Smoothing the Wrinkles
“You can do this, Rarity.”
The muttered pep talk bounced up and down the cavernous palace hall like an out-of-control tennis ball. Likewise, the sound of Rarity’s hooves pounding along the polished floors echoed over itself until it had the chaos and cacophony of a stampede.
“Just a fitting, darling,” she told herself, spinning to pace back the other direction. “Nothing you can’t handle. Nothing you haven’t done a thousand times, in fact!”
She paused her manic marching to raise one triumphant hoof, hoping the pose would give her a little bit of the confidence she felt she needed. To Rarity’s disappointment, the castle did not appear to recognize her achievements.
Rarity huffed and dropped her hoof back down to the floor. “Oh, fine. Perhaps that’s a little bit of an overestimation.”
She tossed her mane over one shoulder and fluffed it with one delicate hoof, mentally skimming through the vast library of professional fittings she had been lucky--no, had been honored--to perform.
As many as there were, however, not a single one could be considered remotely royal.
And, at least to Rarity, there was a world of difference between ‘professional’ and ‘royal’.
Professional was just that: professional. It was one industry titan to another, shared jokes and cheeky comments, peers collaborating on an artistic goal.
Royal, though… royal was royal, for pony’s sake!
Yet, as Rarity paced nervously up and down the hall of Twilight’s crystal castle, a nearby tapestry caught her eye. It was the sort of thing which normally faded into the background. It had been tucked, after all, into a small alcove, and was disguised by low lighting and magnificent pillars. Despite its enormous size, Rarity could honestly say she had not noticed it before.
Rarity stopped fussing with her mane, instead staring up at the replica Princess Cadance which hung above her.
There, preserved in silk, was an image of the beautiful and elegant alicorn for whom Rarity had tirelessly toiled over not one, but two wedding gowns. And those had been perfect. Moreover, Rarity hadn’t felt the least bit anxious about either fitting.
She had been elated. That’s what she remembered: pure joy and excitement at the thought of designing for a Princess. Nothing but ideas and inspiration and a strange sense of unearned confidence that a Princess would want her at all.
Rarity whimpered softly to herself as she stared up at Cadance’s likeness.
She had been so secure, so certain of her skill. Now, though, all Rarity could think about was making a mistake.
What if she stuck the Princess with a pin?
What if the dress wasn’t as flattering as she thought?
What if the Princess hated it?
Rarity closed her eyes and shook her head clear. “Oh, it’s only Twilight!” she reminded herself. “Only Twilight.”
She stood still a moment, trying to call up the innumerable golden memories she had of Twilight Sparkle. Shared laughter over tea, excited chatter about books and poetry and design, magical tips and tricks traded in confidence-- and, of course, all the times she had fought beside Twilight against unimaginable horrors. Every stand for ponykind she had made with that mare by her side.
Sticking her with a pin wouldn’t be so terrible. Not really. They’d been through it all, hadn’t they? Who could be angry about a little pin prick?
Rarity opened her eyes and was about to return to her pacing when she caught a glimpse of the tapestry beside Cadance’s.
This one was even more well-hidden, of course. Although Rarity had no memory of the tapestry being developed and hung, she could imagine how flustered Twilight must have been at the thought of hanging such a thing in her own home. The mare had been known to dodge mirrors on her more harrowing days, after all-- a tapestry was simply too much.
But, of course, the palace was as much a tourist destination as it was a place of work. Twilight couldn't always have it her way.
Judging by its placement behind an enormous pillar, Twilight found it gaudy. Which was just like her, really. Anything more than utterly modest was gaudy.
Rarity chuckled to herself, taking slow steps down the hallway towards Twilight’s tapestry.
It really was beautiful. Ethereal, even. She had such a peaceful look on her face: her eyes closed, her lips curled in a secretive smile, her head tilted down towards Rarity herself. Her form seemed to hover, where the others appeared to be leaping. She faced the hall, while the others were only in profile. Even though there was hardly any light to shine upon the tapestry, it somehow seemed to sparkle.
