CHAPTER EIGHT: OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES p1

October 10

The common barnyard rooster has one job. Well, technically two: to impregnate hens, and to announce dawn's arrival. He performs his job well and often. An urban myth holds that such a bird only crows in the morning. This is false, because he lets loose his strident crow at daybreak and at subsequent five-minute intervals until he goes to sleep at night. The tones of a rooster are extraordinarily similar to a screaming human and no less dreadful to the ears, particularly if they are heard from point-blank range and from a very deep sleep.

It was such a sound that pulled Bryn from his dreams, dreams of shifting vines and slithering tentacles and horse-headed serpents. Dreams that, in the light of day, were silly. Nevertheless, he was drenched in sweat and his heartbeat thundered against his eardrums like the footsteps of an advancing army.

A nightmare has the curious effect of blurring the reality between sleeping and waking. There is a five- or ten-second period in which the night's terrors are superimposed onto your waking awareness and, in that short moment, your fears are made solid. They exist just long enough to turn your bedroom's shadows into monsters and then, like smoke, they disappear. The only difference between a dream and a nightmare is, therefore, the fear. Fear is why we remember one horrible dream over fifty enjoyable ones. Fear is why we would rather not sleep alone, because without the comforting reality of another person at your side, the torture of these moments belongs wholly to you.

In the fifteen seconds after his eyes opened, Bryn was alone in his private horror. The shed in which he lay was not a sanctuary but a cold dank bog, where unmentionable things crept over his skin and touched him- so gently- with antennae. Each one was like the brush of a feather or a raindrop. Each ice-cold raindrop met his bare chest with the tiniest puff of smoke.

Then, as the feather-soft touches steadily became more painful, came the fangs. When he screamed in agony from a million bleeding wounds and begged for it to stop… the tentacles appeared. They held no mercy. Flames licked at the ground, turning the trees to ash but leaving the boneless limbs untouched. And the thing that they belonged to? Its hulking black shape towered above him, whispering in an alien tongue to just give up… give in…

Its multitude of hideous eyes burned into his skull.

"NOOOOO!" he roared, and woke up.

The monster's awful bone-chilling shriek was only the crow of a rooster. Or, he thought as his heart raced and clammy sweat dripped from his brow, there was no rooster and it was me screaming.

A ray of light streamed through a chink in the thatched roof and into his eyes. Now this, this single luminous beam, was real. It was real and warming and wholesome and this simple assurance was enough for him to know that he was, indeed, awake and safe beneath the solid wooden rafters. Bit by bit, he relegated the nightmare to its proper place.

With consciousness came remembrance; he took deep breaths and recalled the previous night. Ribs bruised from the fight, clothing torn and bloodied, and stomach cramping up with hunger- not to mention his violent shivers- he had fled to the forest and huddled beside the stream only long enough to wash his face and soothe his thirst. By then it was pitch-black under the canopy of trees and simply finding solid footing was a difficult task. Following the fading twinkle of the town's streetlamps, Bryn emerged from the trees long after the crowd of ponies had dispersed. A half-moon hung heavily over silent cobblestone streets. No angry equines were present.

"There has to be a barn or a shed somewhere that I can hide in, for the night," he muttered to himself. "No one will notice me." As it turned out, not far from the creek was a low, dilapidated shack fenced on two sides by shrubbery. The hedges terminated at either side and this natural fence used the shed's south wall as part of the border. Quietly as a cat, he sprang over the hedge and lifted the simple wooden latch on its door. It was exactly what he thought it was: a storage shed, with shelves on one wall and a large pile of hay in the corner. Stacked against the far wall were hefty sacks of what he assumed were oats. Makes sense. Horses eat oats, and some talking horse no doubt owns this place.

