far away, Derpy’s beaming smile ran back to its master. “Oh, well. Have a nice day, anyway! And thank you!”

Rarity didn’t let out the relieved breath until Derpy was out of sight. She just wished Bon Bon hadn’t been there. And to think the pegasus had worn all that in public!

“She’s a good soul really,” said Bon Bon. “You know what she’s like, though. Get an idea into her head, and she won’t rest until she’s done her best.”

Not quite forgetting the amused titter from before, Rarity stiffened. “Well, that’s that. Disaster averted, at least. A pity I can’t watch her in Ponyville. Knowing the poor mare, she’ll probably get it into her head to try again.”

“I’d be more than happy to keep an eye out for her, if you like,” said Bon Bon.

Perhaps you’re feeling suddenly guilty, eh? You always had a cold streak, Bon Bon. Heaven knows why.

“Would you? That’d be splendid.”

“What are you doing, then?”

“Oh, I’m heading to Canterlot tomorrow. Must spring a surprise inspection on Canterlot Carousel. I trust dear Sassy, of course, but she gets these strange and worrying ideas into her head from time to time, and one must nip a potential weed in the bud.”

She made to walk off, but heard Bon Bon call, “What kind of ideas?”

“Just strange and worrying ones,” Rarity called back. “Nothing exactly… terrible. In fact, I imagine she’s rather learned how to tame the wild excesses of her businesslike talents. Tomorrow should be quite an easy-going day in Canterlot.”

“Is that so?” Bon Bon skewed her jaw.

“Well… don’t quote me on that, but… largely… yes.”





So it was with rather a shock that she got off the train the next day and ran straight into Derpy’s beaming smile.

“Hi, Rarity!”

“GAH!”

Rarity leaped back. As one of the station porters was busy unloading her mountain of suitcases at the time, the resultant scattering of spilled garments and papers caused some comment.

Frantically, Rarity hurried about the Canterlot Train Station, snatching sketches and notes which were making air-propelled bids for freedom. She nearly grabbed one when Derpy, in a violent fit of being helpful, flew over and accidentally blew the page away with her flapping.

“Derpy‼” hissed Rarity to the pegasus.

“My most sincere apologies,” cooed Rarity to the platform’s bystanders. She rounded on Derpy. “What in blazes are you DOING here!? Yes, that’s mine. Many thanks, good sir. Oh, sorry, madam, right there by your hoof. And WHY are you still WEARING that JUMPER!?”

Derpy pounced on a piece of paper, which blew away under the turbulence. Carefully, she peeped under her hooves to see if it was still there, and didn’t notice it until it fluttered onto her rump, which she slapped her hoof down on, causing yet more turbulence. If it had been designed to keep the paper airborne for as long as possible, then her act was doing a bang-up job.

“I was thinking… about… what you said… Oh, hold on,” said Derpy, chasing the paper round and round with repeated lunges. “You’re right… I can’t… start… a trend… in Pony… ville.”

“Here, let me.” Horn aglow, Rarity snatched the page out of the air.

Derpy’s eyes spun around until she held her head and waited for the pupils to settle down. “So where better to start a trend than in Canterlot? It’s the trendiest place in all of Equestria.”

Rarity stuffed and snapped shut the last of the suitcases. At least, she hoped she’d caught every last page. One or two might have slipped under the train, for all she knew.

“So I asked around,” said Derpy, “and I found the shop you set up here –”

“Canterlot Carousel, yes.” Rarity waved for the porter and headed out, wishing Derpy didn’t hover over her like that.

“Yeah, and I went in and asked about the clothes, and I told the mare behind the counter –”

“Sassy Saddles. I know.” To staring bystanders, Rarity made “I’m not with her” gestures, confident that Derpy would be too absorbed or too uncultured to know the subtle language of the natives so well.

“I told her I knew you, and she said you were coming up, and so I went to the station, and I waited –”

“Wait. She knew I was coming up? This was supposed to be a surprise!”

“She said you did the same thing last year. Also, something about sauce.”

Curious as a conversation with Derpy could naturally get, even this threw Rarity for the proverbial loop-de-loop, if not also for the roundabout and for the giant hamster wheel. Her mind went spinning off, at least.

“Sauce?” she said.

“Yeah. She had a sauce in Canterlot tip her off.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Rarity ground her teeth. “Well, of all the nerve…”

They emerged from the main station to the grand steps, at the bottom of which lay the grand avenue of grand old Canterlot. Ah, Canterlot: home of the ivory towers and white peaks of academia; the whole city a vast emporium of good taste and refined luxury; playground of the nobles. And, like any playground, stuffed to the gills with bullies.

Perhaps it’s best to enlighten Derpy of the school rules here, Rarity thought, somewhat nervously. In her experience, Ponyvillians – besides her, of course – did not fully grasp the subtle complexities of higher life.

“My dear Derpy,” she said.

“Please, just call me Derpy.”

“Derpy, then… look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be wearing that jumper here.”

“But –”

“There’s a certain stigma, see, against that sort of thing,” said Rarity, already sizzling under the hot glares and judgemental, sidelong glances. Even in the streets, one could not escape the city’s high expectations, and that was before entering an establishment or attending an event.

“Is it ‘cause it’s green?” Derpy patted her jumper. “Because I think I can make do with the helmet and the hat.”

“Yes, it’s amazing how you manage to wear two hats at once.”

“It’s a knack.”

“Quite.” She cleared her throat. “Now look, Derpy. They’re not easily impressed, your average Canterlot crowd. There’s the stigma of…”

Hastily, she checked. No one was nearby. She decided to chance it behind a raised, conspiratorial hoof, but only after waving Derpy to lean closer.

“…the eccentric,” she breathed.

Derpy rose up and gaped at her, comprehension dawning in her eyes.

She said, “Huh?”

“You know. Being a few cheese slices short of a sandwich, or a few springs short of a mattress, or a small amount of pigment short of a Daily Saviour absurdist masterpiece.” At Derpy’s opening mouth, she added, “He was a painter.”

“Ah, now I remember,” she said, pleased with herself. “The loony one.”

“Don’t say the word!” Rarity grinned at a couple of nearby raised eyebrows before continuing, “A mare’s reputation in Canterlot is extremely delicate. Suffice it to say that a green jumper – however festive – is not going to be greeted with open forelimbs.”

Yet Derpy frowned at this. “Oh, I know about that. Sure, ponies here can be a bit snobby, but they’re still ponies deep down. I’m sure a bit of friendliness is OK wherever you are. Anyway, I don’t look like a loony.”

The heart-warming speech was rather ruined by her eyes choosing that moment to drift apart. She shook them back into place.

“Rarity!” called a well-bred voice.

Caught off guard, Rarity turned around at once. Bearing down on them was a rather dapper stallion of the pale persuasion, his near-albino coat enlivened by a dark suit, blue waves of a mane like a frizzy beachside, and the ever-so-discreet bits of gold here and there that ever-so-quietly reminded ponies that he owned a few mouth-wateringly rich yachts at home and could easily buy another one later if he felt a bit peckish.

