Now, that wasn’t a completely unusual states of affairs for Rarity’s workspace, but whenever she left swatches and scissors and scraps of fabric all over the place in a whirlwind of inspiration, she had some idea of where everything was. That was organized chaos. This was just… regular chaos.
Rarity sighed and narrowed her eyes. This would mean complete reorganization. She wrinkled her nose. Ugh.
How best to sort things? The last time had been by size, the rolls of fabric and bare ponyquinns to one end and a table with trays of buttons and spools of thread to the other. That was a mess. Before that she’d tried to group everything by function in a short-lived resolution of keeping her creative space orderly; that had broken down when it turned out too many things were ending up in the pile of Things That Get Used All The Time And So Don’t Have A Permanent Home. Before that… she couldn’t remember. What about when Sweetie Belle had sorted her materials by color of all things? Glancing around the room, she saw that wouldn’t do, either; somehow everything was some variation of tan or flannel.
She could just tidy up. Pretend she was starting a fresh project. First, she would need to have a blank sheet on her drawing board. A magical glow surrounded the sketch on the stand and tore the page away. She dropped the page somewhere near the doorway to deal with later. Then she would need some charcoal… where was that? After a moment of looking around, she found a stick by her sewing machine where it didn’t belong at all. Charcoal back in place, she took the garment out of the mouth of the sewing machine, ready to dump it by the doorway also, when something stopped her. Rarity held it out in front of her with her magic, straightening it out, turning it this way and that. After a moment of consideration, she slipped it over the head of the unused ponyquinn.
Had Applejack made this? The color choice didn’t exactly thrill her, and some of the stitching was a little rough, but… overall, not bad. Not a complete disaster, certainly nothing like Pinkie had made of Sweet Apple Acres or she of the weather. Rarity cast her eye around for some pins in the mess, sticking up an area on the left side that was a little uneven. She circled around the ponyquinn, evaluating. The shape was good. Simple, practical, direct – like Applejack herself. There were two big sections on the side that Rarity had taken for decorative patches at first, but on closer inspection turned out to be pockets, deep roomy ones that looked big enough to serve in place of small saddlebags. That wasn’t a bad idea… and were those stitched together by hoof? Where did Applejack learn to do that? She pulled and tugged on one of the pockets, testing it. Sturdy. The stitching was nothing fancy, but it would hold the whole thing together quite well.
Rarity turned back to the doorway and picked up the discarded sketch, putting it back on the drawing board. Her own sketching style was messy and frenetic, an overall impression that emerged out of layers of overlapping lines. Applejack’s was the complete opposite, strong decisive lines that cut across the page. It looked a lot closer to the half-finished product than many of Rarity’s own sketches did, too. She still wasn’t in love with the color choice, but for a first effort…
Assuming this was a first effort, and that Applejack didn’t have some secret double life as a designer of day-to-day farmwear or anything.
According to the sketch, there was a hat that went with it. Rarity took a look around the workspace, trying to see if it was sitting around somewhere… aha, there, on the table. She set it on the head of the ponyquinn and took a step back. The hat sort of balanced everything out, drawing the focus off the body and more to the accents on the legs. It was a subtle effect, but it turned what she was looking at from a garment to an outfit. This was no longer in the vicinity of “not bad” or “good first try”.
Rarity had to talk to Applejack. Right now.
“I dunno, Rarity,” Applejack said, “we’ve still got a whole field to re-sow…”
“Whenever is most convenient for you!” Rarity said, stepping back out of range of the plow and the spray of dirt it was creating. “When you find a spare moment.”
“That ain’t gonna be for a while, by the looks of things.”
“I’ll wait. I can wait.”
Applejack paused in hauling the plow and looked at her. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t’cha?”
Rarity nodded.
“Well… well, guess I’ll pay y’ a visit later tonight, then.”
“Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” Rarity hopped on the spot. “I’d, uh, give you hug, but…”
Applejack looked down at her muddied legs. “Yeah, I get it. Get back to me on it?”
“Deal.”
Applejack titled her hat back on her head to wipe off her brow. “Listen, Rarity… I can’t promise I’ll be any great help to you or anything.”
“Nonsense, dear,” Rarity said, “you’ll do fine.”
The first thing Applejack said that night was, “I’m real sorry ‘bout the mess I left up there.”
“No, it’s quite all right. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just, we left here in such a hurry, with all that was happenin’ with Twilight and all…”
“Really, not a problem.”
“…And on the farm you can’t just go leavin’ your tools out overnight, so I just thought that you’d–”
Rarity rested a hoof on Applejack’s shoulder. “Would you just listen when I’m trying to say you don’t need to apologize?” she said with a smile.
“Only if you’ll listen to me tryin’ to say I’m sorry,” Applejack said with a grin of her own.
