This dream was different. This one was not a fantasy. Instead, it was a memory, or perhaps something that had once been a memory. In it, there was light. Bright, white light. Light that never stopped, never faded, and never ended. There was no darkness, but likewise, there was no sun. Just the cold glow of the lights.

Around her were the humming and clicking of the machines. The sounds she had always known, the sounds that had followed her since the beginning. Every beat of her heart beeped in the machine. The machines were not external, they were a part of her, and extension of her.

Around her were ponies. They all moved in a haze, but they had no faces. Just masks, and they wore white. They were not part of the machines. Were they part of the light? Were they something different from Toaster, a different kind of being? She did not know. The thoughts came too slowly.

Slowly, she lifted her hoof. It was brown. Neither the light nor the machines were brown, but she was. Pushing into the brown were so many needles, so many instruments. The fingers of the machine, or the extensions of her own body back to her true self. It was a sign of the endless pain, and in the endless pain the joy of the days when the cutting finally stopped, until it started again.

And yet, Toaster never resisted. There was nothing to resist. This was the only way life could exist: with the lights, the machines, and the ponies wandering lost in the haze.

Toaster awoke with a start, once again plowing her forhead into the bottom of Lyra’s floor and leaving yet another hole.

“Hey! Watch it!” yelled Bon Bon from above.

“Sorry!” called Toaster. With some effort, she disengaged her head and lay back down in the dirt. She smiled. The day was cool, but not cold, and sun was pouring in from the gaps between Lyra’s house and the ground. That, and Toaster had just awoken from a nostalgic dream. In addition, she had, for the first time in her entire life, gotten paid more than a single bit. Lacy Leather had, in fact, been so taken with Toaster’s performance that she had hired Toaster as an employee. As far as Toaster could tell, her job was pretty much the same, except now instead of having wieners pointed at her, cameras would be.

Then the sound that had awoken her repeated itself. Toaster realized that it was knocking. That did not mean much to her, so she just rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

“Toaster?” called a voice from the edge of the foundation. Toaster opened her eyes and looked out. Two pairs of derped yellow eyes were staring back at her, and Toaster realized that the knocking had been meant for her.

Quickly, she slithered her way out from under the house and emerged in the bright summer sun of Lyra’s garden. Muffins was smiling outside, her derped dog beside her, its tail wagging rapidly.

“Muffins!” said Toaster. “Why are you here?”

“Because I live over there,” she said, pointing to her house. It was only about ten feet away, and Toaster could see Scootaloo peeking out from beneath the porch.

“Oh. I see you remembered this time.”

“Bark,” said the dog, happily.

Toaster looked down at it. “I still don’t think dogs are literally supposed to say ‘Bark’.”

“No, no, that’s completely normal,” said Muffins. “Just like how cats say ‘cat’.”

“I’ve never seen a cat…but I have seen a lot of pussy!”

There was a loud barely suppressed snort from beneath Muffin’s porch. The dog looked toward it, but then back at Toaster.

“So,” said Toaster. “Why the knocking?”

“Because I want to hire you,” said Muffins, bluntly.

Toaster coughed, surprised. “Why is it that only mares want a ride on the Toaster train?” she said. “Look, Muffins, you’re real hot for a mother of two, and I’m not saying I couldn’t totally pound your muffin batter, but I just don’t go that way. In fact…” she paused, knowing full well what she was about to say, “I’m kind of thinking of toning down the whole prostitution thing. For now, at least. Until I build up a bigger fan base.”

“You already seem to have a few fans,” said Muffins, pointing over her shoulder. Out on the street, a pair of colts- -named Snips and Snails, or so Toaster was told- -where holding up home-made and poorly spelled signs declaring their devotion to her. Similarly, a yellow, vest-wearing stallion was doing the same at Muffins’s house.

“Oh, they’re just looking for a unicorn role model,” said Toaster. “Besides…the yellow one’s got the goods, but it’ll be a few years before the grey one can really drive it home. But still. I don’t take mares.”

“It’s not for me,” said Muffins, holding out a bag of coins. “It’s for my brother.”

Toaster raised an eyebrow. “You’re hiring a prostitute…for your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I figured a wild-filly like yourself could handle all his needs.”

“Not all of them,” said Muffins. “And I don’t want you to take him to bed. Well, unless you want to. But I think he really likes you. I just want to pay you to go on a date with him.”

“That’s weird. You know that’s weird, right?”

“I work in the shipping industry,” said Muffins. “This is pretty standard for me.”

“Just a date?”

“Just a date.”

“Hmm. I’ve never been on a date before.”

“Really?”

“Nopony wants to date a prostitute. My brothel didn’t really specialize in escort services. But I think I can swing it. Sure. But if he gets hoofsy without extra funds, I will slap him.”

“If he gets hoofsy on the first date, he deserves to be slapped.” Muffins extended her hoof with the sack of bits, but Toaster waved it away.

“I don’t take pay in advance,” she said. “Because of…problems, in the past. You can pay me if he lives. Besides, it’s not like I don’t know where you live.”

“Bark!” said the derp dog. It jumped up to Toaster’s side and lay down.

“Aww!” said Toaster. “Aren’t you just a weird little product of inbreeding!” She knelt down and rubbed her hooves rapidly on the dog’s underside. “I may not be Vinyl Scratch, but I’ve got da wubs!”

“Bark bark bark!” said the dog.

“There is something else,” said Muffins, her tone becoming slightly less cheerful.

“What?”

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Am I?” said Toaster, checking herself. “Did I forget pants?”

