Now, Rarity was rarely one to cry “fashion police” despite what others might claim. She was perhaps overzealous, her passion for fashion getting the best of her, but could anypony blame her? She was the go-to gal for fine tailoring in this town, her skills even drawing customers from across Equestria! She could say without a doubt that nopony in this town had nine near identical copies of clothing.

‘Well, he’s not exactly a pony, is he?’

Still, that wasn’t a justifiable excuse.

Besides, this would be an excellent time to hone her skills on masculine clients and those that would be of the other species too. Her main focus however was to both have ideas for a little gift and to halt this villainous deed against fashion. Though to play Tirec’s advocate, the poor knight seemed unaware of the heinous crime he was committing.

If she was to play guardian of fantastically sewn fabric then she’d need her uniform. She stepped off the stair case in her boutique, buttoning up her blue suit shirt. A black business skirt reached her knees, snug and wrapped at the waist by a white and purple striped belt. Her magic worked a comb through her mane, another working the elegant curl into her tail. Delicate hands pocketed her inspirational red glasses in her chest pocket.

“Sweetie Belle!” She called out. “I’m off to greet our new neighbour!”

“But Rarityyy!” The fashionista finished adjusting a sapphire bangle on her wrist before looking to the kitchen doorway, towards her pouting little sister. “You promised to teach me how to bake a cherry pie.”

‘One monumental impossibility at a time, darling.’

Her adorable and beloved younger sibling held her arms firmly crossed, stance cutely indignant, and bright olive eyes pointed at her. Sweetie Belle’s ears wilted, her soft purple and pink tail lashing against the air. She was still without a mark it would seem, a late bloomer but one that would eventually blossom she had been told time and time again. Her curled cotton mane bobbled as she started to march over. Rarity set her combs aside onto a nearby dresser with a nod of her horn.

“You always do this!” she squawked, her voice cracking a little. She was already past being hip tall and was likely due another growth spurt. Oh how the years go by.

With a wince at her forgetfulness, Rarity met her sister halfway across the boutique’s showroom. Kneeling down carefully, she rested a hand on her sibling's shoulder as snow would softly come to rest. The mopey young mare refused to meet her eye.

“It won’t be for too long,” she replied with a reassuring smile, “I’ll just pop over, take a few measurements, ask what designs he would like, and then I’ll be back here in the evening to help you bake. It’s plenty of time I promise.”

Sweetie looked up with her muzzle scrunched in that way all children quickly tired of arguing knew how to pull off. “Well, why can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh, believe me, something as bad as this cannot wait.” Rarity’s horn shimmered to life, a stylish bag soon moving from her sewing desk to beside her. “He needs my skills now more than ever.”

“But I need you.” Sweetie retorted with a stomp of her hoof. “You’re my sister. Who is he anyway?”

At this Rarity bit her lip, casting an unsure glance towards the door. How much should she say?

“He’s Twilight’s new guard, a knight and is a bit--“

“Does he have a green long coat, scaly chest, had a mask?”

“Why, yes, that’s—“

“Ser Vincent!?” Rarity was surprised by the sudden outburst, and shift in demeanour. The little filly perked up, ears and all, but her eyes quickly turned to concern.

“I take it you’ve met him?” Rarity asked with an arched brow.

“Yeah, me and the crusaders met him at the train-station a while ago. Applebloom said he was a knight, and we thought that was cool, so we went over and…” She trailed off and rubbed her cheek. “We know he’s not a pony but he looked hurt, like, he had cuts on his face and looked tired. Like you after making the spring collection. The, um, tired part anyhow. Is… is he okay now?”

“I believe so,” Rarity said with a small smile, squeezing Sweetie’s shoulder. “He’s just settling in and I wanted to make sure he felt welcome.” As she stood up she failed to notice Sweetie’s contemplative expression. In turn, the little sister missed the elder’s slight frown, “That and because he desperately needs to throw out his old wardrobe.”

“Soooo… he’s lonely?” Her innocent inquiry came with a tilt of the head.

“Something tells me he doesn’t mind,” Rarity replied with a sad smile.

On the one hand it really wasn’t her business how he lived his life. On the other, was there a better reason to suggest he could live another? Ponyville was quite the friendly town, and despite his rather spectacular introduction, she was certain he’d warm to the locals. As slowly as Zecora did she’d wager. The big question, however, was could it crack that shell of his? She had no doubt he could play friendly with others but that was the façade wasn’t it? The mask, the gloves, the fake tail, the badge, it all made him a pony; it was the manipulation of his voice that soothed everypony’s nerves.