The whistle of a teakettle broke the moment between them. “Tea?” Rarity asked.
“Uh, sure. Tea’d be swell.”
“I’ll bring it up, won’t be a second. Go up, go up.” Rarity floated two teacups in front of her up the stairs, just behind Applejack. “Now,” she said, arriving at the top of the stairs, “where should we start?”
Applejack had taken her hat off and placed it on an already-full hat-rack in the corner. It looked out of place among Rarity’s showy accessories. “Did I make that?” she asked, scratching her head.
Rarity set the tea down, brushing aside some spindles of ribbon to make room. “Of course you did.”
“It don’t look all that good…”
“Well, that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.”
“I…” Applejack turned to Rarity. “Shouldn’t you be finishin’ it? Y’ know, since this is your thing and all.”
“But this is your outfit,” Rarity said, turning Applejack’s head back towards the ponyquinn with a firm hoof. “I can’t see the vision you were inspired by. My muse is not your muse.”
“Well, I don’t know how much muse was involved,” Applejack said, stepping slowly towards the outfit. “It just looks like I was tryin’ to make something that’d keep the rain off.”
“Good! Good, go with that.”
“Well, ‘cause, see here?” Applejack pointed to the hat. “I always need to dry my hat out by the fire if it gets too wet, but water’d just roll off this. Pockets’re made of the same stuff, ‘cause for some reason nopony’s ever thought of makin’ a weatherproof saddlebag. But the whole thing’s not made of leather, ‘cause–”
“It would be too heavy,” Rarity finished. “Too stiff.” She mimed inflexibility with her hooves.
“That’n I don’t think I’m tough enough to stitch through leather, least not with all the tiny needles y’ got.”
“And the patches around the legs, they’re for–”
“Splashes, yeah. Y’ saw that on the farm today. There was supposed to be a set of boots, too, real heavy-duty ones…”
“Oh!” Rarity exclaimed, rushing to where the sketch was pinned up. “Boots! Yes, I see it now.”
“…But I don’t know the first thing about makin’ boots,” Applejack said.
“But sewing?” Rarity asked with a raised eyebrow. “That you know how to do.”
“Yeah, a little. Just patchin’ clothes, makin’ quilts, things like that.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“I’m not really sure. Ma and Granny Smith, I ‘spose.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things you pick up.”
“Well, I must say that, for a pony with no formal training, you have excellent technique.”
Applejack glanced around the room, as if she could find the right way to respond sitting among the buttonhooks and pincushions. “Shoot,” she said at last, “thank you, Rarity.”
“I mean it! You are a natural talent.”
“That’s all well and good,” Applejack said, tilting her head at the outfit, “but I still don’t really know where I should start.”
“Hm. Close your eyes.”
“‘Scuse me?”
Rarity waved Applejack’s objections off with a hoof. “Close your eyes. It’s what I do when I need to center myself.”
Applejack’s brows knitted together for a second, then she closed her eyes. “Alright. Now what?”
“Take a deep breath. Exhale.” Applejack did so. “Now, imagine the piece in front of you. Don’t see it like it is now, but how you want it to be. Every little detail, all laid out.” Rarity stood beside Applejack in silence for a moment, then asked, “Are you imagining?”
“I would be,” said Applejack, perturbed, “if some busy little bee wasn’t a-buzzin’ in my ear the whole time.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Rarity backed away and floated one of the teacups towards her. “I’ll be quiet,” she said, and took a sip of her tea.
After a long period of silence, Applejack let out a huff and turned to face Rarity. “I’m just not seein’ it,” she said, a pained expression on her face.
“It sometimes takes me a while,” Rarity said, hastily finding a spot to put her teacup down, “sometimes I can’t get a clear picture in my head for days, but when I do it’s–”
“No, that ain’t it.” Applejack rubbed the back of her neck. “This is your method, not mine. Don’t suppose you’ve ever been around when we’ve been buildin’ a barn, have you?”
“Only after it was finished. Does that count?” Rarity pursed her lips, and Applejack laughed. “No, I’ve never been present for any barn-raising.”
“Well, y’ don’t ever really think about what it’s gonna look like at the end – not beyond what color y’ paint it, anyways. It’s all a process, like if you were to bake a cake or somethin’. If you know you want a barn that’s so wide and so deep–” She measured a miniature barn in midair with her hooves. “–Then you know the roof’s gonna need to be so wide and so high. Y’ follow?”
“I think I do.” Rarity paused, considering. “So, if you were to mismeasure one of the walls… what would you have to do, to get the barn finished?”
“Well, you kinda fiddle with it, shave off a piece here ‘n a piece there ‘til it’s squared off.”
“Which is just what we’re doing right now.”