“A delight, as always!” He bent down and raised her unresisting hoof for a gentlecolt’s kiss. “Absolutely rummy to see one of my oldest and dearest friends in the fair city!”

Rarity fanned herself, and not just because the mild summer day had suddenly risen to a more summery heat. At least, that was her cover story. He had such a graceful profile…

“Fancy Pants,” she breathed. In a more normal voice, she coughed and said, “Yes, well, I, um, came to see how my boutique was getting along.”

“Of course! My dear friend Fleur tells me it’s a classic. You certainly learned a thing or two about haberdashery out in the country, what?” His genial gaze rose up to Derpy, and if he was suddenly chokingly shocked and outraged and utterly lost to wild terrors nameless and cruel, he did a good job of hiding it. “And who is this charming young pegasus?”

“Derpy!” said Derpy, extending a hoof hopefully.

Like a true gentlecolt, Rarity thought as he kissed it. He didn’t even flinch.

“I say,” he said to Derpy, “what a bold statement you make to be sure.”

“Sorry. I shout when I get excited.”

Confusion flittered over his face before his genial smile returned. “Ah, the rustic outspokenness. I must say, any friend of Rarity’s is a friend of mine.”

“Oh, we’re not –” Rarity began to lie hastily, but then remembered. “Well, of course, we’re not best friends exactly, but we are friends. Of a sort. Um. Anyway, nice running into you again, and if ever –”

“I say, Derpy,” said Fancy Pants, giving her a wink, “how’d you like to accompany me around Canterlot? I’d be quite delighted to show you the best of our fine city.”

He might as well have given her the key to the muffins plantation. Derpy’s beaming smile actually glinted, something Rarity thought only happened in toothpaste commercials on film.

“Thank you!” Derpy followed him down the street, she and he waving goodbye to Rarity. “It’s so nice to make a new friend who’s just as generous as Rarity! Hey, have you ever been to…”

Rarity watched them go, not entirely sure how to take this most recent departure. True, it got Derpy off her hooves, but…

Well, it got Derpy off her hooves.

She shrugged and settled for that, moving on. Behind her, the porter pushed the suitcases along on a trolley. Ever so helpful, and quality service, naturally.

And really, who better than Fancy Pants? He was a master at crowd control, and a friendlier Canterlot citizen would be hard to find.

Except…

Except…

Ah.

Rarity stopped for a moment, and the porter grunted with the groin-straining effort of not running her over with a trolley approaching half a ton in weight.

Except now she’s going to think I was wrong and she was right. Fancy Pants is NOT representative of the larger population! And if she gets it into her head that being “friendly” – or what she calls friendly – in Canterlot is all right…

She’ll Take Liberties!

“Excuse me, ma’am,” groaned the porter. “Where’re we goin’? Only this ain’t so easy to control, see?”

But Rarity shook herself down. It’d be fine. She was with Fancy Pants.

“To the Royal Hotel, if you please,” she said, and it seemed the sun shone brighter that day. “I intend to unpack.”

One of the suitcases crashed on the pavement. “Better you than me, ma’am.”





Later that afternoon, after resting for a while at her hotel and trying the local spa treatment and getting her mane styled at the Sapphire Salon before eating a somewhat indulgent lunch at Cinnamon Chai’s in preparation for watching a Wonderbolt Derby and having a most delightful discourse with several retired Wonderbolts on the planned replacement uniforms and their aesthetic versus pragmatic values… Rarity finally had enough of the simple life.

To business. She went to Canterlot Carousel. Ideally placed near the hub of the city where the hubbub was greatest, she flowed easily towards it like a drop of dew towards the pool in a china bowl. The sight of a herd of ponies crowding the window did wonders for her rugged soul. Yes, today had worked out so well.

Wait…

Among the murmuring… was that laughter?

Her legs worked hard before her brain had worked it out. But no. She wouldn’t. Even Derpy wouldn’t… not with Fancy Pants keeping an eye on –

She slipped through the crowd and saw green jumper.

Lots of green jumper.

Enough green jumper for, say, three mannequins, which was in fact what these three jumpers covered. Right down to the ghastly design of the three founders on the chest. And the Yew Tree Log. And the Old Equestrian Flag. And the little bobbly things and bells. And the holly-and-bauble pattern on green.

Rarity’s scream was hastily cut off. All eyes turned to her.

Her smile, when it came, was seconds away from shattering like glass.

“Berightback,” she garbled.

Rarity was not noted for her turn of speed, but in the time it took her to clear the crowd, clear the steps, clear the front door, and clear her mind of all but sheer shock, she would have impressed even a Wonderbolt.

As though the outside wasn’t bad enough, the shop was filling up with all kinds of ghastliness, to the point where “ghastly” took one look at what it had to describe and immediately resigned in protest.

Holly. Baubles. Bells. Little bobbly things. Red things. Green things. Yew Trees. They were everywhere, in various combinations and as various accoutrements. Were it not for the sunshine coming through the window, she might have stepped into a Hearth’s Warming wonderland.

In the middle, looking somewhat frazzled about the mane, was Sassy Saddles.

“What on earth is going on here?” said Rarity, once she’d found her tongue again and remembered what it was for.

Sassy twitched and looked round at her. “Odds bodkins, Rarity! You made me leap some hands and thumbs, I can tell you!”

“What?”

“Hands and thumbs. Old school measuring system. When I was at business school, there was an incident with some escaped monkeys and the headmaster’s prized ruler collection… It’s a sort of joke, you see.”

Rarity stared at her, horrified with fascination in spite of herself. Then she returned to just plain old horrified.

“Sassy,” she said calmly while her insides tried to scream. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

“By this point, I must admit I don’t know.”

“I repeat my ‘what?’ with added emphasis.”

Helplessly, Sassy waved towards the door to the backroom. “Well, she came in with this gentlecolt, and he said they were both friends of yours. Good godet, Rarity!”

“‘They’?”

 The door opened, and Fancy Pants wandered in, somewhat less genial about the cheeks and smiling to a lesser degree than before.

“My word. I thought I heard your soprano voice, Rarity.”

“What’s going on?” said Rarity at once.

“Oh, your friend was just telling me about how she and you had come together to make the anachronistic Hearth’s Warming ensemble, you see. She seemed quite keen to know where your higher headquarters were, here in Canterlot, as a matter of fact. Dashed insistent, as it happens.”

“Well?” Rarity winced at a nearby specimen. Baubles? On a dress!?

“Well, funny thing was,” he continued, looking to Sassy for support, “that she wanted to perform a great service for you, though blowed if I can remember what exactly. She got quite excited upon seeing the fresh young shop.”

Rarity glared at Sassy with sudden suspicion. Sure, Sassy had tried being directorial over Rarity’s own direction before, but she must have learned by now what Rarity wanted from a shop. Good grief, Sassy had tried to resign over the issue out of shame.

“Cord binding, Rarity!” Sassy spluttered for a moment trying to rally her defence. “She said she’d come with you. Said something about wanting to take a load off your mind, and when this gentlecolt here gave her the indulgent OK, she jolly well showed off her jumper and asked if I could make more.”

