Applejack’s face, Rarity decided, was in terrible need of some makeup.

There was nothing she could do about the eyes. But the wrinkles underneath could be smoothed out and hidden; blush could distract from the twisting lips; and a hat, set at the right angle, could cause her expression to seem more mysterious than despairing.

The hat Applejack had was really awful. Straw? Seriously? And it was too big, and kept falling down her face. Even when she pushed it up, the shadow was there, making her eyes look drawn, her cheeks flat, and the red ribbon just didn’t go with her orange flank and new cutie mark.

They were sitting on the bed in Rarity’s room listening to the distant rumble of the coming storm. Applejack wasn’t saying much, and Rarity was running out of things to say.

“The yellow Pegasus filly, uh, Fluttershy, mentioned something in school about a pet frog dying,” Rarity said. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“Don’t think so, Rare.”

Rarity followed Applejack’s persistent gaze. There was nothing of interest on the far wall.

“She was quite old,” Rarity said uncomfortably. “These things happen.”

“You said.”

That bothered her a little. Applejack had shown up unannounced. She couldn’t be expected to be the perfect host at the drop of an ugly hat.

“What do you want me to say?” Rarity said sharply. “Since nothing I say seems to be what you came here for. It’s not as though I don’t have a dress I could be sewing.”

Applejack’s response was slow and halting. “I don’t entirely have much I’m feeling,” she said. “Like I’m an apple left in the sun to dry.”

“Do you think anypony noticed the veil I wore at the funeral?” Rarity said. “Rather than even squares, I had them more open around the face and a pattern that tightened as your eyes track to the side, it keeps the eye more focused, I think—”

“Rarity.”

“What?”

“I don’t care.”

“Applejack! I’m doing my best!”

“What do you do when it ain’t enough? Who do you go to?”

“What? I do just fine thank you, anypony but you would be grateful to have a host as patient and understanding as I!”

“And here I am talking to you since hating you means not looking at the farm from the porch while the rain comes down wondering how in Equestria I’m supposed to run the blamed thing. Reckon I’d start crying again, and she’d scold me for it, only she ain’t here to scold me, she—” Applejack was crying now— “she ain’t never going to scold me again.”

Rarity blinked. “Who?”

Applejack slid off the bed and walked out the door.

Light flashed through the windows, thunder boomed, and it began to rain.

It was fine, Rarity told herself, once she was over the shock and offense, the rain drumming steadily on the roof. They had said mean and hurtful things to each other, which would only make their reconciliation stronger. She would talk to Applejack and school, and they would fall into each other’s legs, weeping tears, each insisting on giving their apology and refusing the other’s.

Applejack wasn’t at school the next day. The teacher said she was busy running Sweet Apple Acres and probably wouldn’t come to school anymore.

Now Rarity understood. She would go to the Apple farm, throw herself at Applejack’s hoofs, and tearily apologize. Applejack would say something suitably rustic in a sardonic tone of voice, and take off that terrible straw hat and place it on Rarity’s head. “Reckon I don’t need this old thing no more,” she’d say. “Oh, Applejack!” Rarity would cry, embracing her closely as only best friends do. “I’ll make you a new hat, the biggest, most beautiful hat in Equestria!” “Aw, shucks, you don’t have to do that, Rare,” Applejack would say with an apple blush on her cheeks and Rarity would look her deep in the eye and say, “Yes, I do, my dearest friend, it is what generosity requires,” and Applejack would respond, “Rarity, if Generosity asks one more thing of you I reckon she’s being unreasonable. Reckon I’ve been unreasonable, too….” And they would talk and talk well into the night….

Rarity bolted for Sweet Apple Acres the instant school let out for lunch. She took a moment to set her hat and then knocked on the door.

She waited nervously for an answer. The instant the door opened she threw herself down.

“Applejack, oh Applejack,” she wailed, “my truest friend, I beg you—”

“Nope.”

“—I…I beg…hello, Big Mac. Is Applejack in?” Rarity coughed and straightened up, adjusting her hat.

“Yup.”

“Be a dear and fetch her, will you?”

Rarity waited while Big Macintosh went in search of his younger sister. The instant she saw the awful straw hat coming around the stairs, she prostrated herself on the doorstep.

“Applejack, oh Applejack, my truest friend, I beg you forgive me!”

Applejack’s hoofsteps were by her head, then past it.

Rarity looked behind her. “Applejack? I’m apologizing! Get back here!”

“Us Apples got work to do,” said the shrinking back of Applejack’s head. “If you ain’t got business here, you’d best leave.”

“Applejack!” Rarity shouted. She was on her hoofs, and furious. “If you don’t come back and listen to me, then we…then we won’t be friends anymore!”

It was only as she said it that Rarity realized they might not be friends anymore.

The ugly straw hat disappeared into the orchard.

Rarity spent the next week discovering that Applejack hadn’t just been her best friend, she had been her only friend. Rainbow Dash and she only had Applejack in common, and without her they were like jewels without a necklace, nothing connecting them.

She tried making friends, but, well, really. They were practically foals. The most popular pony was the one who could fit the most worms up her snout. When she tried to discuss how lines and curves could set a dress’s tone and focus, they just looked at her like, well, like she had suggested they all stuff worms up their snouts.

Yes, Applejack had been like that too, but it was different. There was a solemness about Applejack, an awareness of greater things that reminded Rarity of herself. When Applejack joined their games, she did so with the knowledge that one day, the games would end.

Probably. Rarity hadn’t actually asked her.

There was a lot she had taken for granted.