Applejack turned back to the outfit. “This,” she said after studying it for a moment, “might take an awful lot of fiddlin’.”
“I’m up to it if you are.”
“And the boots haven’t even been started on.”
“I’ll take care of the boots. You just tell me how they need to be.”
“Well…” Applejack looked introspective for a moment, then her eyes brightened. “Alright, let’s get to it!”
“Alright!”
“Oh! Uh, can I ask y’ one more thing?”
“Most certainly.”
Applejack eyed the other teacup. “Tea ain’t really my thing. Don’t suppose y’ have any salt, do ya?”
“Well, I mean, maybe a little. For cooking.”
“That’ll do. We’ll need two licks o’ salt.”
“Two…?”
“Yep. One for me ‘n one for you. ‘S the first thing I’d do if I was fixin’ a barn that didn’t want t’ be fixed.”
“Oh, no, I mean, I couldn’t–”
“If we’re doin’ this my way,” Applejack said, looking Rarity squarely in the eye, “then we’re doin’ it my way all the way.”
“Well,” Rarity said, feeling heat in her cheeks, “I can’t argue with that, can I?”
As she descended the stairs, she heard Applejack mutter to herself, “Now, where were those darn pins?”
“So,” Rarity asked, “why rain?”
“What d’ y’ mean?” Applejack asked around a mouthful of pins.
“Well, you must have been thinking about the rain while you were planning this outfit, and it hasn’t rained for weeks in Ponyville.” She paused, then added: “Excluding some abnormal weather activity yesterday, that is.”
“That might’ve had somethin’ to do with it.” Applejack dropped the pins in the little tray. “There’s always a day right at the beginnin’ of apple season when it rains enough to get me soakin’ wet while I’m at the apple stand but not enough that everypony stays inside and doesn’t buy nothin’, and every time that day comes I get sour like a bear with a sore head, and I guess I was in a mighty sour mood most of yesterday.” She smoothed out one of the legs and moved around to the other side of the ponyquinn to inspect there. “And I guess I was thinking if I had somethin’ to wear while I was standin’ out in the rain, I wouldn’t have to feel so sour.”
“Even though you wouldn’t have any reason to go standing in the rain in the first place,” Rarity pointed out.
“Funny how that works, ain’t it?” Applejack stepped back from the ponyquinn, observing. “How’re them boots comin’ along?”
“Two finished,” Rarity said, “the other pair just need the buckles.”
The boots were heavy and no-nonsense, fastening with two straps that the wearer needed to, according to Applejack, “be able to pull ‘em tight with her teeth, like puttin’ on a belt”. Shoes in Rarity’s ensembles were strictly decorative; the workboots had been a tough challenge, but in her humble opinion she had risen to it admirably.
Applejack stood beside where Rarity had been working. “Wanna put it all together?”
“I think we’re ready to.”
“Lemme just try on these boots…”
“Oh no no,” Rarity said, lifting the complete outfit off the ponyquinn with her magic, “not just yet.”
Applejack screwed up her face in puzzlement. “But they’re my clothes.”
“Which is why I must be your model. Clothes need to be on another pony for you to inspect them properly.” And before Applejack could raise any objections, she started pulling her legs into the outfit.
“I thought that’s what the, whatchamacallit, ponyquinn was for.”
“That’s fine for getting an impression of shape,” Rarity said, “but you’re unable to see how a garment moves without a live model.” She put a hoof into the first boot and was about to buckle it with her magic, then after a second to consider, pulled the strap tight with her teeth instead.
“Makes sense. Here,” Applejack said, passing her the hat. When Rarity tried it on, Applejack wrinkled her nose. “Nah, somethin’ ain’t right about that.” Putting the hat back on the ponyquinn, she asked, “Mind if I just try somethin’?”
“Be my guest.”
Applejack reached into her mane, pulling out the band that tied it together, then started brushing Rarity’s own mane back without a moment’s hesitation. Rarity suddenly found herself face-to-face with Applejack as she gathered up her mane and bound it. Applejack was concentrating intently, not looking at her, but it would have been difficult to ignore just how close they were.
“There,” she said, and for a moment Rarity was unsure what she was talking about until Applejack put the hat back on her head.
“How does it look?” Rarity asked, turning herself around.
“Not too bad,” Applejack said, her tone filled with approval, “not too bad at all.”
Rarity stood in front of her mirror array, scrutinizing the final product. She looked completely unlike herself. The outfit alone she may have been able to pull off, with a little time and alteration, but with her mane flattened under the heavy hat she looked like she was about to head to Sweet Apple Acres to bust some sod. “Reckon I look like a real cowpoke, partner,” she said, aiming for an imitation of Applejack’s accent and falling far short.