Rarity ran a hoof over her face. There were, in fact, a few customers nearby, and they were staring at her, but she had to deal with one horror at a time.

“Don’t tell me…” she began.

“It’s not my fault!” Sassy said at once. “When she went on about sources in Ponyville, I thought you’d figured out how I got the shop ready, and had sent her as a sort of test. She asked if I could start a trend with that jumper, and I wasn’t going to be caught shirking my duties to your designs. I know what happens if I do that.”

Despite herself, part of Rarity was impressed. “You mean in one day, you managed to replicate the design and make all these… all these all these all these, these, these, these!” To call them clothes would be to put the mark of death upon the word. They were catastrophes in fabric form.

“I thought you’d be impressed,” said Sassy in a voice desperate to stress the past tense and therefore pass over the issue and make her less tense.

In the stillness, among the chuckling customers and mystified murmurs, there was the sound of doors bursting open and of wings flapping hard.

“Rarity!” said Derpy, coming in from the backroom. “You were right! I was dumb to try and start a trend for your clothes in Ponyville. They always follow Canterlot. And then we got to talking, and we had this great idea…”

Shockingly, Fancy Pants chuckled behind a hoof. He hastily stopped when Rarity glowered at him, but she caught his foreleg returning to position.

Instead, he bowed. “I’m terribly sorry, Rarity. Call it curiosity. You can’t deny it’s causing quite a splash.”

A tsunami, more like. Rarity pointed at random. “Sassy, get those wretched things out of the window at once! Recall the whole line!”

“But, by jersey –”

“If we’re quick, we can still do some damage control.” Forcing herself to smile and fighting a rising blood pressure, she rounded on Derpy. “Derpy, please! I appreciate…” She made an involuntary noise as a result of stopping her body from strangling itself through sheer desperation. “I appreciate your… your good intentions, but this is not… not how we… we do… do things here.”

Derpy shrank back, hooves behind her spine. She was the picture of misery, and Rarity was almost moved to pity, save for the fact that misery was an improvement compared to what was happening in her own head right now.

She rounded on Fancy Pants, who at least had the good grace to redden – or, given the restrained nature of Canterlot gentry, pinken – about the face.

“My apologies,” he said. “I must admit something of the impish impulse came over me. Please, allow me to make it up to you.”

“Apologies! Recalling the line! Apologies!” said Sassy, who was explaining things to a nearby customer. She levitated a collection of mannequins and went for the backroom as a medical team might wheel a patient to the emergency clinic.

“This has all been a bit of a joke,” continued Fancy Pants. “One will, of course, do what one can to repair the reputation by now spreading through Canterlot’s streets…”

“Thank you,” said Rarity, who’d scarcely dared to think about that on top of everything else going on.

“May I, by way of compensation, invite you to one of our royal dinners?”

“Oh, that’s kind of you,” said Rarity, still not entirely mollified but at least recovering from being mortified. “I fear, unless it’s immediate, I’ll have little opportunity once I complete my business dealings here and head back to – wait, did you say royal?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Rarity chewed her lip while Sassy rushed past to tackle more mannequins. “Royal? As in, with Princess Celestia herself?”

“Oh, rather. Temporary thing while she’s entertaining diplomatic guests. Our dear old Princess is quite keen to give them a good time, you see. And if you can’t have a good time at a dinner in Canterlot surrounded by quiet, calm, stiff, reserved, serious nobles…”

He frowned, as though he’d forgotten how the rest of it went.

Feeling it was the least he owed her – she caught a glimpse of bauble rushing past with Sassy, and went quite faint for a moment – Rarity gave him a few seconds of steely eye before nodding once.

“I should be delighted,” she said coldly.

“Ah. Excellent. Yes.” Fancy Pants nodded once and turned to leave, but then added sidelong, “I was hoping you would. What with your friend going along too, I was rather hoping she’d have some friendly company from her native Ponyville. Wouldn’t want her to feel left out. I say, are you quite all right? You’ve gone awfully red.”

Struggling against her clenched jaw and stiff limbs, Rarity managed to squeak, “I’llbeallright.”

“It’s this sun, I expect. Can take one unexpectedly, what? Well, pip pip. Can’t wait to see you there!”

“That’s the last of them,” said Sassy once he’d slipped out through the exit.

“Miss Rarity? Did you hear me?” said Sassy after a while.

“Miss Rarity?” said Sassy after another while.

“Um,” said Sassy after a third and more painful while.

“I’ll just be off, then.” Sassy hurried behind a counter like a shield.

In the corner, Derpy was hovering like a puppy that had brought something in as a gift and was now wondering why the master was rolling up a newspaper and hefting it like a baseball bat.

Rarity’s mind hadn’t touched ground for the last few minutes. Only with the thump of mental gravity, did she stir.

Me… and her… at a diplomatic dinner… after all this…?

Accompanied by a terrible sense of dread, she beckoned Derpy over. Fortune, luck, chance, happenstance: there were some things that were just too predictable.

“Derpy,” said Rarity, eye twitching. “You’re going to this dinner, right?”

“Uh huh,” said a timid voice overhead.

“Jolly good. You’re going in that jumper, right?”

“I didn’t bring anything else.” The voice might have come from Derpy’s knees, it was that low.

“Ah. I see.”

“I don’t understand,” said Derpy to the floor. “This jumper is something you’ve made. It’s brilliant.”

“That’s a… That’s definitely a view,” was all Rarity could tactfully say.

“I’m sorry if I did something wrong,” said Derpy.

“No, no. Mistakes were made. It’s quite all right. I don’t suppose, by any chance, you could show up to the dinner without the jumper on? Just this once?”

“Oh. Um. OK, then.”

Rarity blinked.

Wait. What?

“What did you say?” she said, trying to meet Derpy’s downcast eye.

“I guess I should have asked first,” said Derpy. “I was just too excited to think. I only wanted to help.”

“You’re not wearing it to the dinner, then?”

Derpy shook her head. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Thank you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Rarity glanced at Sassy behind the counter, who shrugged.

Finally, a magnanimity settled on Rarity’s chest. After all, now that she thought about it, the position was not an irreversible one. Good old Fancy Pants could smooth things over vis-a-vis her reputation, after all. She’d bounced back from worse. Anyway, he’d passed it off as a joke, hadn’t he? A sort of good-natured wheeze to be laughed off? Yes, now that she could work with.

Buoyed up by the hopefulness, Rarity said, “Not a problem. How about we forget this whole thing and start afresh? Looking forward to the dinner?”

Derpy rose like the dawning sun, her beaming smile loyally upon her face again.

“Oh, yes!” she said. “It’s a Canterlot dinner. I’ve never really had one of those before.”

“Then this should be an experience,” said Rarity, sighing with relief. “Let bygones be bygones. Now, how about getting you something more suitable for the occasion? I have a few spare dresses back at the hotel. Soon as I’m done here, we can go and make ourselves fabulous before the feast. What say you?”