So she spent a lot of time reading Filly Magazine in class, which came from the Crystal Empire and was about sophisticated things like celebrity gossip and the latest fashion trends, and at home she spent her afternoons in her room, designing. It wasn’t the best for her complexion, but she could work with pale. A bit of shadow, a bit of blush, and a giant hat were all she needed.

It would be okay, she told herself. Applejack was just as lonely as she was. This was just the part in the story where they realized how much they missed each other in their lives. Applejack was probably looking at her dirty old boots and sighing, wishing she had something prettier with a bit of heel. Any day now, Applejack was going to come knocking on her door, and they would apologize, and try on hats….

Any week now.

Three months later, Applejack was leaving for Ostleregon. It was the decennial Fruit Salad, and the eldest Apple mare would attend. In that awful hat.

“Applejack!” Rarity kicked the door open, intent on making an entrance. “I won’t let our friendship die. So I’ve come to give you something.”

A piercing wail made her wince. Applejack sighed and hurried over to a crib, leaned down, one hoof keeping the ugly straw hat on her head, made cooing noises and jangled something until the wailing stopped.

Rarity looked at the table Applejack had been sitting at. Papers full of red ink covered the surface.

Applejack turned to her tiredly. “I’ve got to tell Big Mac not to let ponies up when I'm working. What, Rare?”

“You...ah, you simply can't attend the Fruit Salad with that hat. It looks like something an old mare would wear to do yard work!”

“Okay.” Applejack went back to the table, picked up a pen, stared at the papers.

“So I've made you a new one.”

“Okay.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Okay.”

“Applejack!” Rarity seized Applejack's ugly straw hat in the blue glow of her magic and tugged it off.

“Rarity!” Applejack tackled her; it felt like being run over by a cart. She slammed her against the wall. Her head hit the wood with a crunch that made the world turn black and spotty for a long, disorienting moment.

“Rarity!” Applejack shouted over the shrieking foal. “Don't touch my hat!” Her eyes were wide with anger and bagged with lack of sleep. “You're the most selfish—”

Rarity's horn glowed: She levitated the hat she had made onto Applejack's head.

“—the most...the most…this is a very comfortable hat.”

“It was made for you.” Rarity meant to smile but grimaced inelegantly. "I designed it after your mother's. I noticed you never had a hat that actually fit….”

“My Granny always picked 'em out for me.”

“She had no taste.” Rarity wondered at the suicidal idiot in control of her tongue.

Applejack looked at her. “Her mouth was mostly full of apple seeds.”

“That explains it then.”

“They taste awful bitter,” Applejack said, and began to cry, her voice mingling with the wailing foal in the crib.

“I’m surprised you came to see me before I go,” Applejack admitted. They sat together on her bed, legs touching, with a near-emptied tissue box, Apple Bloom sleeping nearby. “It's been a few months. Afraid I wasn't coming back?”

“Coming back a witch,” Rarity smiled.

“Nah,” Applejack grinned. “Besides, it’s foolish to tell a witch not to come back a witch.”

The windows flashed with light. A few seconds later thunder rumbled through the room. Rain began to beat a steady drum on the roof.

“Shoot, looks like you'll have to sleep over,” Applejack said immediately.

Rarity clapped her hoofs. “We can play—”

“Apples to apples?”

“Actually, I wasn't going to—”

“I’ll go get the apples.”

“But that's not how...never mind,” Rarity sighed as Applejack got up to fetch the fruit.

The door closed. A moment later, it shot open.

“Come with me,” Applejack said. “To the Fruit Salad.”

Rarity gasped. “I’ll make us dresses!”

“No, you don't have to—”

“I’ll go get the fabric right now!”

The train leading west rumbled and blew another shrill whistle. Rarity hugged her parents, gave baby Sweetie Belle, who dozed in their mother's legs, a peck on the cheek and turned to Applejack. Together they boarded the train.

“Don't argue,” Applejack said when they had taken their seats. She took out a pouch and opened. Rarity gasped at the sight of so many bits. “It's for the dress. That must've been your best fabric.”

“My best fabric, and next year’s,” Rarity said unthinkingly. Mother and Father hadn't been willing to pay for such expensive silk without a few compromises.

“I can see in the dress how hard you worked. I've never looked finer. So go on, take them.”

“No.”

“Rarity, I'm not—I'm not paying you to be friends or anything like that. But you're going to be a businessmare like me, ain't you? So you've got to get paid sometime. It'd be an honor to be your first customer.”

“Applejack...to me, the dress I made you is priceless. You couldn't afford it if you sold Sweet Apple Acres. The price of that dress is the price of our friendship. When you have enough bits to pay for that, I will accept them.”

Applejack looked like she was going to argue, then closed the pouch and put it away.

Rarity opened the travel bag with the dresses and levitated out Applejack's. The shimmering green and red silk unfolded in front of them. Applejack sighed a little at the sight of it.

“Dresses,” Rarity said, “should not be sold for less than they are worth.”

Something burned inside her like the glow of Applejack's touch. A flickering electric rush shivered from her tail up to her horn and erupted in a shower of blue-white sparks.

“Rarity!” Applejack said when the world returned. “Your cutie mark! It's diamonds! Three of 'em!”

Rarity looked, then nodded as if confirming to herself. “The durability of our friendship and its worth. I didn't expect anything less! True friends are as rare as diamonds, and you, Applejack, are this girl's best friend.”

They embraced, and the dress went back into its bag, and the snacks came out as the train thundered on to Ostleregon. The invitees of the Fruit Salad began arriving the next day.