As much as Rarity’s chest swelled looking into her dear friend’s face, she also found the anxiety building like a stormcloud overhead.
To say that Rarity had a plan might not be quite accurate. She wouldn’t dare put words to it, because words made it much more real. But that was okay-- she was better with improvisation, anyway.
And she would do it. She really would.
Just… after the fitting.
Maybe.
Which meant she actually had to do the fitting.
Rarity straightened herself up. “Just a fitting,” she repeated. “Just… just Twilight.”
She took a deep breath and held it a moment, her chest puffed, her chin raised. She tried to fill herself with that same sense of inner peace that the Twilight in the glass seemed to exude. The only trouble was that Rarity knew Twilight very well, and the last thing she exuded was inner peace. Outer panic was more her speed.
“Just Twilight,” Rarity repeated, though the name strangled her.
Just Twilight.
Just perfect, beautiful, ethereal Princess Twilight.
Rarity squeezed her eyes shut and stomped one hoof on the floor, listening to the way the sound doubled back on her.
Now or never, darling.
It can’t be nearly as awkward as you’re making it out to be.
“Well,” Rarity said, her eyes glued to an unremarkable piece of wall beyond Twilight’s head. “That’s made a professional fitting quite awkward.”
Twilight was completely mute.
She had a strange look in her eyes, one that Rarity couldn’t say she’d ever seen before. While there was clearly a healthy dose of panic behind them, they appeared to be entirely glazed over, as if Twilight had abruptly entered a fugue state which prevented her from interacting with the world before her.
Rarity looked down, a hoof to her mouth in a mix between shock and embarrassment. Her face was flushing, she could feel it-- that hot, tight, blotchy sensation that only accompanied the worst bouts of shame. She blinked once. Then again. Then a few times, in quick succession, as if each blink had a chance of erasing the whole event from both participants’ minds.
Unfortunately, Rarity’s lashes held no such power.
She cleared her throat. “We should… get on with the fitting, I think,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, Twilight, I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”
Twilight watched silently as Rarity lifted the brush from the floor and placed it gently on the map table.
Rarity bit her lip, trying not to say anything more.
The silence in the room was absolutely crushing. Both ponies knew that the other wanted to speak, and yet both wished they would not. Both ponies also desperately wanted to blurt out their own feelings, and yet held themselves back.
Rarity crossed the room and lifted the garment bag with her magic. “The dress is in here,” she explained, avoiding eye contact. “It should be close. I do know your measurements, after all.”
This caused Twilight to make an odd little sound, which Rarity wouldn’t dare interpret.
“I’ll just…” Rarity pushed the garment bag towards Twilight. “I’ll just turn around while you get into it. If that’s alright.”
“Yes!” Twilight’s volume seemed to surprise even her, and she smacked a hoof over her mouth. Then, much softer, she added, “y-yes. That’d be… great.”
Rarity bit back a chuckle. “Alright, then.”
She turned her back and closed her eyes.
As Twilight fumbled with the zipper on the garment bag, her magic wavering audibly, Rarity could only think of the burning in her cheeks.
Why did they burn so terribly?
This was hardly the first time somepony had made an unexpected romantic gesture towards her. She had grown accustomed to it--fond of it, even--and certainly never gotten flustered. Never taken offense.
But, goodness, was she absolutely on fire right now.
Was it anger?
Was she angry with Twilight for kissing her?
No, no. That couldn’t be it at all.
Behind her, Rarity heard the dress rustle as it came out of the garment bag, and Twilight gasped softly.
“Oh, Rarity,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
Rarity’s cheeks flushed darker. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all,” she said.
Twilight did not reply.
There was a long moment when she made no sound at all. Not even a breath. Not even the rustle of fabric.
Rarity could feel her gaze burning into the back of her neck, and the heat of it clustered deeper in her cheeks.
“Quickly, now,” she said, chipper as she could. “Don’t want to waste the good light.”