Applejack exploded in laughter, doubling over and snorting.
“What?” Rarity pouted. “Isn’t that what I should say?”
Still laughing, Applejack said, “No my dear, of course you are absolutely correct.” Her accent wouldn’t have been out of place at a well-to-do function in Canterlot.
“That’s not fair! How are you able to do that so well?”
“Three months in Manehatten as a filly, dear,” Applejack said, not letting her accent lapse. “One simply doesn’t forget such things.”
“You mean to tell me you could have done that the entire time we’ve known each other?”
“Eeyup. Could’ve,” Applejack said, purposely adding extra twang to her voice, “but didn’t.” She glanced over at the clock. “Whew-ee, how did it get that late?”
“Time flies when one is in a creative mood.” Rarity started unbuckling the boots.
“Seems it does. Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”
“Not at all. You take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out, or anything.”
“You won’t be putting me out at all. It’s a most comfortable couch.” She re-dressed the ponyquinn and sat the boots in a neat cluster beside it.
“Well,” Applejack said, pausing to let out a loud yawn, “if you’re sure it’s no bother…”
Rarity touched a hoof to Applejack’s shoulder. “Pleasant dreams, Applejack.”
“You too, Rarity.”
Rarity was awoken by the sound of Applejack’s hooves on the stairs. The morning sun drew bright squares on the floor of Carousel Boutique. “Sleep well?” Rarity asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Thought I could sneak down without wakin’ you,” Applejack said. “Yeah, I slept pretty well. But I gotta get back to Sweet Apple Acres, so…”
“Of course.”
“This, ah, this was fun, though.” She looked reluctant to admit that making clothing, even an outfit as utilitarian as what she had designed, could be fun.
“Good. I’m glad you had fun.” After a moment’s quiet, Rarity said, “You have a good day.”
“You too.” Applejack looked about to turn to leave, but she stopped, having suddenly remembered something. “Hey,” she said, “I never did get my hug.”
“You know, you’re quite right,” Rarity said, raising from the couch and crossing the floor, “and I will need to remedy that immediately.” She embraced Applejack, able to smell the deep earthy scent that came with years of fieldwork mixing with the lighter fragrance of her shampoo.
“I’ll come back later today to grab m’ stuff, if all that needs doin’ is them boots.” Applejack glanced out one of the windows as they separated. “Don’t think I’ll get much of a chance to use it for a while, but you never know when it’s gonna rain next.”
“You never do know, do you? Take care, Applejack.”
“Bye, Rarity.”
It was only long after Applejack had left, shutting the door behind her, that Rarity realized her mane had still been down, and that her own mane was still tied back with Applejack’s band.
Rarity watched Rainbow lower herself carefully onto the massage table. She hadn’t been completely certain Rainbow would show up to the spa until she blew in through the door like she was the protagonist of a cheap mystery novel being tailed by hoodlums.
“No hooficure, not hoofrubs. Just leave the whole hoof area alone, okay?”
“Yes, miss Dash.”
She had approached all her friends with the offer of taking them to the spa on her bit, as a way of making up for a fraction of the chaos two days ago. Twilight was missing for obvious reasons, staying behind in Canterlot, and Applejack had begged the offer off, saying there was work to be done on the farm. There was always work to be done on that farm! That pony needed to learn to be less talented at finding work that needed doing.
“And I don’t want to do anything with mud. I know it’s like, clean mud, but still. No mud.”
“Yes, miss Dash.”
Fluttershy and Pinkie had made it, though. They were in the spa with her, a great mass of foamy bubbles in Pinkie’s mane, and they both seemed to be in on some private joke that Rarity wasn’t privy to. It wasn’t completely unusual for Pinkie to burst into laughter at the slightest provocation, but Fluttershy was especially giggly today. Rarity was starting to wonder if her nerves hadn’t quite settled yet.
“…Maybe you could work on my shoulders a little? And there’s this spot that’s like in the middle of my back…”
“Yes, miss Dash.”
“But that’s all. And you don’t have to get any of those weird oils or anything, just… yeah.”
“Yes, miss Dash.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Rainbow,” Rarity said, “leave poor Aloe alone. Just let her do her job, she knows what to do. Don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, miss Rarity.”
Rainbow huffed and finally stuck her head through the hole in the massage table.
“Sooo, Rarity,” asked Pinkie, “anything new with you?” She had a look like she wasn’t asking a question but rather setting up the punchline of a joke.
“Since the other day?” Rarity sunk back into the spa, resting her head on the padded section behind her and closing her eyes. “No, I can’t say anything especially noteworthy has occurred, although I admit the bar has been set rather high as of late.”
“Aaare you sure?”