No one dared to say anything at dinner.

The time: sundown. The place: Canterlot Grand Hall. The atmosphere: Mostly humid, with plenty of static tension. It was so thick a knife could have carved it.

Perhaps that was why the knives were blunted.

Two sides faced each other. On the one, the Yak Citizens of Yakyakistan growled and rumbled like thunder with indigestion. On the other, the Tundra Pony Warriors of Whiteland stood as a rank of generals, their traditional thick fur coats giving them a cuddliness that didn’t extend to their oh-so-casually hefted spears. Apparently, they were a cultural weapon. The yaks presumably could put their own massive, bejewelled horns in the same category.

Among them, the Canterlot nobles were as mice at a cat’s convention. None dared to speak.

Opposite, the great Princess Celestia of Equestria, She Who Controls the Sun, One of the Two, the Conqueror of Evil, was daintily cutting up and ferrying slices of some unidentified pastry to her mouth. As though utterly oblivious of the potential war waiting to wage around her, she chewed happily.

Beside her, Derpy beamed and giggled as though she could hardly believe her luck.

Rarity herself took all this in, and then pretended she hadn’t. Even an errant stare could end with someone smashing the round table. It was a big round table, but she was sure they’d manage it. They looked keen enough to have a go.

“Ah,” said Princess Celestia with sheer culinary contentment. “Finest mince pie. Our Head Chef Casserole has outdone himself. Please, help yourself to the grape juice. This vintage was freshly imported from the Grittish Isles.”

And for a moment, Rarity glowed with the privilege of having dinner with the Princess herself. The mince pie indeed had been nice. It just hadn’t lasted long enough to distract.

All eyes were on Celestia. Shock held the room.

Rarity could see why. She was a bit tongue-tied herself.

By contrast, Derpy attacked her second helping with gusto. She loved it so much, in fact, that she was determined to share it, splattering juice across the table and over her face in case it wanted a taste.

Nearby, a yak grimaced and drew his head back to avoid the flying drops. Opposite, a Whitelander pony shook her head in the classic “Why did I agree to this?” manner, internationally recognized.

“Yeah,” said Derpy around a mouthful. “Casserole’s the best!”

Princess Celestia allowed herself one refined giggle.

Finally, Prince Rutherford of the Yakyakistan Delegates cleared his throat. Alone of the yaks, he wasn’t staring at Celestia, though that might have been because his hairs covered his eyes.

“Yaks get better pies in Yakyakistan,” he rumbled. “Yaks freeze it properly.”

Opposite, Chief Icepick of the Whitelanders barked a laugh. She wasn’t looking at Celestia, either, but eyeing her yak rival with cold indifference.

“And we Whitelanders keep more refined company,” she hissed. “Who, for instance, are these tedious strangers among us?”

The Canterlot nobles both bristled and cowered. Alone between two yaks – and keeping a hoof over his drink in case of stray hairs from the bulky, hulking presences – Fancy Pants coughed into his other hoof.

“Oh, we are but guests,” he said, and deep in the recesses of her shocked mind, Rarity admired the lack of tremble in his voice. “Canterlot’s a fine place for formal dinners. I personally never miss one. You won’t find more refined company than us.”

At this point, Derpy belched. Even he winced.

Prince Rutherford nodded. “That refined, sure.”

“And that one at the end?” Chief Icepick hissed. She didn’t seem able to talk any other way.

To Rarity’s shock, Chief Icepick’s spear pointed at her.

“Um,” she said, dearly wishing she had a pie to bury herself in.

“Ah,” said Celestia, smiling up at them. “Allow me to introduce Miss Rarity. One of the finest seamstresses it has been my pleasure to meet.”

At this, rumbles of consternation breached the yak’s line.

One said, “You bring dressmaker to big dinners? With Prince?”

Another said, “This a big joke. This stupid ponies’ thing.”

A third said, “International relations no negotiate optimally with attendees lacking political acumen or diplomatic experience.”

They stared at him until he said, somewhat shamefacedly, “Well, it true.”

“Silence!” rumbled Prince Rutherford. His stamp shook the plates. “Rarity known to yak tribe. Rarity was yak host once. Got it wrong! Yaks smash wrong!” Another stamp, another shake of the plates. “But Rarity is harmless.”

Chief Icepick groaned in irritation. “What is the meaning of this? You bring a… a dressmaker to a formal dinner? A bunch of entitled layabouts?”

The Canterlot nobles murmured indignantly before they remembered themselves and promptly fell silent.

“And…” The Chief winced at Derpy’s renewed attack on the pie. “Whatever she is.”

Derpy surfaced. “I’m from Ponyville!”

“I see. And this Ponyville is a grand metropolis?”

“I dunno. What’s a metropolis?” Bits of fruit slipped off Derpy’s muzzle back into the pie.

“You are of noble birth, I take it?”

“Erm. My parents said there were no complications.” After another big bite, she added, “I dunno what they meant, though.”

 Chief Icepick glanced across at Prince Rutherford. Around them, the Whitelanders and the yaks growled and shuffled their hooves, but the two of them merely looked glum. Meanwhile, Derpy dived back into her dinner.

“I think you’ll agree, Prince Rutherford,” hissed Chief Icepick, “that warriors of our stature deserve a little better than this.”

“Yaks agree to nothing! Yaks declare war! Yaks proud and mighty and talk not with weak baby ponies! Yes.”

Opposite, Princess Celestia took another graceful, moderate bite.

Rarity wanted to scream, but quickly put hooves over mouth and clenched her insides until it passed.  Why did I agree to this? Why did no one tell me? And why oh why does Derpy get to sit next to Celestia! It’s crude favouritism! At least if I were favourite, I wouldn’t be crude!

Oh, don’t be selfish, Rarity.

What else can I be? I want to get away! I can’t turn down a Canterlot meal now! I can’t back out ever! I’d be blacklisted at every noble event! I’d be blackballed from Canterlot society forever!

I’d start a war!

I’D BE RUUUUUUUUUUDE!

Another scream, crazed and disoriented, made a bid for her larynx. She fought it until it gave up and sagged back down.

Derpy belched again. Rarity’s hooves itched to strangle, so she sat on them.

“This pony yaks not know,” said Prince Rutherford.

“Ah, a true pity,” said Celestia, and she lowered her head level with Derpy’s, who grinned messily. “I make it a point to mingle with my less extraordinary subjects. Dear Derpy Hooves here is a fine young mare.”

“Her eyes funny. Point in all over the place directions.”

“Oh,” said Derpy, and she shook her head again, splattering a nearby yak. “Sorry. They do that sometimes.”

“According to my source in Ponyville,” said Celestia, “Derpy is a hard worker and a special member of the Cloudsdale Weather Team. Her parents moved before she was born, you see…”

Source? thought Rarity.

“Is this relevant?” hissed Chief Icepick.

“All my ponies are relevant,” said Celestia as though it were obvious. “Derpy is no exception. In fact, I’m given to understand that Derpy here has recently become the inspiration for a new ‘buzz’, as they call it, spreading across Canterlot.”