Such was his adrenaline- and hunger-fueled fog that he completely overlooked his location. He had stayed close to the stream and came out exactly at the same spot as he had before, but he neglected to notice the familiar hedge and the violet circus tent beyond. Perhaps it was the misty darkness of the night; the moon cast little light on the town and the lamps were darkened. Regardless, Bryn had unwittingly chosen the outbuilding belonging to the white unicorn that lived in said violet circus tent. Its owner was tossing and turning in her silken sheets at that very moment, bothered by nightmares very much like Bryn's.

The hut seemed safe enough, and the hay was warm and supportive. No place is truly safe around here if there are things like that loose in the forests. What was that thing last night, anyway? And what was that dream about?

The rooster crowed again at earsplitting volume. Thinking he was under attack by another enraged pony or worse, he awoke and rocketed to his feet, forgetting the fact that the shed was built for the stature of a miniature horse and not a human. He nearly reached his full height when his head hit the rafters.

The beam above was solid well-seasoned pine, wood that had seen many winters yet was very much structurally sound; when his head collided painfully with it, it made a spectacular crashing sound and dislodged a choking mixture of dust, cobwebs, wood splinters, and wisps of hay into his face.

"FUCK!"

Between his shout and the ringing crash of the rafter, he had made far more noise than was sensible. "You're going for incognito, you idiot," he growled. He rose with many mumbled oaths, pulling a sliver of wood from his forehead, and found himself face to face with another unicorn whose head, shoulders and forehooves poked through the doorway. Her mouth (for it was undoubtedly another female, because it possessed the same alabaster coat as the other pony and its mane was a pastel-colored mess of curls) opened in a soundless gasp.

Two seconds later, she screamed. Bryn closed the distance with one leap and covered her muzzle with his hand.

"Shhhh!" he hissed. "I'm not trying to hurt you! Please don't scream!"

The pony squeaked and spluttered, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, and he realized that she was much smaller than the others he had seen. It was like holding a hound of very compact build. She was no harder to restrain than- than my sister when we used to play together, he realized with a pang of sadness. They're about the same size. Her white hooves dug into the straw for several seconds until she understood that Bryn was not harming her in any way.

"What are you? What are you doing in my sister's shed?" she asked, in a shrill voice.

She sounds like she's ten years old. And what do I tell her that makes sense or doesn't scare her further? If she screams again, she'll bring company and I'll have to fight my way out of it.

He was, quite literally, walking on eggshells. Subtlety wasn't Bryn's style. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I'm lost and hungry and needed a place to sleep for the night." The response was the last thing he expected.

"Well yeah, but- what are you? You don't look anything like a pony."

"I'm a human."

As if he was a schoolmaster and she an inquisitive student, the young pony's eyes widened and her ears pricked straight up. She seemed to forget all about the mysterious stranger holding her. "What's a human? Is it some kind of snake? You're obviously not a pony and you don't have hooves or fur, so you have to be a snake."

"A human is- well- someone from Earth," he finished lamely. "And I'm not a snake, I'm a mammal like you. Just with no hooves."

Never mind that she probably doesn't know what a mammal is, he thought. He was right. "Is a mammal a kind of camel? Because you don't look like a camel either." Her emerald eyes glanced up and down his body, as wide as saucers, and as if the morning could not possibly get any weirder, she beamed up at him. "A human," she repeated, liking the sound of the word. "I'm a pony and my name's Sweetie Belle. What's yours?"

Bryn couldn't remember releasing her, or sitting down on the floor so that he was eye level with this mysterious creature. "My name is Bryn. Bryn Hansen." He recalled his manners and held out his hand, intending to shake hers, and gasped when she extended her foreleg and placed it in his palm. Her coat was soft and warm to the touch but he could feel the strong strap-like muscles beneath.

I'm shaking hands with a horse. Saying it in his mind did not make the concept any less strange. What was weirder: that a human and a pony were shaking hands (hooves?) for possibly the first time in history, or that a pony in a completely different world than his own would even know what a handshake was? He was impressed by the hidden power of her legs; even the children of this world were strong, and the adults, as demonstrated last night, were deadly combatants. Only surprise had allowed him to overpower this pony. A filly… That's the right name for a baby horse, I think. And the grown ones would be mares.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Sweetie Belle."