More giggles from Fluttershy, which in turn meant another sound of barely-suppressed laughter from Pinkie. Maybe the joke was about Applejack’s outfit, somehow. Rarity knew Pinkie had a streak for practical jokes, but she would have expected different from Fluttershy. They should know better than to tease Applejack about her design sense, especially if she wasn’t around to hear it! Her outfit had a certain rugged charm to it, Rarity had come to realize.
“Quiiite sure?” Pinkie asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, sitting back up and looking at them both in turn. “Really, what’s gotten into you two?”
“Nothing,” Pinkie said, completely guileless, which caused Fluttershy to break into a tittering fit.
“They want to know what the deal is with you and Applejack,” came Rainbow’s voice, muffled from the massage table.
So they did know. It was amazing how quickly such little news could travel. Would Applejack mind, if Rarity confirmed what they had been doing? Rarity thought not, not if was just to her friends.
“If you must know,” Rarity said, “and this doesn’t need to leave the spa, as I’m not sure it’s something Applejack wants everyponyto know about…” She took a breath, and Pinkie and Fluttershy leaned in closer, expectation written all over their faces. “…Last night, Applejack and I were collaborating on an outfit.”
The pair in front of her seemed to deflate, sinking down like somepony had just pulled the plug out at the bottom of the spa and they were bubbles floating on the surface of the water.
“Of her own design! I only provided some assistance with the construction. And it turned out very well! …What?” she asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Collaborating,” Rainbow snorted. “So that’s what you call it these days.”
Rarity suddenly became aware of a heat in her face that had nothing to do with the warm water. “I… I…” she spluttered over the giggles of Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie. “Just what are you implying?”
“You know exactly what I’m implying.”
“…Nothing of the sort happened!”
“Uh-huh.”
“It did not!”
“Applejack spends the whole night at your house and Pinkie sees her leaving in the morning with a great big smile on her face and her mane out and you really expect us to believe that nothing happened?”
“But nothing did happen,” Rarity said, pleading. “I slept on the couch the whole night.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy said, her voice full of concern. “That’s too bad…”
“Why,” Rarity asked with one raised eyebrow, “would that be too bad?” She was beginning to suspect something larger at work.
“Because… because…” Fluttershy stammered, going quite red in the face herself.
“Because you like Applejack and you want her to be your special somepony so you can spend more nights together making outfits.” Pinkie’s eyebrows wiggled lasciviously.
It was very rare for Rarity to be stunned into complete silence, but this was one of those few moments. Her mouth worked, opening and closing, yet no sound came out of it. “You…” she managed, “…surely you can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious,” Pinkie said.
“I thought you were already together,” Rainbow said, looking up while Aloe massaged one outstretched wing. Pinkie shot her a look, as if she had been planning on saying something more. “Everypony knows there’s something going on, anyway.”
“Everypony does not know,” Rarity insisted. “This pony certainly didn’t. Where in the wide wide world of Equestria did this idea come from?”
And as her friends recalled a lengthy list of shared glances, touches, and moments chronicling her completely fabricated attraction to Applejack, Rarity could only listen and sink deeper and deeper into the water of the spa.
Never before had Rarity left the spa feeling more frazzled than when she went in. She wasn’t in love with Applejack! Applejack was a friend. A dear, sweet friend whose honesty and work ethic made her admirable, but no more so than any of her other friends and most certainly not as a potential suitor. For one, she was hardly Rarity’s type. While it might be fun to pretty Applejack up again like she had for the Gala, the fact was her lack of polish wouldn’t mesh with Rarity’s sophistication, even if that unpolishedness came with a refreshing genuineness that seemed missing among the pretentions of the ponies of high society. Not to mention how little Rarity wanted to be doing manual labor on the farm. She could just imagine standing off to the side the whole time, watching Applejack work bucking apple trees, watching the sun shine off her coat slightly covered in perspiration as those strong powerful muscles flexed to kick free the apples…
The knock at the door caused Rarity to jump and let out an unladylike squeak of surprise. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. All she needed to do was get through this one simple encounter, then she could get a good night’s sleep and properly assess The Applejack Situation. There was no reason this needed to be difficult. Open door. Hand off outfit. Act like nothing was different. Simple.
The knock came again. First step, open door.
Applejack stood at the doorstep. She tilted her head when she saw Rarity. “You alright, sugarcube?”
“Yes. Yes. Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“Y’ look jumpier ‘n a long-tail cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs.”
“Do I?” Rarity tried to laugh it off as Applejack stepped inside, but her laughter came out sounding shaky and forced. “The knock at the door gave me quite a start. That’s a firm hoof you have there, Applejack.”
Although she looked at Rarity like she wasn’t exactly sold on that explanation, Applejack gave no further comment. “So,” she said instead, “everything turn out okay?”