Rarity’s blood froze.

As one, the delegates stared at Celestia. Not at her face.

Rarity whimpered. Oh no. Not that. Not that, not that, not that! Ponyville was bad enough! Fancy Pants was worse! Canterlot Carousel was the limit! If it becomes international…

For the love of you, Celestia, please don’t, please don’t, please don’t…

“Aha,” hissed Chief Icepick. It could have been a cough. “Well, I certainly see the calibre of your leadership in this –”

Derpy waved. “Garkon! Orderey vous another pie, grassier silver plate! Wow, speaking in cookery is fun! I never knew!”

Mouth held open and waiting, Chief Icepick continued, “Charming young lady.”

Prince Rutherford laughed heartily, making ripples in the grape juice and blowing some manes back. “Is charming like fine yak maiden! HAH HAH HAH! Maybe ponies learn yak way after all!”

Obediently, the yaks laughed in turn. The noise sounded like a church organ exploding.

Rarity tried to catch Derpy’s eye, but could only catch one of them; the other looked around the table in obvious puzzlement.

“So!” Prince Rutherford said, and all laughter died away at once. “We go to war, and you ponies start buzz. What buzz? Yaks kill things that buzz! Big stingy things with wings! Squish them and squash them!”

“Oh.” Derpy – not entirely unaware of affairs of state – shrank a little where she sat. “Well, I, uh, wore a really nice jumper into Canterlot.”

“I see,” hissed Chief Icepick. Her beady eyes pinned Celestia down, which went unnoticed as Celestia had just signalled for a cup of tea.

“A delightful specimen, I trust?” For a moment over her cup and over her sipping, Celestia’s gaze flickered towards Rarity.

Oh nonononononononono NO! NO! NOOOOO! Please! Have mercy, Princess!

Rarity smiled weakly.

“Oh yes!” Derpy’s wings fluttered with enthusiasm. “It had all sorts of bobbles and pictures and little bell thingies and it was green and not at all itchy and I had a helmet and some tinsel and a paper hat with vermin all over it.”

“Excuse me?” Chief Icepick gaped in disbelief. “Vermin?”

“I think I got it wrong.” And then, to Rarity’s utter horror which left her petrified where she stood, Derpy rose up and cupped her hooves to her mouth and shouted over, “Rarity! What was that fabric you added to my hat!?”

All eyes pinned Rarity down. She was but a mite, trapped beneath a magnifying glass, awaiting the cruel sunlit focus of oblivion. She even felt as though her haunches were smoking, burning, sizzling and spitting and cracking with heat.

Rarity tried to speak. Her lungs didn’t get the memo, because all she did was squeak.

“Right,” hissed Chief Icepick. “This is one of Equestria’s finest dressmakers, yes?”

Rarity’s “yes” became the yip of a squashed poodle. She started to shake with the desire to flee.

“Oh, she does more than commissions,” said Celestia in-between two cupfuls. “Her current dress is, I believe, of her own make. Is that right?”

Rarity’s weak laugh grew weaker by the second.

Rushing to her rescue, Fancy Pants said, “Yes, yes it is. She is, of course, charmingly modest about her work.”

“Wonderful.” Celestia sipped her tea.

“Hm.” Chief Icepick grinned. “A fine dress, I grant you.”

“But jumper too? That jumper?” Prince Rutherford blew contemptuously, blowing his fringe and exposing his eyes briefly. “What a crazy pony!”

“Certainly… eccentric.”

Eccentric. Eccentric. Eccentric. Eccentric… Eccentric…

In Rarity’s mind, a vast hole opened up, aglow with the fires of Tartarus, howling with the cries of the victims. Her mind began to tip on the precipice, a mere puff away from inescapable cruelty.

She whimpered. Suddenly, she wanted to curl up under the table, maybe with a pot of ice cream. Ice cream was her friend right now.

Instead, she watched in a daze as all eyes returned to Celestia. To what she was wearing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Fancy Pants, adjusting his collar. “Nothing wrong with a touch of eccentr – I mean, of spontaneity and variety, what?”

All the Canterlot nobles breathed out as one. No one had been condemned out of their mouths. Of course, foreigners could say the e-word, but should a noble ever utter it in the presence of the victim? The axe had come down then. The show was over. The universe had ended, at least for the unfortunate victim.

“That what you call it?” said Prince Rutherford.

“And is she a noble, too?” hissed Chief Icepick. There was so much hissing when she spoke that Rarity – beneath layers of dark contemplation – wondered if she needed a lozenge.

“Oh, no,” said Celestia happily over her cup. “Rarity deserves praise for her inspiring rise to success. Once a daughter to a pair of common ponies – charming in their own way, of course – she earned her way to our esteemed circle through deeds.”

“What? How many commoners do we have here, exactly?”

A sip. “I don’t actually like the term ‘commoner’, but: just the two.”

No, thought Rarity in a panic. I want to curl up and eat a tub of ice cream! A swimming pool! An ocean! I won’t end until all the good ice cream is gone!

“Dessert, ladies and gents?” Celestia made a gesture. All plates and cutlery disappeared, to be replaced by rainbow sundaes and the refined sort of spoon that was on its way to becoming a decorated wand.

Rarity didn’t hesitate. She shovelled in scoop after scoop – cringing because hers turned out to be tangerine-flavoured – before satiation kicked her attention away and she noticed several eyes watching her.

“Huh,” hissed Chief Icepick, holding up and inspecting her own spoon. “In the lands of ice and snow, we Whitelanders value metal highly. Gold is soft but precious. Iron makes fine weapons. Even copper, one of the baser metals, has its uses.”

“Rarity made a metal dress once,” said Derpy helpfully. Then she lay into the sundae, if anything, more messily than before; a yak growled as a fleck hit it square in the eye.

“Really?”

“And she does a lot of work for charity. She’s amazing.”

A flicker of a grin crossed Chief Icepick’s face. “Then I guess we can call her… the nickel saint.”

Prince Rutherford laughed until his sundae fell over from the sheer force. Hastily, one of his attendants gave him theirs.

“HAH HAH HAH!” he boomed. “Little pony sound like little Celestia! This is funny! This is LAUGHING!”

Yet again, all eyes turned to Celestia.

She was wearing a green jumper.

All in all, Sassy Saddles had done an excellent job at replicating the themes of the original without making an exact copy. Instead, this one had a scene of a white pony, lying on a lounge chair, looking out the window, admiring the snowfall and the bare trees beyond, receding into the mist, lit only by a single lamp. Otherwise, the holly and bells and so on would overwhelm through sheer tackiness.

For the first time, Prince Rutherford looked at this jumper, and Celestia noticed and followed his gaze.

“Quite festive, isn’t it?” she said.

“Huh,” said Prince Rutherford. “But Hearth’s Warming not in summer. Yaks know story. Yaks not stupid.”

“Nor are we, us Whitelanders,” hissed Chief Icepick.