Twilight seemed to snap out of her moment of stillness, and the sound of the tulle brushing against her fur resumed. As Rarity predicted, she had a bit of a struggle getting into the thing--her tiny sounds of distress were quite enough evidence of that--but she seemed to figure it out eventually.
“O-okay,” Twilight called, as if for a teacher to come look over her work. “You can… you can turn around, now.”
After a moment to collect herself, Rarity turned.
She was, indeed, ethereal.
Even though the dress stretched oddly over her chest, and she hadn’t tied the ribbon quite right, Twilight Sparkle looked absolutely beautiful.
Twilight tugged at one sleeve of the gown, though it was more out of nervousness than any sort of issue with the fit. The gossamer sleeves which flowed down to her hooves were so light that they seemed to float in midair. Though the neckline seemed a bit too high, it had the most elegant swooping line, edged with a delicate midnight lace. It hugged her hips before flaring out to a wide, sparkling skirt which faded from gold to pink to a deep, rich blue.
“Well?” Twilight asked, turning to the side to give Rarity a better view. “How do I look?”
Rarity blinked. “Erm.” She cleared her throat. “Lovely, darling. You look lovely.”
This only served to embarrass Twilight, as she snorted and looked away. “Thanks.”
“Mm.”
Rarity was transfixed. Her own eyes seemed to glaze over, now, as she examined the way the gown rested on Twilight’s shoulders. It seemed to bring out every vibrant color of her mane, to accentuate every curve-- in a word, it seemed perfect.
After a moment of staring, Rarity slowly returned to reality. “Mm. I mean, yes!” She shook her head slightly. “Let’s take a look at that neckline, though, shall we?”
“Oh!” Twilight put a hoof to her chest. “I-it’s fine. You don’t have to--”
“Nonsense!” Rarity waved off the foolish comment and rushed in to give her work a closer look. “This is what I’m here for, after all.”
Twilight instinctively leaned away at an almost precarious angle. This did not deter Rarity in the least.
Rarity set to work, evidently doing everything in her power to move past the awkward scene she had been made a part of. To her credit, she didn’t have any more moments of lingering wonder and awe-- she also did not, however, attempt to initiate any other sort of conversation.
Aside from the occasional tuneless humming, Rarity could not bring herself to make a peep.
Twilight elected to do her best ponnequin impression by remaining completely silent and completely still throughout the fitting.
Rarity’s hooves worked over the gown, poking and prodding at various seams, tugging at lengths of fabric, untying and re-tying ribbons and sashes. She marked places to let the dress out with a piece of chalk that tickled through the fabric. She carefully pinned up little bunches of extra fabric with safety pins. Every few adjustments, she would step back and look at her work from afar.
Twilight did not move the entire time.
Once or twice, Rarity thought about saying something, but she always seemed to give up at the last moment.
Twilight tried very hard not to boil over with embarrassment at every touch, every poke, every prod, every tickle, every unspoken word, every head-tilt and sigh, every--
“What do you think?” Rarity asked at last.
Twilight twitched a little at the sound of her voice. “Hm?”
“What do you think?” Rarity repeated. “Does it fit? Take it for a walk around the room.”
Twilight blinked. “Take it… for a walk?”
“Goodness, you act as if this is the first time I’ve had you try on a dress,” Rarity commented through a light giggle. “Take a lap. Make sure it feels okay to move about in. Do whatever you’d do at the gala.”
Twilight nodded, perhaps a little too seriously, and trotted across the room to the door. The train dragged behind her, but not too far-- and it seemed rather like she was guiding dusk itself across the floor in her wake.
Satisfied with this, she stretched one foreleg out in front of her, then up over her head before placing it back on the floor. She repeated this with her other leg.
“What are you doing?” Rarity asked.
Twilight furrowed her brows. “You told me to do everything I do at a gala,” she explained. “I’m shaking hooves.”
“With whom, exactly? A giraffe?” Rarity asked.
Twilight stuck her tongue out at Rarity.
Rarity returned the gesture.
And, just like that, the tension was back.
Twilight’s eyes fell back to the floor. “Thank you, Rarity,” she said. “It’s-- it’s perfect.”