He was rewarded by a wide smile. "This is so exciting! I've never met a human before!" she exclaimed.

"Do you mean there are no humans at all here?"

"This is Ponyville. In Equestria. I don't think it has humans, but I've never been outside Equestria before."

Ponyville? Equestria? Is this entire world full of talking horses? He swallowed his misgivings. Here was the only pony that had received him cordially and he didn't want to antagonize her with too many questions. She continued, "You look really weird. I think you're pretty cool though and I can't wait to introduce you to Scootaloo and Apple Bloom!" Her face lit up at this prospect and a tiny white spark erupted from her horn.

"I don't know about that," murmured Bryn. "Believe it or not, I was only hiding here until the morning. The town tried to run me off last night and-"

"I bet if you talk to my sister Rarity, she'll straighten that out. No one messes with my big sister. Everypony loves her and besides, she has an Element of Harmony!"

A thought suddenly came to him. "Is Rarity a unicorn too? A white unicorn with purple hair?"

"Yeah! How'd you know? Did you meet her already?"

"Ummm… well, not really. Last night, when I came out of the forest, she- screamed. One of her friends tried to capture me and we got in a fight."

"Oh." Her smile fell by several degrees. "Well maybe they were just scared. I guess I was too. If we explain, maybe they won't be scared anymore." With childish enthusiasm, she leapt to her hooves and wrapped a slender foreleg around his arm, then began to pull with surprising force. "Come on! My sister's probably up by now. She asked me to feed Opal and water the garden. Ughhh… I hate watering."

"Sweetie Belle-"

Sweetie Belle would have none of it. "I can't wait for her to meet you!" So Bryn was led out of the shed, to the door of the circus tent.

Outside the shed was the sort of bone-chilling morning that all the warm clothes in the world are no defense against. The sun barely peeked over the eastern horizon and the bones of the earth exhaled a thin fog that clung low against the ground, swirling around his legs as he crossed the garden. Interestingly, it appeared to be winter in this world as well as his own, or at least close to it. He took a deep breath and, although his lungs recoiled from the frigid air, there was a clean and vibrant freshness to it that Earth air just didn't seem to have.

He was suddenly conscious of his appearance. Due to his torn and muddy clothes, a growing lump on his forehead along with the dozens of other bruises, pieces of hay lodged in his hair, and the T-shirt ruined by bloodstained holes, he was a horrific sight. "I bet she's in the kitchen," said Sweetie.

Would a horse's kitchen contain a tidy manger of hay? Watering trough and bucket filled with oats or corn? Imagine his surprise when he found himself in something not out of place in an upscale modern American house. Rarity's kitchen was a masterpiece of gleaming and compact efficiency. The stone countertops were at the perfect height for a pony (or an extremely short human), decorated with a range of appliances familiar to Bryn. He noticed the standard toaster, mixer, and what looked like a juicer, yet oddly enough, there appeared to be no electrical power anywhere. A steaming stack of toast already sat on the counter, where he assumed Sweetie Belle had left it, and it was the work of someone new to the experience of toast-making in the morning. Half of the pieces were burnt beyond all hope.

"Rarity!" called Sweetie Belle. "I watered the garden like you asked me to and look what I found in the shed!"

Before he could blink, the violet-maned unicorn he had seen last night in the garden appeared at the top of the stairwell.

"Sweetie Belle, what have I told you about trying to make breakfast- Oh!" For she caught sight of Bryn and gasped shrilly. Her sleepy face showed genuine shock tempered by recognition; no doubt she had not expected to see him again so soon. Certainly not in her spotlessly clean kitchen. Rarity erupted in a series of gasps and exclamations and whimpers, directed at his ragged and dirty appearance and the fact that her younger sister had, once again, did a poor job of cooking.

"And I made breakfast too!" Sweetie Belle held up the pitiful stack of toast and an accompanying glass of gray sludge.