Celestia granted herself a small but graceful chuckle. “Hearth’s Warming in summer. Certainly novel, isn’t it?”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it.” Chief Icepick curled her lip. “But then I suppose Equestrians are the diplomatic type.”

“Is odd,” agreed Prince Rutherford, nodding.

Again, Celestia chuckled the royal chuckle. “Hardly odd. Why, topsy-turvy traditions are one of the highlights of Equestrian history. At the beginning of Equestria’s existence, there were some peculiar winter festivals, for instance. One I quite liked involved reversing social roles. For a few days, servants became masters and masters became servants. Earth ponies controlled the weather, pegasi cast magic spells, and unicorns worked in the fields growing crops.” She sighed dreamily. “Sometimes, I’ve considered reviving the practice, but there you have it.”

“Ponies been odd long time?” said Prince Rutherford.

“Yep!” said Derpy, and he snorted. “Also, also! We got lots of cool traditions in Ponyville. All the seasons and the festivals and stuff. I love it! We love it! Everyone in Ponyville is friendly and helpful and nice. Like me!”

“So,” hissed Chief Icepick. “You’re a representative of a typical Equestrian citizen?”

“Yep! That’s me! I’m a representa-tan-in-ta-tive!”

In her enthusiasm, she waved a hoof and knocked her sundae over with a crack.

Canterlot nobles up and down the table tutted. They tutted again when her eyes started to wander off in opposite directions.

Up till now, Rarity had been lost in a private terror, but here, she blinked and woke up, and the pit vanished, and the cries of its victims vanished too.

Now the full impact of what was going on hit her between the eyes like a fish.

Chief Icepick bared her teeth in contempt. “Such a nation of eccentrics.”

“HAH HAH HAH!” Prince Rutherford boomed. “Laugh at nation of Equestria! Laugh at nation of… ECCENTRIA!”

His booming laughs echoed around the hall. To Rarity’s surprise, Chief Icepick smiled, albeit in a smug, twisty way.

“Oh yes. What an enlightening dinner this has been. I shall remember that.” To cap it all, she glanced sidelong at Rarity when she said that.

Up and down the table, puzzled or stoic ponies and yaks began to chuckle along with the two leaders. Celestia and Derpy looked on, the former genially, the latter in some confusion. Fancy Pants grimaced, but these three were exceptions. Soon, Rarity was lost amid a hall of haunting, bellowing, never-ending laughter.

Slowly, miserably, painfully, she lowered her head to hide behind the empty sundae glass. A whole universe of ice cream couldn’t fill her up after this.





That night, Rarity didn’t sleep a wink.

In the darkness, she dreaded the morning newspapers. She dreaded the ponies laughing at her dear Canterlot Carousel. Most of all, she dreaded a future of boarded-up boutiques and her, alone, in debt, shovelling ice cream into her mouth for all eternity.

She removed the “shovelling ice cream” bit from her nightmares, on the grounds that it didn’t quite strike the proper tone of grisly terror.

Even long after the stars had given way to bright sunlight and the bustle of ponies could be heard beyond the window, she did not stir.

She did stir, however, when someone rapped a hoof against her door.

“It’s me,” said Derpy, muffled behind the door and her own meek shame. “I wanted to see you.”

Anger urged Rarity to shout “NO”, but she pushed it aside. After all, Derpy hadn’t meant to ruin her life.

As soon as she opened the door, she gasped under the forelimbs seizing her in a tight hug.

“Rarity, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t sleep last night for the guilt! I think I did something bad yesterday, and I don’t know what it is, but I know I did it, and I’m sorry!”

“D-D-Derpy!?” groaned Rarity.

“Yes? Anything I can do? Anything whatsoever?”

“L-Let go. You-You’re choking me!”

“Oh. Sorry.” She let go and backed off.

While Rarity gasped for breath, Derpy continued, “You’ve treated me so well that I should treat you so well too. If you have money problems because of my mistake, I’ll give you some of my earnings. I promise.”

A final cough let Rarity catch up to the words. She looked at two eyes looking in opposite directions, and geared up for the telling off of a lifetime… but she’d never do it. There was no point. Derpy was already kicking herself down on Rarity’s behalf.

She didn’t mean it. She can’t help it. If anything, I’m just as much to blame. I let her down; I gave in to her judgement instead of overruling it for her sake – for our sakes, now. I should never have agreed to that jumper business in the first place.

She blinked with surprise. Those words had come out of nowhere, and yet she felt as though they’d been there the whole time.

“No need,” Rarity said. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“I’m so, so sorry… I…”

The door creaked open. Both of them turned.

Princess Celestia strode into the room, ducking her head to pass through the frame. “Ah, good. It looks like I made it in time.”

At this, Rarity’s mind gave up. Derpy bursting in to apologize, she could understand. The Princess of Equestria popping by for a quick visit, she could not.

“Er…” she began.

“Princess Celestia!” Derpy bowed low.

“And friends,” said Celestia, stepping aside. “Miss Sassy Saddles and Sir Fancy Pants would like to speak with you both, if you can spare the time.”

Fancy Pants stepped in, smiling politely and adjusting his monocle with his unicorn magic. “A delight as ever, Rarity.”

“Morning, Miss Rarity,” said Sassy Saddles, joining his side. “Darning socks! You look as though you haven’t slept a wink!”

Such an odd remark was this that Rarity could do naught but blink at her. “What?”

“Rarity!” Fancy Pants grabbed her by the hoof and shook vigorously, dislodging his monocle again. “Good news! Your reputation is secure! I’ve made sure of it, and thus have I saved you from a grisly fate. When you step out into the Canterlot street, all who gaze upon you will know you as a role model who braved the scorn of two other nations!”

“What?” said Rarity.

“It’s the least I could do,” he added sheepishly.

“What’s more,” said Celestia, “I’m pleased to announce that, thanks to the success of the dinner last night, two nations on the brink of war have now united instead.”

“What?” said Rarity, in case they hadn’t heard the first time.

“Up till now, they’d looked upon us and each other as potential dangers. After the experience at dinner, however, the Whitelanders and the Yaks of Yakyakistan are convinced we are not dangerous. Better! They believe our nation is so bizarre and eccentric in its habits – and have found each other so strongly united in ridicule against us – that they’ve set aside their differences.”

“What?” said Rarity, hoping it might get across sooner or later.

“Of course, talks will continue. However, I think it’s safe to say that cooler heads prevail for the time being.” Celestia winked. “Even when you control the sun, it’s hard to look threatening and to wear a Hearth’s Warming jumper at the same time. That’s the psychology of the individual for you.”

“More importantly, Rarity!” Sassy danced on the spot. “Oh warp and weft, it’s too much! The Hearth’s Warming clothes have become symbols of national defiance, and when I woke up this morning, the shop was flooded with ponies bearing orders for more!”

“Eh?” said Rarity, deciding to switch tactics.

“I know! Gusset all, but it’s going to make us richer than the Riches!”

Finally, their words struck gold in Rarity’s brain. She screwed up her face. She went blank. She gritted her teeth. She gaped. She wrinkled her nose. She saw her vision go blurry with threatening tears.