“Oh, posh,” Rarity said, waving the comment off with one hyperactive hoof. “Like I said, it’s nothing. Just a-- just a favor for a friend.”
Twilight sighed. “Right.”
Rarity swallowed hard.
She wanted to say something. Honestly and truly she did. Only she couldn’t think of a single helpful thing to say.
It’s alright, darling. Only a crush.
I’m flattered. Truly, I am. But…
We don’t have to talk about it. We can just move on.
All of it seemed so wrong. All of it felt so ingenuine, so false, so hopelessly pathetic and condescending.
None of it would have helped in the least.
And so Rarity simply said, “I’ll turn around again, and you can take it off.” She tried to force a smile, but it felt weak, and she quickly gave up. “Don’t worry about putting it back in the bag, of course. I can manage that.”
Twilight did not lift her eyes from the floor. “Okay.”
Rarity turned around.
After a moment’s pause, Twilight’s magic began to twinkle, and Rarity could hear the delicate sounds of fabric gliding against itself as Twilight took the dress off. She didn’t seem to struggle getting it off as much as she had getting it on, which Rarity was thankful for.
“It will be finished in plenty of time,” Rarity said. “I’ll drop it off for you the moment it’s done.”
Twilight did not reply.
“Have you seen Twilight?” Rarity asked.
“Huh?” Rainbow looked up from her drink, more than a little dazed. “Uh… I thought she was meet-n-greeting like usual.”
Rarity shook her head. “Only Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are up by the doors,” she said. “They told me they hadn’t seen Twilight in quite a while.”
Rainbow shrugged. “I dunno, then. Why?”
Why, indeed?
“It’s-- it’s nothing, Rainbow,” Rarity lied, giving her friend a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“If you do find her, can you ask about the music?” Rainbow asked. “I’m sick of this quartet. Hoping she booked some of the DJs I suggested.”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to ask.”
The gala was really quite something. Although Rarity wasn’t entirely sure what the point of it was, she found it to be an elegant affair. Much improved over her first Grand Galloping Gala, though that was a low bar.
Rather than enjoy the elegance, though, Rarity had spent the night trying to pin down Twilight.
Since the fitting incident, Twilight had been dodging Rarity at every turn. She had cancelled their weekly tea for the first time in years, had hardly stuck around for group activities, and had cried ‘paperwork’ a little more than average.
It had given Rarity some time to think. And think she had.
She still couldn’t exactly put it into words. Any time she got close, her heart started hammering right out of her chest, and her cheeks turned pink, and she found it hard to catch her breath or even see her hoof in front of her face.
She had considered going to the doctor once or twice, but ultimately decided against it.
Because, deep down, she knew what it was. She knew without words.
And she had to tell Twilight.
So here she was, at a fabulous party with a hundred possible clients-- yet, instead of hob-nobbing with the rich folk, she was bobbing and weaving through the crowd in search of the one pony who unequivocally did not want to speak with her. It was one of the more foolish things she’d ever found herself doing.
Rarity stretched up and surveyed the crowd from above. Twilight was shooting up like a weed, now, and often stood a good bit taller than most of the ponies around her at any given time. A great purple horn and a massive tiara shouldn’t have been too hard to spot.
But, sadly, there was no purple horn.
Rarity settled back on her hooves and sighed impatiently.
Well. If she wanted to catch a Twilight, she had to think like a Twilight.
Where would a stressed-out Princess of Friendship go in the middle of an extravagant party?
It’s funny how quickly the room transformed before her as Rarity considered it from her friend’s point of view. The crowd was less bustling and exciting, more suffocating. The smell of the food overwhelming. The atmosphere crushingly close.
Then, as if by magic, Rarity spotted it: a small door, through which only a few large, dark leaves could be seen before they faded off into the night.
The castle gardens! Of course!
Rarity wove her way through the crowd once more, eyes on the glass door tucked to the very edge of the ballroom. She popped out the opposite side of the crowd like an ant through a soap bubble and, after a moment to catch her breath, pushed through the door.
