Rarity followed Twilight out of Prance Central Station. Like Twilight, she had her own ulterior motives for making this trip that she hadn’t told anyone else about. Unlike Twilight, she fully intended to have her physical cravings satisfied. Twilight entered the subway. Rarity hailed a cab.

“Where to, darling?” the driver asked.

“Take me to the Garment District, please,” Rarity said. “Anywhere is fine.”

The Garment District. A hundred years ago it had been filled with sweatshops. Textile mills filled with choking dust and the mares and foals who ran the machines all night for little pay. There was even an infamous fire where many had died. The conditions were horrible, but the industry had helped drive the economy that turned Manehattan into the world class city that it was today.

Those days were long gone. The industry had changed. Now the Garment District was the fashion capital of Equestria. It was one of the leading sites for fashion in all the world. Rarity had already made some headway into Canterlot’s fashion circle, but Manehattan was a whole different ballgame. Photo Finish had a studio here. Hoity Toity had an office. There were others, even bigger names.

Rarity watched the buildings pass by outside the window of her cab. The driver was talking, but she wasn’t listening. Some day she would be here, in Manehattan. She would have her own modeling business. And a fashion line. She’d have some fancy multi-million dollar penthouse apartment on the top of one of these tall buildings, where she could look out at her view of the entire city while sipping wine with the most spectacular celebrities in the world.

The taxi dropped her off at a random corner. Rarity paid the driver and gave him a generous tip. It was probably a little more than she could really afford, but she was so grateful to be there. She looked around. She didn’t recognize any of the buildings, but the names on the building directories she knew very, very well.

Her friends had all come to Manehattan to have sex and fulfill their lusts. Rarity came here to make a splash; to make a career for herself in the fashion industry. There wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t do both.

Now, she thought to herself, to get to work.

Clip Klop, one of the three most important fashion designers in the entire world, trotted down the corridor to the lobby of his building. Expensive post-modern and neo-expressionist paintings hung on the wall. His entire entourage of interns and models and body guards and lesser designers struggled to keep up with him. His attention was focused on a sketch on a piece paper that floated in front of him.

“Is this any good?” he moaned. “Oh, I just can’t tell anymore.”

“It should be pink,” said one of the lesser designers.

“No, aquamarine,” said another. “And the accents be satin, if anything.”

“Really?” asked Clip Klop.

“Silk,” said a third. “Definitely silk.”

“Gray,” said a mysterious new voice. It wasn’t a part of the entourage. Clip Klop stopped in his tracks and his followers nearly tripped over him. He turned to look where the voice had come from. There was a beautiful white unicorn lounging on a black leather divan.

“Gray?” he asked.

“Gray,” she said, and turned to look at him. “And it doesn’t matter what fabric is used. It could be burlap, as long as the model has a brown coat.”

“Gray,” Clip Klop whispered, looking back at the sketch. “You know what? I... I... I... think you’re right.” By the time he looked up, she had gotten up and was standing before him. She had magicked a number of her own sketches out of her saddlebag and was passing them directly to Clip Klop.

“And YOU are?” one of the interns asked her.

Rarity ignored the question. “Gray is the new orange, actually,” she told Clip Klop. “And certain shades of brown.”

“Oh,” said Clip Klop, looking at each sketch. “Oh. These... these are good. At least I think these are good. Hoof, are these good?” Clip Klop turned to Bischoofburger, another noted fashion luminary, who nodded and grunted. “These are good,” Clip Klop said. “I like this one. How much do you want for this one? Five?”

“I was thinking ten,” Rarity said.

“Hoof? Do you have any money?” Clip Klop asked him. Hoof nodded again. “Well, pay her. Oh, and I like this one. And this one. What did you say your name was, dear?”
“Rarity, darling.”

“Have we met before?”

“Oh, I’m not sure if I recall. I’ve worked with so many ponies. Hoity Toity. Photo Finish...”

“Hoity, you say? Oh, well that just won’t do.”

One of the interns sniffed. “How come I’ve never heard of you?” she whined.

“I really can’t say,” Rarity said. “Even though that is one of my dresses that you’re wearing.” The intern looked down at the green ensemble that Rarity had originally designed for Fluttershy. The intern had the entirely wrong color coat. “Of course, that’s one of last year’s designs. Maybe that explains a thing or two.”

“Oh, and this one,” Clip Klop ignored the entire exchange. Nobody else did.

“Can I keep one?” Hoof asked. “It’s my money. I want to keep one.”

“Uh, sure you can have one,” Clip Klop whined. “You always get to keep the nice things.” Hoof took one of Rarity’s drawings and began to admire it.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, darling,” Rarity said.

“I certainly hope so, dear,” Clip Klop said. “Oh, we simply have to talk about this. We have to talk about you, dear!”

“Dinner?” Rarity asked.

“Absolutely!” Clip Klop said. “Hoof’s treat.”

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