But without the mask he was brutally honest in expression, one that could conflict with what was said. She discovered that. Maybe he could sound and act like he felt a part of the community but that left her feeling uneasy knowing there was a chance he was brooding miserably beneath the mask. She doubted her friends, especially Twilight, would sit idly by as well.

“So if you’re going out, can I go hang out with the crusaders?” Sweetie interrupted Rarity’s trial of thought.

“Pardon?”

“Well you might be gone a while so I thought I could go play outside,” Sweetie said as she rocked back and forth on her hooves, hands behind her back, eyes to the ceiling. “Saves me being here… alone in your boutique… unsupervised.”

“Make sure you’re back before dusk,” Rarity immediately said, frightened by the alternative. She and her hovering sewing bag migrated to the door, the lady raising a finger as she rested her other hand on the door handle. “As soon as that sun touches the horizon I want you back here, young lady, are we clear?”

“Yes, Rarity,” Sweetie replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Good, otherwise I won’t help you bake two cherry pies, one for today and tomorrow.” Rarity could only smile at the expected wide-eyed grin of joy rapidly spreading across her little sister’s face. Like Hearth’s Warming morning by the tree and presents.

“I promise!”

“… This was rather sudden.” Still bewildered by the whirlwind that was an ambitious fashionista knocking on his door, Ser Vincent stood in the center of the downstairs living pace, arms apart and still in his armour and coat.

“I do feel as if I hadn’t helped out as much as I could whilst you were moving in,” Rarity replied, her focus concentrated through the red glasses on her muzzle, eyeing the coiling, yellow vines of tape spreading along the green branches that were his arms. “I mean, I did care for your more fragile and expensive personal effects, but on the whole I was put into a position I had little help to offer in.”

He was actually recalling how she charmed her way through the door, quicker than his mind could keep up with. Oh, and how she explained her reason for departure earlier, which bought her time to unleash a clipboard and quill, alongside lassoes of measuring tape to keep him rooted to the spot. But hey, it was rude to turn a lady away from the door after plans were made. Apparently even if he had no say in such plans.

“And I’m guessing Feng Shui is more your forte?” Ser Vincent remarked, turning his mask as he inspected his remodelled living room. It was a storm of magic and elegance, wherein furniture he hadn’t previously owned had moved from where they were tucked away into the corner. Lamps waltzed past the coffee table, which paired with the modern couch opposite the new fireplace, to which a pair of luxury padded armchairs sat on either side of.

Rarity arched a brow and looked up from where she was loosely measuring his broad shoulders. She too glanced around, finding no qualms with what she had done; perhaps she could swap the blinds for curtains, maybe she could try moving the emerald rug to the bottom of the stairs. A silver wine rack would look divine on the marble countertop of the kitchen but she had to make do with what she had.

“Design, dear heart, offers so many branching specialties,” she commented, turning back with a smile, “But we all have one true talent, no?” He looked back to her, mindful of how close the muzzle of his mask was to her as the scent of lilac seeped in.

“More of a ‘find a purpose’ kind of stallion,” he retorted as he returned to facing forward. “Rarity, I have to tell you, although I appreciate the offer and what you’re trying to do… whatever you do design for me I’m not going to wear outside.” He shrugged his shoulders making her pause, drawing her attention to the poor patchwork on his right side. “I’m content with this for when that need arises.”

Rarity released a deep sigh, the accumulation of annoyance at measuring over another outfit being vented. The long coat meant measurements were at best semi-accurate, and she was as of yet to determine how the thick the armour actually was. She inhaled, finding the air around the knight lightly scented with musk and spice. Rarity laid a hand flat against his chest and cast her eyes to the side. As if she were trying to glance past him but found his forearm was still in her view. It twitched, his hand coiling stiffly as he fought against some now obvious discomfort. He likely still had that minimal contact policy that was certainly only nullified when necessary. Immediately she gripped his lapel between her finger and thumb, giving it a small tug.

