I have a few, uh… favorites when it comes to certain ponies.

Thanks to the internet, I have developed a rather extensive list of favorite ponies for differing reasons.

Reasons probably impolite to mention publicly, but still. I have my reasons. And I have a lot of lists.

Rarity happens to be pretty high up on my lists of, er… on the list. She has it all; she’s pretty, witty, and looks friggin’ hot with a wet mane. So if I wanted to have things go my way in the future, I’d have to pull this one off without a hitch.

Which is probably why I should have ditched Soarin first.

“Alright,” I rolled my shoulders nervously, making sure to keep the towel tight around my waist as we stood on the steps of Carousel Boutique. “You be my wingman. Let’s make some magic.”

“I don’t follow,” Soarin eyed me in mild confusion. “You can do magic?”

“Sort of,” I shrugged as I knocked loudly on the door. “I’ll show you later. First, pants. Second, date.”

“Date?” he tilted his head in disbelief. “Here?”

“You know it,” I stretched out a pair of invisible suspenders smugly. “Just one of the perks of being a psychic.”

After a long pause the door was finally answered. A stunned cream white filly stood in the doorway, staring (understandably) in shock at me.

“… You’re probably going to jail for being psychic,” Soarin immediately turned to me with a deep set frown.

“That’s not her,” I blurted. “I meant Rarity.”

The filly gawking up at me seemed to snap out of her daze momentarily upon mention of her sister’s name, eyes flickering back and forth between me and Soarin.

“Are-are you looking for my sister?” she asked with a voice like a broken squeaky toy.

“I think so,” Soarin nodded. “His two-bit psychic powers told us that she was here.”

“My incredible psychic powers of clairvoyance are not two-bit!”

“Uh… huh,” Sweetie Belle continued staring at me, eyes as wide as saucers. I think she was more confused than frightened, which I guess was a good thing. “A psychic what, exactly?”

“Hey, kiddo!” I tried to sound as friendly as possible, carefully kneeling down in front of her. “I’m here to talk to your sis about grown up stuff, so how’s about you go get her for us, ‘kay?”

The filly didn’t seem to take too kindly to that, oddly enough. Which I found strange, considering that I turned my charm level up to, like, eleven.

The edges of her lips twitched hard as her brows furrowed, her hooves set into the floor.

“I am mostly grown up!” she insisted, her shrill voice indicating that such was not so. “And she’s not even here right now, so-”

“Sweetie Belle?” I heard a familiar voice from somewhere above. “If they’re here early, tell them that the dress isn’t ready!”

“You wear dresses, too?” Soarin cocked an eyebrow and gave me a mocking look, which I ignored.

“Told you,” I said with an air of confidence that bordered on overdoing it as I tapped my bandaged temple. “Psychic.”

“… A psychic is here to see you, Rarity…!” Sweetie Belle backed away a little nervously, never taking her eyes off of us.

“A what? Tell them I’m not here!”

“My psychic powers tell me that you’re here!” I shouted back up the stairs, to which I was met with silence.

“… She’s not here,” Sweetie Belle reiterated.

“Tell her that a Wonderbolt is here too,” Soarin puffed up his chest proudly.

“A-a Wonderbolt?” Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened significantly, and I got the odd feeling that the pegasus was somehow stealing my thunder. Then again, if it worked…

“Gen-you-ine Wonderbolt,” he polished one hoof on his chest smartly. “And we’re kind of in a hurry, so if it’s not too much trouble…”

“I’ll get her – just wait over there, okay?” Sweetie nodded toward a plush sofa by one wall. There were too many hues of blue and purple for my tastes, but Soarin seemed oblivious. “Hey! Hey, Rarity – there’s a celebrity here, too! He says he’s a Wonderbolt!”

That seemed to get the unicorn in a mood to move, and I heard quite a bit of rustling around on the second floor as we tried to make ourselves comfortable guests on the weirdly squishy couch.

“See?” Soarin smirked. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Pfft,” I blew a weak raspberry. “Not everyone is a Wonderbolts fan, y’know.”

“Of course they are,” he remarked matter of factly. “We’re irresistible.”

“Wouldn’t be if you weren’t a Wonderbolt,” I snapped back, and I sounded a bit testy even to myself.

“Can’t help it if I am.” Soarin shrugged. “My mom was a Wonderbolt, and so was my dad.”

“So?” I blinked. “Just because your parents were Wonderbolts doesn’t mean that you have to be one, too. What if your mom had made a living by, like, selling drugs to kids? Or your dad was a cheap gay hooker?”

“Well,” Soarin said with a straight face as a set of hooves eagerly clopped down the stairs. “I’d probably be a two-bit psychic.”

Quite a slew of very ungentlemanly words might have put off the shop’s owner just a wee bit.