“Oh, yes. Should we go up and see?”
The pair ascended the stairs. Applejack’s finished outfit, complete with boots, was displayed proudly in the center of Rarity’s workspace. “Looks real good there,” Applejack said. She turned to Rarity. “Now can I try the whole thing out?”
“Of course,” Rarity said. “I could do the adjusting. If you find out it needs adjusting.”
Applejack gave Rarity a slightly puzzled look. “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s in great shape.” She took a step towards the ponyquinn, then stopped and tapped herself on the forehead. “What ‘m I doin’? I’ve been workin’ the north field all day.” She turned back to Rarity, and asked, “Mind if I use your shower real quick?”
“Not at all,” Rarity said, her voice perfectly even. “Be my guest.” Her head felt like it was filled with smoke. Or maybe it was steam, the kind that came from running hot water in a small room.
“‘Preciate it. I won’t be a minute.”
After Applejack disappeared into the ajoining shower, Rarity stood immobilized for a moment trying to gather her thoughts. Could there be a set-up more directly lifted from a lurid romance novel? Were she the protagonist in such a tawdry paperback she would no doubt find some excuse into the shower, at which point Applejack would suggest Rarity help her with the hard-to-reach places on her back, and Rarity would step in to the spray of warm water and begin to lather up her hooves, and–
The sound of the showerhead spitting out the first burst of water brought Rarity back to reality. She swallowed. She was just going to stand right here and not imagine that scenario going any further. She was going to think about how to reorganize her studio. And nothing else.
After a few minutes of fruitless attempts at self-distraction, Applejack emerged from the shower. Her mane was damp and messy, obviously hastily toweled dry. “Much better,” she announced, and pulled her mane back, banding it up once more.
“And now, the final test,” Rarity said as Applejack lifted up her outfit. “Excited?”
“Y’know, I kinda am.” Applejack shook her head. “Never thought I’d hear m’self say that about clothes.”
“Well, they’re more than just clothes, they’re your clothes. Not just something you picked off the rack or even something you requested but something you designed. They’re an extension of you. You should feel excited.”
Applejack put her hoof into the first boot. “Since you put it that way, I ‘spose you’re right.” She bent down to fasten the strap. “Is ‘s how it is,” she asked around a mouthful of leather, “when you make something?”
“I suppose it is. Creativity is always very personal, whether it’s art, or music, or fashion.”
“I guess that makes this somethin’ pretty special, then,” Applejack said, pausing to take the time to look right at Rarity.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, if creatin’ something is so personal, then workin’ together on something must be real… uh…” She tapped a booted hoof against the floor. “What’s the word I’m thinkin’ of here?”
“Intimate?” Rarity suggested.
“Yeah,” Applejack said. “Intimate.”
A long moment passed between them. Rarity thought she had seen a fleeting look in Applejack’s eyes; she wanted to watch her to see if it appeared again, but at the same time she didn’t want to be caught intently scrutinizing Applejack’s expression.
Finally, Applejack placed the hat on her head and asked, “So, how do I look?”
“Perfect,” was Rarity’s automatic response. She took a step towards Applejack and touched the fabric covering her leg. “Everything fitting here?”
“Fits just fine,” Applejack said, and stretched a hind leg.
“And how about,” Rarity asked, moving to the other side, “here?” She ran a hoof down Applejack’s side.
“That’s… good.”
Rarity could hear the shakiness in Applejack’s voice. A fluttering flicker was growing in her own chest, but it was too late to back out now. “What about…” She slid her hoof along Applejack’s flank, feeling the fabric, feeling the toned muscle beneath. “…Here?”
Applejack turned her head to face Rarity. Rarity looked into her eyes, and yes, that expression she had suspected had returned. Intimate was indeed the right word. “That’s good, too,” Applejack breathed, but it felt like the words were coming from somewhere far away.
Rarity leaned in. She could smell her soap mixed in with the smell of the rough fabric, the two scents combining despite their contrast, light and heavy, soft and hard. She closed her eyes. Intimate, she thought, hearing Applejack say the word in her mind.
Just like a romance novel, what followed was a sweet hazy blur.
Applejack took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I am mighty hungry,” she announced to the now-quiet room.
“I can’t say that’s quite the effect I had in mind,” Rarity said, smiling, “but I shall take it as a compliment nonetheless.”
Applejack chuckled. “I skipped out on supper, so I could be here earlier.”
Rarity shifted so she could better face Applejack. “We could get something to eat…” she said, trailing off to turn the statement into a suggestion.
“Ain’t that the wrong way around?” Applejack asked with a grin. “Shouldn’t it be dinner first, then…?”
Rarity laughed, burying her face against Applejack’s shoulder. She felt warm and comfortable. Relaxed. How was it possible that this had all been so easy? “Sometimes it’s good to break with convention, every once in a while.”