“Can someone,” she said in a voice straining not to crack, “please tell me what on earth is going on!?”

Both Fancy Pants and Sassy Saddles turned to Celestia, who nodded solemnly. Whatever flicker of a grin had lit up her face now went out.

“I apologize,” she said with modest dignity, “but I fear I’ve played something of a practical jest at your expense, Rarity.”

“Wh –” Deciding to be original, Rarity spluttered, “What do you mean, a practical joke? What joke? Um… Your Highness, please?”

“I appreciate your confusion, but please allow me to apologize before I explain.” She turned to Derpy, who backed off hurriedly in case the royal presence was profaned. “I must apologize to you, Miss Hooves. If you will not judge me harshly for saying so, my sources informed me that your reputation had you down as the ideal player. You were beloved by many in Ponyville, and yet known for…” Celestia winced. “A little inelegance… that you were best placed to make an impression on, and thus to unite in scorn – I really do apologize – two serious-minded and somewhat judgemental tribes.”

Yet Derpy’s face was utterly blank. Even when Celestia bowed her head towards her, she merely gaped and stared.

“Oh,” she managed, voice somewhat faint. “Uh… apology accepted?”

Celestia beamed as though she’d borrowed Derpy’s favourite expression out of respect, and then she straightened up.

“Good show,” said Fancy Pants. Celestia blushed.

“As for you, Rarity,” she continued. “For the difficulties I’ve brought to you, I’m willing to offer some compensation as a way of expressing – and hopefully earning – no hard feelings.”

“Good sport, I say,” said Sassy, nodding frantically.

Rarity closed her eyes and turned away from them all. “What is this? I can’t believe… No, I refuse to believe… Yes, I must still be dreaming… This just cannot be true…”

“Ah,” said Fancy Pants, somewhat awkwardly. “I can see you’re a little miffed, Rarity.”

“Yes,” snapped the businessmare Sassy Saddles, “but once we attend to these orders, we’ll be remunerated handsomely! Remunerated, by tassle and gown!”

“A-And, of course,” he said with some haste, “Rarity, my dear, your reputation has not sunk. It has, if anything, been bolstered. You’re a good old symbol of what makes our nation so admirable and yet so endearing!”

“I assure you,” said Celestia, “had anything gone wrong, I would have taken full responsibility and thus spared you any indignity.”

Rarity chewed her lip. Outside, the white buildings of Canterlot were ablaze. She was still stuck on the part where this was all a practical joke.

Oh, they were fine-sounding words, to be sure. Reputation and business were secure. She got that much. What they weren’t were explanations.

“You mean…” she said, “you actually had this planned out? What, from the start?”

She felt sick to her stomach. Even last night’s dinner was disgusted.

After a pause, Celestia said, “Miss Saddles? Sir Fancy Pants? Would you leave us for a moment? I’d like to speak to Miss Rarity and Miss Derpy Hooves alone.”

“Absolutely, Your Highness,” said Fancy Pants, all too relieved.

“Cord blind me, so I shall!” said Sassy.

“Er… very good,” replied Celestia.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rarity heard Celestia step closer. Nearby, Derpy squeaked with excitement or terror; it was hard to tell.

“You used me?” said Rarity.

“And me?” said Derpy.

“I meant you too!” snapped Rarity, rounding on her –

Celestia’s alabaster-white forelimb barred the way. For a graceful equine, she could move like a shadow. There hadn’t even been a creak of floorboard.

“Derpy was innocent of the plan,” said Celestia, lowering her leg. “From my source in Ponyville –”

“What source?” said Derpy.

Celestia merely smiled, and continued, “From my source in Ponyville, I had heard of your commission to Rarity, and naturally of Rarity’s generous act in not refusing the request, but of meeting it to the letter.”

“Well, sure,” said Derpy as though nothing could be simpler.

“In spite of her own tastes and views, Rarity nonetheless helped you exactly as you wanted. Any other Canterlot dressmaker would have turned you down, believe me. I agreed with you, Derpy, when you decided that such generosity should be rewarded. My role once you were in Canterlot was to encourage Fancy Pants and Sassy to nudge things towards our diplomatic dinner… after laying the groundwork among the Canterlot crowd.”

Derpy hummed thoughtfully, and for once Rarity wondered how she could take all this so easily. Perhaps there were minds so innocent that they could actually see things the experienced missed?

“So…” said Derpy.

“Yes?” said Celestia.

“Does this mean we get a second Hearth’s Warming? In summer?”

Celestia laughed, and the last of Rarity’s resistance melted. Argue with explanations and confessions though she might, she didn’t have it in her to argue with such a merry, tinkling sound.

“Oh, now that is an idea!” Celestia said. “I must admit I’ve been itching to revive those old and topsy-turvy traditions in some form, and this seems as good a way as any other.”

“But…” Derpy frowned. “Not the same, then?”

“Don’t you know that the key to a good tradition is innovation?” She smiled, and Rarity spotted the impish twinge at the corners.

Derpy gasped, truth dawning on her. “So there can be a second Hearth’s Warming?”

“You wanted to start a trend, did you not?” Now the impish twinge became a grin. “Thanks to Rarity here.”

Derpy gasped even more loudly. “You mean it!?”

“I mean it.”

To Rarity’s shock, Derpy tackled her again and hugged so tightly that she was sure ribs must break. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!”

“And by way of saying thank you for being a good sport,” said Celestia, “and also for showing a true spirit of goodwill, Miss Derpy Hooves: I propose to make you the mascot of the occasion.”

“Did you hear that, Rarity!” squealed Derpy into her ear.

Rarity winced. “I can’t hear anything else! Will you let go of me, please, dear!?”

“What’s my mascot name?” Derpy finally let go, releasing Rarity for a few desperate breaths.

Amid her gasping, Rarity marvelled at the sheer audacity of it. A few words here, a dinner there, a strategically placed jumper everywhere, and suddenly a holiday was born. She was sure they were supposed to grow up organically, or something.

Anyway, the sheer brightness of the scheme now shone so much that it blinded her.

“Hm,” said Celestia.

A flash of inspiration hit Rarity. Parts of her were still too dazed to object.

“How about…?” she mumbled. “How about the ‘Nickel Saint’?”

“Eh?” said Derpy, whose memory wasn’t the best.

“And one for you too, Rarity?” Celestia giggled, and a more prank-promising, schoolfilly-ish giggle could not have been as out-of-place next to that radiant face and flowing mane. Suddenly, Rarity had no difficulty believing Celestia would mastermind a new holiday for fun.

“Um,” she said.

“I quite like the Princess of Eccentria, if you have no objections.” There was a twinkle in Celestia’s eye.

“Er,” said Rarity, trying again.

“That gets my vote!” said Derpy, shooting her hoof up.

“Eccentria?” Rarity tasted the word. “As in eccentr – the e-word?”

“Eccentric?” Celestia laughed at Rarity’s flinch of good taste. “I’m afraid that joke’s on you, Rarity. Haven’t you heard? ‘Eccentric’ is the new ‘fashionable’.”