“Ser Vincent, I am aware of how much you value your privacy,” she started with her eyes searching for his, “Though I don’t completely understand your reasoning for going to this extent to hide yourself, I know you do indeed have a slight penchant for casual clothing. Clothes for around the house, it is a nice way to relax, believe me, I know.” With her magic, she slipped her tape around his lithe waist, tightening a band around the scaled armour. It was startling close to muscle anatomy, configured in a way to give semblance to a well toned abs. “I can’t imagine how stressful it must be for somepony of your disposition to be stationed away from home.”

“It’s tedious things, really,” he began indifferently, “I’ll need a place to maintain my physical condition, find the right foods, and organise a way to ship ingredients for my potions, just to name a few.”

He had a few answers for these: early or late night runs, obtaining personal fitness equipment and weights, and going through a courier service for deliveries of his alchemy supplies. Heck, he could go through the royal guards. Nutrition was an issue, largely because although fish was a pegasus delicacy, pork was not for any species of pony. He needed a lot of protein, and though a careful vegan diet helped, a boost here and there was welcome. Also the ponies easily getting into his personal domain was another issue.

Rarity’s ear twitched at what he must have assumed would be a quiet sigh.

“I’ve been stationed away before, Rarity, I’ll find a natural daily rhythm that suits me soon enough.”

She wasn’t certain if she could believe the optimism in his voice but could foresee him stuck in a rut as long as he’s here. “So long as you know that my friends and I are more than willing to help with anything, Ser Vincent.” Her eyes lingered on his belt and the squared pocket pouches neatly packed with unknown items of untold magical properties. “I’m certain with our help you can be a part of—Ah!”

Her mind exploded with inspiration, her squeal startling the knight as she stepped back and took the hovering clipboard and quill into her hand. “Idea!” she sung.

Once again Ser Vincent found himself particularly wary of this mare: she was the an eccentric fashion designer that not only made house-calls, something he wasn’t aware her occupation entailed, but also proved to be as unrelenting in her pursuits as mantacores were in hunting. It was with this train of thought that he found himself feeling a rock drop from his heart to his gut, his flight instincts starting to kick in.

“Here!” She suspended the clipboard before him, “What do you think?”

It looked to be an incredibly frivolous version of his belt, with less pockets and more jewels and loops. Squared gemstones stamped the spaces between the ornately buttoned pouches and there were metal rings with potions suspended from them—the centrepiece was a kite shield buckle.

‘Somehow I don’t think I’m the swashbuckling roguish knight, as devilishly handsome as I am.’ It would certainly be an artistic addition to his get-up but the decrease in storage capacitiy for his alchemical tricks and the addition of snag-able rings made it more of a downgrade. That’s assuming the materials used were to satisfaction, meaning they needed to be suited for inhospitable environments. Of course he’d need to break the news to her in a more polite manner.

“It’s wonderful but...” he only had to glance to her hopeful expression to start back peddling, “I was under the impression you were going to make a shirt or a pair of pants, something I can wear around the house.”

“Ah,” she replied in understanding, “Very well, I’ll put this one on hold then.” She took back her design, her expression souring as she took a second glance. “Oh dear, where in Equestria did I ever get the impression that rings were a good idea? And amethyst? Ugh.” She flipped the page over, double checked the measurements with the quill feather to her lip, and then turned to clean page.

“So is there anything else you’d like?” She asked over her red glasses. “Colours? Materials? Secret pockets for emergency supplies in your pyjamas?” Her jest earned a huff of amusement. 'Stop the presses, it does appear that one can bleed a stone.' A playful smirk grew as she looked back to her clipboard, her magic sending the tapes slithering back into the bag on the coffee table.

“Green and gold,” he replied as he walked over to the door. She took a double take, not at the suggestion but at the fact that she would be leaving so soon. “Definitely earthly hues, though.”

Slightly off guard at her sudden impending departure, she moved to follow him, still smiling. She had hoped to stay for a quick chat at least, to prod for further details for her designs and of the knight himself.

“Sounds like you’ve taken some consideration into your appearance,” she said as she jotted his preferences down. “I’ll admit, I’m curious as to origin of the mask et al.” She noticed how he froze briefly with his hand on the door handle. She counted the heartbeats that passed before he mechanically turn to look back to her, as if moving out of a petrification spell.

“I listened to what the world wanted knights to be.” He spoke with a flat, empty tone. His soft baritone chilled in the air, as cold as the mountain stone. “And, Miss Rarity… I wasn’t enough.” He opened the door and gestured towards the overgrown garden. “I tried the polished armour and friendly smile once, and you wouldn’t believe the difficulties. Now? A flash of the badge and a kind enough voice, a few warm words and respectable disposition are more than enough to outweigh a sightly woodland outfit.”