Rarity made her way down the stairs, looking very much like a pony who needed about five more hours of sleep before facing her day. Her mane was a frizzy mess about her shoulders. She stopped in front of her younger sister and eyed the glass with weary disdain. "You burned the juice again?"

"Umm… well it's not my fault that I can't work the juicer right! It might have slightly caught on fire. Just a little bit."

With a haughty shrug she replied, "I'll just have to start over." She went to several cupboards and peered inside. Acting as if Bryn was not even there, Rarity powered up her horn and began to levitate various ingredients from the shelves. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Pancakes!" exclaimed the filly. "Bryn can have some too!"

At the mention of the name, Rarity jumped and suddenly noticed that he was still standing in the middle of the kitchen.

"I found him in our shed," Sweetie Belle continued, "and he said that he was just tired and hungry and needed a place to stay. He didn't hurt me. He's a human and he's lost. Can he stay with us? Please? Please?"

Bryn thought it best to interrupt. "Look, I'm sorry about last night. I don't know how I got here or why, but I didn't mean to scare anyone. I tried to explain to your friend- the blue one."

"You mean anypony. One should always use proper grammar." Caught between fatigue and annoyance and shock, Rarity could only gasp and groan. "And Rainbow Dash is headstrong; you can't blame her for attacking you. What exactly are you? Why do you look so- so horrid? You'll get my entire kitchen dirty!"

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you sis," put in Sweetie Belle. "Rainbow Dash left early this morning. Said there was an emergency at the weather station. Something about thunder." She nodded as if proud of her ability to recall and deliver this information.

When girls are upset, the only thing to do is apologize like crazy. Bryn began, "I know I look horrible right now, and I'm sorry. I only stayed in your shed because there was nowhere else to go. If you want, I'll leave, but would it be too much to ask for something quick to eat?"

Something strange was happening to Rarity at this moment. Here was the strangest individual she had ever seen, and a little terrifying to look at. There was a sense of hidden strength and determination about him. Standing at his side was her nine-year-old filly sister who, despite his outlandish appearance, seemed to trust him completely. Was Rainbow Dash just being overly hostile? Could he be telling the truth? Could this mysterious thing be what he says he is? She had a soft spot in her heart for helpless and broken things. After all, that soft spot was why Opal called Carousel Boutique home. If Rarity couldn't refuse a home to a poor homeless cat, she could hardly refuse Bryn.

As Bryn pleaded for mercy and a meal, Rarity's sapphire eyes met Bryn's deep green ones and she found honesty and desperation there. Well… I guess it can't hurt to give him some food. I did promise to offer him friendship. If Sweetie Belle trusts him, then I suppose I can be generous and give him a chance.

However, Rarity being Rarity, her first impulse was definitely not to feed the hungry human in her kitchen.

"How on earth did you become so- so dirty? The first thing you need is a bath and clean clothes, and not these horrid old things. Hay in one's mane! The worst possible thing!" Bryn was again hoof-dragged up the stairs and into a room stuffily furnished with wooden furniture and way too many flower arrangements. A four-poster bed, hung with white curtains, was in one corner.

"My spare bedroom," said Rarity matter-of-factly. "There's a tub behind that curtain. You must let me take those hideous clothes and get you something more fashionable. I'll set some things for you on the bed and you can come down to breakfast when you're done."

She left him standing open-mouthed in the center of the room. Not for the first time that day, he wondered if this was secretly a world record-setting acid trip that he had somehow stumbled into.

Maybe if he pinched his arm hard enough, he would wake up. Worth a try.

Several pinches failed to do the trick and left him with sore forearms, and resignedly he slipped out of his clothes. He stacked them in a pile beside the bathtub. "I'm on drugs," he told himself. "I'm on the worst drugs possible." The past two days, from meeting Caitlin to everything leading up to this exact moment, had felt like a terrible art house movie with someone else playing the starring role of Bryn Hansen. "Man Dies and is Reawakened in a world of Ponies" would be the working title.