“One must take the occasion,” Applejack agreed in her Manehatten accent, “to ‘mix it up’ now and then.”
“But if we are going out,” Rarity said, rolling out of bed, “then first I need to do something about my mane.”
“I kinda like it the way it is,” Applejack said, smirking. “Casual-like.”
Rarity ran a hoof through her mane, trying to straighten it as best she could. “I am going to take a shower.” She stepped toward the door, then turned back to Applejack, who had propped herself up with a pillow, watching her. “Care to join me?”
3b.
Rarity glanced up at the clock. When was it that Applejack said she was coming? Had she said when she was coming? She had been trying to remember all afternoon. Was that somepony by the window? She put down the book of matches and stepped into the foyer, opening the door and pre-empting the knock.
“Good evening, Applejack!”
“Hey, Rarity.” Applejack stepped inside, then peered into Rarity’s living room. “You lose power or somethin’?”
“No, why?”
“What’s with all them candles?”
The room was lit by the glow of dozens of candles, sitting on shelves and tables and anywhere there was a free space. “…Sometimes it’s nice to have candles,” Rarity said.
“I guess so.” Applejack turned around in the center of the room, taking in all the little waving points of light.
“I find candlelight quite romantic,” Rarity said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Actually, it kinda makes make me think o’ the blackouts we get at the farm sometimes durin’ a real heavy storm.”
“That could be romantic too. Being trapped in a little farmouse, nothing else to do…”
Applejack’s brow furrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”
Rarity stepped in close and gazed into Applejack’s deep green eyes. “I could show you what I’m talking about,” she whispered, and leaned in and brushed her lips against Applejack’s own. She heard Applejack’s sharp intake of breath and her heart began to beat a little faster, but when Rarity opened her eyes she found herself staring into Applejack’s expression of shock. “…What’s wrong?” she asked, although a nagging feeling in the back of her mind was suggesting she already knew the answer.
“I don’t quite know what that just was,” Applejack said slowly, “but, uh… I’m awful sorry, Rarity, but m’ barn door don’t swing that way, ‘f y’ know what I mean.”
It was like her heart had just dropped into the pit of her stomach. The prickling feeling of complete embarrassment crawled all over her skin. She tried to speak, but no sound came out; it was like the room was suddenly too full of heat, too empty of air. Rarity pushed past Applejack and rushed up the stairs, fleeing into her bedroom and locking the door behind her.
Rarity sunk to the floor and took a deep breath. Opalescence gave her a look from her spot at the foot of Rarity’s bed, roused awake by the commotion. That look seemed to be both a sarcastic congratulation of being unable to have handled things any worse and a pointed question of whether all this activity was worth being woken for.
A knock came at the door. “Rarity, open up in there.”
“No,” she said, perfectly aware of how much she sounded like a filly. “Go away.”
“Okay, y’ don’t have t’ open the door, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’ve talked this out.”
“What’s to discuss? I just made a terrible fool of myself and I plan on staying here until I die of embarrassment.”
“Who else would you want to make boneheaded mistakes in front of,” Applejack asked, “if it ain’t your friends? We’re still friends, Rarity. Nothin’s gonna change that.”
“I know,” Rarity said softly to herself.
“A friend is always gonna be the first pony to forget whatever you’ve gone and embarrassed yourself about.” A pause, then Applejack added: “An’ friends always open the door to let their friends come in and hug ‘em when they feel they’ve done somethin’ mighty dumb.”
Rarity stood up and pushed the door open with her magic. “Friends do that, do they?” she asked, a faint smile beginning to form on her face.
Applejack seized her in a fierce embrace. “You bet, sugarcube.”
“What’s say we see how that outfit looks?” Rarity suggested, cautiously treading back into familiar territory.
“Yeah,” Applejack said, “let’s go do that.”
As the two ponies left for Rarity’s studio, Opalescence curled up and closed her eyes once more.
Rarity ducked beneath the awning of the sofa and quill store. She shook her umbrella a little more vigorously than was needed, the magical glow floating it through the air turning a darker shade of purple. Why did the things that looked the nicest always turn out to be the most impractical? The weather ponies had scheduled sunshowers for this afternoon, but as far as she was concerned once the ground became muddy it was no longer a sunshower: it was rain, and it crossed over from being fun and whimsical into being unpleasant.
She realized she could smell something over the rain, something warm and appealing. Applejack stood with her applecart loaded with fresh baked goods in the town square, their aroma escaping from underneath the heavy tarp over the cart. Applejack noticed Rarity and waved her over, seeming oblivious to the rain.