She strolled along, stepping out but turning around to face him, her eyes staring intently towards his mask.

"I'm more than content to wear this outfit in order to get the job done as smoothly as possible."

“You can change that, you know?” she said with empathy lightly lacing her voice. “You clearly believe the clothes make the stallion, so why don’t we try and work something out? Stop by later tonight and I’ll have a few designs and maybe a shirt or two ready.”

“I’ll more than likely be sorting out the rooms to this house, seeing to my new lab.” He replied, leaning into the door frame with his arms folded. He was closing himself off, something he tried to and failed when she first knocked. "Probably get a lock fitted on the door, as well as a peep hole."

“Then tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping to get started on a request I was given to produce seventy ice-head arrows tips; I volunteer to supply some of the guards and knights from time to time, depending on their potion crafting needs. The Equestria Games are coming soon and in turn are bouts of practice no doubt.”

“The day after?” Rarity pressed with a growing scowl, a hand removing her glasses and holding them against her hip. She tilted her head.

“Rarity, please, don’t for one moment believe I have wasted your time,” he said whilst raising a hand. He looked away from her and to Ponyville, not quite at his doorstep but still a five minute walk away. “It’s just… nevermind.” He shook his head before inclining it towards her in a polite bow. “I’m a knight first and foremost, I go where I’m needed, never where I’m wanted. Good bye, Rarity.”

Yet, she noted how he didn’t shut the door on her, how he simply stared back with that empty blank mask. She raised her head, a soft smile creeping onto her muzzle.

“You’re biggest mistake, Ser Vincent, is to assume that Ponyville will never want you here.” She slipped her ivory arm through the shoulder strap of her bag, turning slightly on the spot. “It just takes time. I’ll see you soon.” With that she sauntered down the overgrown path, tail lashing once as he closed the door.

Some time later he leaned over the kitchen counter without his mask and without his hooded long coat, appearing to be quite the imposing draconic figure hunching over a cup of tea. His father said it was his British lineage that made him like his brews on the milky side and with two sugars. Vincent thought it was because coffee upset his stomach.

He brought the hot drink to his lips with pony-gloved hands, eyes roaming over his redesigned living room. It was certainly packed with more furnishing than he was expecting; the expensive and plush couch with neatly arranged pillows, facing the unlit stone fireplace. 'I guess Blueblood found out that I always wanted one of those.' Pictures now donned the walls, none of which were originally his, all of which depicting prestigious landmarks across the country. He did travel so he thought it was a nice touch.

He planned to simply keep the unnecessary furnishing tucked away until he could fit them in the basement, maybe keep the table and rich chestnut armchair out for dining purposes, but Rarity had changed that. Now the place looked ready to live in, to settle in, and almost fit to have guests over. Now that was something far-fetched. After all, it was only ever Blueblood and his parents that ever visited him in his room.

‘By the Fates, I’ll be with lace doilies and tea parties before the week's out. Need to keep my guard up.’

He had to find a way to prevent solitude from becoming isolation, so maybe having a fully furnished living area was a step in the right direction. He could spend a few evening reviewing notes and formulas by the fireplace, something he couldn’t do before, maybe take a book or two from the library his new royal charge lived in. It was a public library, right? If not then it was certainly too soon to ask for such a privilege.

A harsh bout of knocking came from the door, and immediately he made a grab for the mask he kept nearby. Swiftly he put it on and made for the door, stealing his coat from the wall-mounted hanger. With his hood up and the eyes of his mask shadowed, he opened the door…

To be met with nopony being there.

He leant forward and out of the door frame, looking left and right and seeing nothing but neighbouring houses and shops in the rural parts of the town. The thought occurred to look up but by now they surely would have—

“Hi!”

A young, girlish chirp drew his attention down. It was then that shadowed malachite eyes met a bright jade pair, both exchanging a sense of familiarity with what they saw: to her, a scaled behemoth, for him, a white fluff ball of childish compassion and concern. Only this time she was smiling.

“You probably might not remember me, but we met at the train-station the last time you were here, with Scootaloo and Apple Bloom?” She offered a cute curtsy. “I’m Sweetie Belle!”

“And I’ve just about had enough for one day.”