Nothing felt right to him anymore. Standing there, in Rarity's frilly spare room, he took a deep breath and told himself the same thing that he had in that abandoned clearing. I'm still alive. No matter what, he had his life and his health and, most importantly, his powers. Everything else was trivial. Luck had given him an ally, in the form of a curious young unicorn, and if his luck held, things might not be as grim as they looked. His violet-haired host seemed friendly enough. And there was something about her that tugged at his memory; she reminded him of someone he had once known. He just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

Rarity's bathtub was simple and functional, done in porcelain and gleaming brass plumbing, and her touch was seen in the small details. She (or perhaps the pony who installed the tub) had mounted a golden seashell-shaped soap dish below the faucet and it held three bath soaps in perfect diamond shapes. Bryn stepped into the shower, closing the curtain that was patterned with gemstones and wildflowers, and let out a groan when he discovered that the soap and shampoo released, respectively, very girly scents of strawberry and lavender.

Not only do I have to eat breakfast with talking horses, I have to smell like a girl too.

"When in Equestria…" Sometime while he was washing the grime of the past two days down the drain, Rarity had slipped into the room and laid a white silken cape on the table. It was more hospital gown than fitted bathrobe, but it did the job, and was remarkably soft. The gown was, in fact, the first time Bryn had even touched silk.

He came down the stairs to find the two ponies putting the finishing touches on a pancake breakfast. "I try to cook breakfast, and it's never good enough for you!" Sweetie Belle complained.

Rarity pulled her into a tight embrace. "Keep trying and one day you won't burn everything to a crisp. I love you, little sister, even if you're the most terrible cook in all of Equestria. I love you so much." She nuzzled Sweetie's mane and any hard feelings were soon washed away in giggles and embarrassed blushing.

Just then, Bryn appeared in the kitchen and Rarity gave a ladylike gasp of surprise. "Oh- so you found the gown. I do hope it fit all right; I didn't have anything in your size so I had to improvise. Hmm…"

The robe, in fact, left more uncovered than he liked. Rarity's eyes lingered on his bare arms and where the robe fell deep enough to expose the contour of his chest. With a slight stammer she continued, "If- if- if you let me measure you, I can make you a proper ensemble. Much better than those ugly old things."

"Well- that's really nice of you, but you don't have to."

"Nonsense, darling. One's clothes should always reflect their inner selves and, of course, be fashionable as well."

"Even if you're not wearing any?" said Bryn baldly.

Sweetie Belle, to her credit, choked back laughter as Rarity's bone-white cheeks began to redden. "What I meant was, it would be my pleasure to give you a makeover and a meal in exchange for explaining who you are and how you came to be in my shed."

The heap of syrup-drenched pancakes was casting out an inviting aroma. He agreed, and soon one human and two ponies were wolfing down on a delicious breakfast. At least he and Sweetie Belle were; the filly held a fork and knife in her hooves and knocked back cake after cake, while Rarity used her magic to precisely cut and transfer each piece into her mouth. Bryn stopped munching long enough to watch the elder unicorn's magic at work. Much like Rarity herself, there was something teasingly familiar about the azure aura around her horn. It rippled like an asphalt road under scorching August heat. The effect was relaxing and entrancing.

She sipped at a glass of non-burned orange juice. "I don't mean to sound inquisitive, but how exactly did- well, someone like you- get to be in Equestria?"

As he opened his mouth to answer, everything came rushing back to him in a flood of emotion. I'm not sure I can talk about Caitlin yet. He swallowed and began, "I guess the easiest way to say it would be… I died. Instead of being dead, something brought me back to life and dumped me in the forest south of town. In your world." He remained silent about the forest itself. This cheerful kitchen was no place to talk of monsters and shadows.

He may as well have been discussing nuclear fusion for all the sense it made; Rarity, nonplussed, cleared her throat. "So you're from another world?"

"I know it sounds strange."

A pancake, controlled by her magic, missed her muzzle and hung stickily from her cheek instead. To cover her embarrassment she said, with perhaps too much pride, "You're remarkably well spoken for an alien creature."