Still slow on the uptake, Rarity said, “I’m getting remunerated, you said?”

“And your reputation is safe and stronger than ever!” Derpy gave an almighty hip-hip-hooray, though only Celestia joined in. “It’s the season to be jolly, now! Just what I always wanted!”

“Hearth’s Warming in summer…” Rarity shook her head, as though bits of her mind were wandering off in different directions.

“I can see that you’ll need some time to get into the spirit of the thing.” Celestia bowed and turned to leave, but stopped at the door and gave them both one last smile. “I understand. It is the psychology of the individual, after all. If you have anything more you wish to discuss, I’m willing to talk to you. For the time being, I fear I must return to my duties now. Oh, and before I forget… Happy Hearth’s Warming!”

Rarity mumbled something in reply. Both she and Derpy bowed. When they rose up again, Celestia was gone.

“Hearth’s Warming?” said Rarity.

“Look out the window! Oh my gosh! It’s exactly how I imagined it!”

Hesitantly, Rarity did so. Beyond the glass, flakes of snow tumbled and wheeled out of the sky. Flocks of pegasi guided more clouds into place. Soon, the streets were as white as the buildings. Some ponies had even put out lights for decoration, and boots and scarves were much in evidence.

“Wow,” breathed Derpy, fogging up the glass.

At which point, Rarity went back to bed. It seemed the most sensible thing to do. But just in case, she asked Derpy to wake her up when it was all over. Derpy, naturally, agreed and said good night. And good morning. And Happy Hearth’s Warming too.

“What a week,” Rarity mumbled, after the door slammed and cracked as expected. “What a week…”

Before she drifted off, outside her window, she was certain she heard Derpy laughing among the snowflakes.





One year later…

Upon a midsummer’s eve…

Hearth’s Warming Summer came round again.

Within the greens and reds of Carousel Boutique’s dress emporium, Rarity the Unicorn hung up the last of the paper chains. They glittered only haphazardly and weren’t very good, but Sweetie Belle had spent so much time throwing everything on them that Rarity hadn’t the heart to say no. Even if she did remove them during opening hours.

As usual – or at least as usual from now on – Rarity lifted the Yew Tree. A few minutes’ work and several more minutes’ adjustment later, she had a fully decorated tree for her efforts.

Grimacing slightly, she opened a box. Out the contents came, slipping over her head and down her forelegs. Sure, it might be only a year-old tradition, but it was a tradition nonetheless.

In any case, she’d made the jumper work. She was particularly pleased with the image on the belly; of a pegasus with funny eyes, and of a unicorn with a funny smile, forelimbs on each others’ shoulders and being gawked at by a gaping yak and a confused Whitelander. A conversation-starter, she felt.

Eagerly, she opened her morning letters. Yes, Canterlot Carousel was booming; Sassy Saddles always scribbled and left ink stains whenever she got too excited. And yes, Fancy Pants was inviting her to attend the first Canterlot soiree for the Summer Festivities. Plus one guest. Preferably – he’d said between the lines – someone interesting.

Rarity sighed. Celestia was on her throne, and all was right with the world.

Except…

As she went upstairs to get some more fabric from the studio, a memory lurched out of hiding.

She listened to its prompting. Then she went up and found the door she was looking for. A pile of boxes were moved aside easily; the padlock a little trickier before she found the key in a drawer. Thus, she uncovered the cupboard of a lifetime ago.

Reverentially, as though attending a self-coronation, Rarity raised the object aloft. Typical Derpy style, she thought.

She crowned herself. The Yew Tree Hat was once more upon its rightful place.

With it came another lurching memory: the word quest.

Someone knocked on the front door. Repeatedly and enthusiastically. Only one mare knocked like that.

By the time Rarity got downstairs, Derpy had let herself in. Unremarkably, she was wearing last year’s jumper.

“Happy Hearth’s Warming Summer, Rarity!”

“And a Happy Hearth’s Warming Summer to you too, Derpy.” No, wait… “Oh, my apologies. I almost forgot: Happy Hearth’s Warming Summer to you, Nickel Saint!”

“There’s a crowd of them out there,” said Derpy. “Singing carols. I didn’t know we had any Hearth’s Warming Summer carols.”

“Well, we do now.” Pleasantries concluded, Rarity felt free to extend a hoof towards Derpy. “You’ll be pleased to know that business is booming, the yaks and the Whitelanders are arguing happily over which of them finds us the most ridiculous, and we have a dinner in Canterlot later.”

“Oh, pardon my manners.” Derpy took the hoof, and then evidently not getting why, gave it a kiss almost identical to Fancy Pants’. “Princess Eccentria!”

“That’s the Grand and Generous Princess Eccentria to you, my subject.”

“Righty ho!”

“Also, I should point out that mares don’t kiss mares on the hoof.”

Derpy’s wings drooped. “Oh.”

“Only stallions kiss.”

“Oh.”

“But you can shake it, if you so desire. One doesn’t want to be too formal.”

Derpy’s wings rose. She gripped the hoof between two of her own and – with unexpected restraint – shook once. A fine and graceful gesture, ruined slightly by her eyes drifting apart again.

“Sorry.” She shook her head again.

“No need to apologize whatsoever, Nickel Saint. Shall we?”

However, on the way to the door – hearing the laughter and whispers and singing outside – Rarity stopped.

Quest bounced around in her mind again.

“What’s wrong?” said Derpy. “It’s OK. The snow’s only for a few days, and then we’re back to normal. It’s the snow, isn’t it?”

“No, not that. But…”

“But?”

Rarity chewed her lip. Bits of the memory trickled back, and she felt the weight of the hat on her head.

“When you gave me this hat a year ago,” she said, “you told me it might help me on my quest.”

“Did I? Wow, you’ve got a good memory.”

“Thanks. One does like to take note of details. So tell me: whence cometh the advice?”

“Huh?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Why did you say that?” she translated.

“Well, because I was just confused by the ‘whence cometh the advice’ bit.”

“I meant why did you say this hat would help me on my quest?”

Comprehension was slow to dawn on Derpy’s face today, but when it did, it brightened with the ever-present beaming smile of innocence.

“Oh, that! I didn’t mean a real quest. It was just a metaphor.”

The singing outside grew louder, outcompeting the laughter and whispering. “For what?”

“Your quest to be the best, of course!”

And now I’m called Princess. Rarity also thought of the letters upstairs, and of the snow outside, and of the carol singers drawing in the town right outside her door, and lastly of the smile on Derpy’s face. Her friend Pinkie Pie always said the best thing ever was a smile on the right face at the right place at the right time, though in Pinkie’s case those categories had been extremely broad.

Rarity returned the smile, and thus spread the joy. “Our quest, I believe it is now. Come; let us innovate for the tradition! Let us say, ‘Happy Hearth’s Warming to all!’”

“‘And to all a good summer!’” Derpy flapped and rose up on the wings of exhilaration.

“Quite,” said Rarity, opening the door to the dazzling white. “Not a line you get to say often, I’ll grant you that.”