Rarity put her umbrella up again and walked over. Applejack was wearing the slicker she had designed for herself all those months back, the rain falling from the broad brim of her hat and drumming against the tarp. “That’s a pretty fine outfit you’ve got there,” Rarity said with a smile. “I almost wish I had one of my own.”
“Well, it’s a one-of-a-kind design from a pretty exclusive designer,” Applejack said with an exaggerated casual glance over her shoulder. “Kinda hard to come by, need the right connections to the right ponies.”
Rarity laughed. “Perhaps I’ll just settle for something from the applecart, then.”
“Sure thing. What’ll it be?”
“Apple dumpling, please.”
Applejack reached underneath the tarp. “Here y’ go. Two bits.”
Rarity floated two coins to Applejack. “Good luck in this dreadful weather.”
Shrugging, Applejack said, “‘S only a bit of rain. An’ I’m dry as a done in this getup. I should be sayin’ good luck to you, so y’ don’t get your hooves all muddied up.”
“Rest assured that I’m doing all I possibly can to keep my hooves far from any mud. Goodbye, Applejack.”
“See ya,” she said, and waved.
Rarity waved back and turned away. As she walked in the rain, her thoughts turned back to that night as they often did during the quiet moments between events. There was nothing she could have done to change the outcome, but a tiny part of her insisted something could have made it different.
She bit in to the apple dumpling, warm and smelling of baked apples, wondering how long it would take for that tiny part of her to fade away.
3c.
Rarity completed the short trip from the kitchen to the foyer for what could have been the hundredth time that afternoon. The clock kept advancing, pressing forward to the time when Applejack said she’d drop by, and with each revolution of the hands she felt no more prepared. What would she say? What could she say? Why hello Applejack, do come in, take off your hat, such a funny thing happened to me today, my friends alerted me to the fact that I was completely oblivious about fancying you, shall we sit down and discuss that over some tea perhaps? Applejack, what do you say about dinner and a show some time later this week, the intention of which would completely pass you by because the standard avenues for making one’s intentions clear are so woefully inadequate when one suddenly finds oneself in love with one’s friend? I know you appreciate honesty, Applejack, so let me be absolutely frank with you: I have developed a romantic interest in you and wish to know if my feeling are reciprocated. Rarity hung her head. Oh, goodness, no.
Even if the hurdle of broaching the subject was successfully cleared, Rarity hadn’t had any time to really examine just how it was she felt. Was this just a flash-in-the-pan whirlwind romance, a brief interlude, a midsummer night’s fling? Would the flame of passion burn bright and then gutter out, leaving their friendship like a burnt match, frail ashes? What if how she felt was all physical? But then, what if it weren’t? What if her friendship with Applejack formed the basis of an even greater, even stronger relationship? Rarity could imagine living a lifetime with Applejack, passing on content. She could imagine a tempestuous separation and a heart that could never be truly mended. She could imagine epic arguments and calm moments of kindness, good times, bad times, the entire gamut of experiences two ponies could have together. She could have all of that. On the other hoof, she could have all of that. Anything she imagined was possible. Anything at all.
Like any creative pony, Rarity knew the danger the real world posed to imagination. One might have visions of a fabulous creation that, once let loose of the mind, would simply refuse to cooperate and do everything it could to make itself seem drab and uninteresting. All that potential it was once filled with was lost, melted away into the ether – except it was never really lost, because while this fabulous thing was just an idea it never really was in the first place. It was the proverbial bird that one must set free, the bird that would return if it was loved; and the truth was, as Rarity and every creative pony knew, was that not all of those birds returned. It was always such a wrench to begin a new project, letting reality work its entropy on one’s perfect vision. It was always difficult to open that cage and trust love would bring the little bird inside back. It was always so hard to let all that potential escape, although a pony knew it would never do her any good just keeping it trapped.
The knock at the door came in perfect synchronicity with the ticking of the clock. Rarity never broke stride; she stepped right into the foyer and opened up the door. There Applejack stood, her hat tilted away from her face. The knot that had seized Rarity’s stomach seemed to smooth itself, a wave of calm spreading over her. It was like the moment in a dream when one realized one was dreaming.
“Hiya, Rarity.” Applejack stepped into the foyer. “Not interruptin’ anything, am I?”
“Nothing important,” Rarity said. As she followed Applejack to the foot of the stairs, the exact perfect thing to say flitted through her mind, and without a second thought she threw open the door to the cage and said it. “Say, Applejack, I was thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“Seeing as how we worked so well together on this outfit…” She paused for the complete dramatic impact. “…What would you say to being open to future projects together?”
Applejack turned on the stairs to look at Rarity. She seemed to be giving deep thought to the question. “You know,” she said, “I think I’d like that.”
Rarity smiled, an uncomplicated unconscious smile. “I think that I would too.”