Bryn declined to mention the events of the high school or, for that matter, the fact that he was or ever had been a high schooler. There was no need to give away too much information. "I've been to school," he stated, "and believe me, I'd much rather be back in my own world, but I seem to be stuck here for the moment."

"Maybe when I die, I'll wake up in your world!" piped up Sweetie Belle, her speech thick from a mouthful of pancakes.

"You wouldn't like it there. In my world, horses do work for humans. They live on farms and wear collars and we ride them in rodeos." He gave the filly the tiniest of winks.

Rarity's subsequent gasp was the worst he had yet heard. "How beastly! A self-respecting pony would never stoop to such barbarism!"

Sweetie Belle giggled.

He sensed that it was time for the hard sell. With a bellyful of hot breakfast and that ridiculous robe wrapped around his shoulders, he said, "It was really nice of you to invite me in and give me something to eat. After last night I didn't expect anything like this. This is amazing."

"One must always be generous to guests," answered Rarity sagely. "Hospitality and friendship have been virtues of ponykind from the founding of Equestria until today. It would be unthinkable to turn away those in need, because you never know when you will be the one in need of a helping hoof." Just as he hoped, she had taken his bait.

"Would it be way too much to ask if- if I could stay here, just for a little while, until I figure out what to do and where to go in this world? I promise I wouldn't be a burden. I could do whatever you wanted me to do, to make up for it."

Like clockwork, Sweetie Belle exclaimed, "I told you he wanted to stay! Can he stay with us? Please? Please?" She pasted the most ridiculous puppy-dog expression onto her face and Rarity was defenseless against it.

"I've been looking for somepony to help with the maintenance of the house and the garden, and since a certain pony is no help at all" – she glanced at Sweetie Belle- "maybe you could work for me in exchange for food and a place to stay. You could even have the spare bedroom because it's never been lived in."

"YAY!" Sweetie Belle jumped in circles around the table. As the filly bounded and whooped, Rarity's eyes again found Bryn's. There were the beginnings of a smile on her muzzle but within those cerulean eyes was much more: gratitude and curiosity and compassion all tied up in a bow and given to him. Somehow the terror of the day before and the night was floating away, replaced by a sense of happy possibilities, and the kindness that Rarity had shown him so far was like an oasis amidst parching desert sands. Human and unicorn gazed at each other and watched a grin slowly grow on each other's faces.

---

"You absolutely must meet my best friends," said Rarity some time later. "I'm sure they would love to meet Equestria's first human."

The pair stood in Rarity's kitchen and tidied up the last of breakfast, Bryn washing and rinsing each dish while Rarity dried them and levitated them into the cupboard with her magic. Sweetie Belle had already raced off to what she referred to as a 'top-secret meeting' with her friends Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. "Ten bits she comes back covered in tree sap again," Rarity remarked. "And still having no cutie mark."

"Cutie mark?" wondered Bryn.

"A cutie mark is… is simply a representation of the thing a pony is meant to do with his or her life. It's what makes you special and unique. You noticed mine, darling, didn't you?" She did a graceful spin for him and he could indeed see the three cyan gemstones, like a photorealistic tattoo on her flank.

Rarity's lithe motions attracted his attention more than the diamonds did, though, and he missed the first part of her sentence. "…and you earn your cutie mark when you figure out what you're put in this world to do. For me, it was fashion design and dressmaking. Who knows, maybe humans can earn one too."

The word was still unfamiliar in her throat. She pronounced it yoo-man.

"There's so much different about this world," he replied. "Talking ponies, for one. I'm still getting used to it. It feels like the weirdest dream I've ever had."

She beamed at him. "Really, dear, if you think one talking pony is a strange thing, just wait until you meet Pinkie Pie."

"I hope your friends don't all act like that one pony did last night. Trust me; I never wanted to fight her, I just didn't get a chance to explain myself. Story of my life… people fighting me because I did something or didn't do something or because I look or act different. I'm tired of it."