It was cool out here. Not to mention lush and green and rather dark-- only a few small lights by her hooves lit the pathway, and everything else was only lit by Luna’s full moon. In other words, it was exactly the place Twilight would seek out to be alone.
“Twilight?” Rarity called out into the artificial jungle. “Darling, are you out here?”
Rarity heard a clattering of hooves to her right, and spotted the very tip of Twilight’s horn as it passed between two palm trees.
“Twilight!” Rarity called again, breaking into a trot in Twilight’s direction.
“Uh… Occupied!” was the reply.
Rarity furrowed her brows. “Twilight? That is you, isn’t it?”
There was a deep and heavy sigh. A sound instantly recognizable as none other than Twilight Sparkle. “Yes…”
Rarity clucked her tongue. “Don’t tell me you’re avoiding me.”
Twilight’s slow hoofsteps rounded the corner ahead of Rarity, and she appeared at last. Though the strange light from below should have been unflattering, it shone through her gauzy train and lit her up in a halo of golden light.
“Was it that obvious?” Twilight asked.
Rarity chuckled. “Let’s be honest: you aren’t the most subtle of ponies.”
Twilight winced at that.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Rarity said. “I think I may have given you the wrong impression at the fitting. I was just--”
“Don’t,” Twilight said, raising a hoof in defense. “Look, I… I really embarrassed myself. You don’t have to--”
“No, Twilight, listen,” Rarity said firmly.
Twilight put her hoof to her forehead. “I really, really don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “It was stupid and-- and it didn’t mean anything, and--”
“Twilight, if you’d only listen--”
“I just really hope this doesn’t affect our friend--”
“I wanted to ask you to the gala!” Rarity blurted out.
Twilight paused, her eyes wide, though she still couldn’t bring herself to look Rarity in the eye.
Rarity sort of curled in on herself, biting down on her lip as she gave Twilight room to reply.
“You… huh?”
Rarity huffed. “I wanted to ask you to the gala,” she repeated. Then she giggled-- almost uncontrollably, as if the giggle had burbled up from the depths of her heart. “It’s so silly, I-- I hadn’t even really decided I was going to.”
Twilight scowled. “What?”
Rarity shook her head, laughing at her own ignorance. “I just… I hadn’t really admitted to myself that I wanted to take you,” she explained, still fighting through a bad case of the giggles. “It sounds so silly when I say it out loud. How could I not know?”
Twilight cocked her head, listening intently through her confusion.
“But then you-- you kissed me and--” Rarity had to stop herself mid sentence to laugh deliriously. “And I was angry because you had taken all the fun out of it!”
“You… what?!” Twilight, as frustrated as she seemed to be, was having trouble fighting off the giggles herself.
“Well, darling,” Rarity said, flipping her mane over one shoulder. “You know I have a flair for the dramatic. How could I possibly ask you to the gala after you pulled a stunt like that?”
She managed to keep her composure a moment longer, only to dissolve into useless giggles once again. Twilight wasn’t far behind her.
Their laughter rang out through the otherwise empty castle gardens, filling the place with a sort of boundless joy that can only be had between two ponies with schoolfilly crushes. Rarity supposed it wasn’t often that the schoolfillies were gossiping about the crushes they had on one another, but she was proud to carry on the tradition nonetheless.
“If it helps,” Twilight said, stifling her own laughter. “I can let you have the next kiss.”
Rarity beamed. “It does, in fact.”
Twilight snorted. “I could also let you escort me back inside,” she said. “You know. If it would help.”
Rarity looked up at Twilight.
She saw the most beautiful, perfect, ethereal Princess in all of Equestria. But she also saw an imperfect pony-- the sort of pony who splatters ink everywhere, who snorts when she laughs, who can’t climb into a dress to save her life. The sort who stumbles over every romantic gesture with flushed cheeks and a hidden smile.
She wondered what it was she had been so afraid of.
“Yes,” Rarity said, holding out her hoof. “It would.”