"My father is a hoofball coach in lower Manehatten and he taught me how to defend myself in a ladylike way." She rose on her hind legs, now standing as tall as Bryn, and her forehooves became a whirling dance of punches almost too fast to see. "A lady never stoops to brawling unless her life is on the line, however. Ugh! I can't abidefights. So- uncouth."

Bryn laughed. "I wouldn't want to fight you then. You'd win, no contest."

The unicorn gave him an appraising glance. She appeared to be on the verge of saying something but instead perked up her ears and shrieked, "I nearly forgot! Today is the perfect day to meet my friends because we're having a lunch date at Sugarcube Corner. They'll all be very pleased to meet you!"

"I can't meet them in this robe… do you have my old clothes that I can change into?"

"Oh heavens no, dear. You can't be seen in those hideous bloodstained rags! You need a makeover and I am happy to provide one."

Before he could utter one word, Rarity ushered him out of the kitchen and into what appeared to be her workroom. Controlled chaos was the thought that came to mind. Every inch of floor space not occupied by pony mannequins or furniture was covered in a mess of fabric rolls and sketches and half-completed designs. At the center of the room, perched on a wooden figurine, was an outrageously flamboyant white dress done in lace and icy gemstones.

"That one is for the anniversary party of one of Canterlot's foremost personalities, Fancy Pants. It's a surprise for his wife." She crossed to a nearby table and brushed aside spools of thread, ignoring Bryn's dumbfounded expression, and spread out a blank sheet of paper. "So what do you want your new outfit to look like, darling?"

"Ummm…" He looked hopelessly at the dress. "You won't put jewels on it, right?"

Rarity laughed musically and said, "It can become whatever you want it to be. For you, I see something simple and black, perhaps dark brown, with green accents to match your eyes. Something lightweight and snug-fitting with drape in the rear, perhaps a sort of cape or jacket as well." She quickly sketched a prototype. "Only a rough concept, of course. I feel like this part needs more color."

Slowly, with a little input from Bryn, a fully colored and detailed drawing materialized onto the page.

And it looked good. At least it wasn't a glittery dress.

The drawing was of a gray cotton tunic with long, tight sleeves and a flowing back. To him, it looked like the back of a trenchcoat had been somehow grafted onto a military uniform. The differences between the two were small but noticeable; to start with, its lines were far more fluid than a soldier's fatigues and Rarity had penciled small sections of dark green into its lining and trim. "Difficult color, green… with your eyes, though, you should wear it very well," she declared. "And now to take your measurements. Hold still, if you would?"

Her magic pulled a tape measure from the desk and, like a hovering snake, it coiled around and around his body. Rarity muttered and wrote down numbers on a clipboard. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Hmm… I suppose humans are, proportionally, similar to ponies. Four legs, except for the longer torso, of course. This should be a cinch to make. Be a dear and take this out back to the trash? I'll get started on this right away. Ooh, it will be absolutely divine when it's done!"

She floated a bulging garbage can to him; he carried the stale-smelling thing to the metal drum next to the back door. When he returned to Rarity's inspiration room, his jaw nearly hit the floor at what he saw.

The fashionista was at the center of a tiny galaxy made up of spools of thread, fabric pieces, scissors, and heated irons. When she needed a particular item or assembly, it would float from 'orbit' around her head onto the table, then take its place among the detritus when she was done. Rarity was here and there and everywhere. She kept up a stream of whispered dialogue while controlling two needles and a pair of scissors- not to mention holding up no less than fifty items with her magic! It was a marvel of multitasking, a one-pony assembly line. To call it an assembly line, however, would be an insult to the artistry of it all. This was an enclave and within was a master at work. Bryn stood dumbfounded, garbage can hanging at his side, as his new outfit materialized before his eyes.

"All done!" exclaimed Rarity, after a solid hour of stitching and stretching and ironing. "If I do say so myself, it turned out wonderfully. Care to try it on?"