“You don’t usually wear pants. And no. That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Muffins looked Toaster in the eye. “I’ve broken a lot of things in my time, largely because I’m mostly blind. But whenever I do, I try to fix what I can, and apologize for what I can’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You have unfinished business, Toaster. With a certain white unicorn.”

“Oh,” said Toaster, her heart sinking. “That…”

A knock came at the door of the Carousel Boutique. Rarity paused from her work and looked to the door. Knocks were unusual in the middle of the day. Normally, customers just came in whenever they wanted, usually by appointment but sometimes to schedule one or for deliveries. In that sense, Rarity was not unlike Twilight- -except that while Rarity had customers and an actual job, Twilight subsisted on a heavy royal stipend and really had no reason to leave her doors unlocked.

The glow of Rarity’s horn faded as she dropped the buttons and thread that she had been comparing for her latest creation. For the past few days, she had closed her business due to psychological trauma. The whole time, she had found solace in her work and drowned many tears in fabric that had to be subsequently de-teared and pressed.

“Sweetie Belle, dear, are you expecting your little friends?” called Rarity. Since there was no response, she assumed that Sweetie Belle was not there, which was not unusual. After all, Sweetie Belle did not actually live with her. She just showed up sometimes.

There was another knock on the door, this one louder. Rarity rubbed her bruised eye, which had gone from dark blue to a sickly yellow, and decided that she had to open it.

“Hold on,” said Rarity, trotting to the door. She wrapped her magic around the doorknob and pulled it open. As soon as she did, she immediately regretted her decision.

Pressed against the door was a brown unicorn with hideous green hair and excessive makeup, a branch from Rarity’s perfectly manicured privet shrubs still protruding from her mouth.

“You!” cried Rarity. “How dare you show your face to me! Here, in my own home!”

“Rarity, wait, I need to- -”

“Don’t you even say my name! What’s the matter, HMM? Come back to finish the job you started? First you have the gall to attack me in broad daylight, and then- -THEN- -you go to work for my main competitor? Or did that petite salope de bovins pay you to do it?”

“You’re not being very polite,” said the brown pony, frowning and raising her voice. “It’s not like I want to be out here talking to you!”

“Then LEAVE!”

“What, do you think I like being in the presence of a unicorn like YOU?” The brown pony pressed herself closer, and Rarity responded by pressing back.

“Well, at least I’M not BROWN!”

“That’s exactly my point! How the HAY am I supposed to compete with a WHITE unicorn?! You’re like a friggin goddess, and I’m a half-shaved fire hazard!”
“And whose fault is THAT?”

“My own! Because I mistook a fashion designer for a competing prostitute and beat her, and I’m really ashamed that I made that mistake and came to apologize but I can’t stop yelling because I’m really angry and I don’t know why!” The brown pony looked up, and her eyes widened. Her voice dropped several decibels. “Uh…our horns are touching.”

Rarity looked up, and realized that the brown mare was right. In their heated argument, they had literally butted heads without noticing, and now their uniformly appendages were rubbing against one another. A number of Rarity’s neighbor stallions had gathered on the far side of her privet hedges, all watching wide-eyed in anticipation. The brown mare’s eyes shifted back toward them, and for a long moment they both stared at the crowd, and the crowd stared back at them.

Rarity quickly disconnected, brushing off her horn and blushing heavily.

“You came to apologize?” she said, clearing her throat.

“I feel really really really really bad about what I did, and it was wrong. So yes.”

“Well, then you really ought to come inside. Before I have to have Sweetie Belle spray out the privets again.”

Rarity stepped inside, and the brown mare hesitated. Then she entered the boutique, and Rarity closed the door behind her.

“If you try anything,” said Rarity. “I will scream SO loud…”

“What am I supposed to try?”

“NOTHING!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Now,” said Rarity. “I suppose you can start by telling me your name? Even if you are a vulgar brute, I simply can’t proceed without even a semblance of a proper introduction.”

“Toaster. My name is Toaster, town hooker.”

“YOU!” cried Rarity, finally connecting the dots. “Pinkie Pie told me about you!”

“She did?”

“I should have known a pony with such an unpleasant occupation- -and such low class- -would do something so- -so UNCOUTH!”

“I think it was more an act of stupidity than a lack of couth,” protested Toaster.

“Why would you even DO something like that?”

“Because I thought you were also a prostitute.”

“But WHY?” Rarity felt just as insulted as she had when Toaster had first proclaimed that fact on the day of the attack, but Rarity had only half-believed it, believing the statement to be some kind of sick prank. Now, though, she saw that Toaster was absolutely serious.

“Because I saw you with those stallions and I just…I just got so jealous…”

“Jelous?” Rarity was flattered, but knew that feeling that way was not appropriate.

“I mean, look at you! Perfect figure, perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect cutie mark, perfect color, perfect ACCENT!”

“Oh, well,” said Rarity. “It’s only because I spent so much time on my appearance. After all, it is always important to make a good impression. But you’re not…ehh…”

“I’m BROWN,” said Toaster. “With green hair. GREEN HAIR. And you’re basically Fleur de Lis over here.”

“Oh, no,” said Rarity. “Fleur has a much finer figure than me, and such grace and beauty, to say nothing of her long, silky pastel main. I have made several dresses for her, and it is always a monumental challenge to frame such beauty in adequate clothing.”

Toaster’s eyes widened, to the point where Rarity actually became somewhat frightened. Toaster’s eyes, it seemed, were as green as her hair, and the combination of that green with her coat really was rather unfortunate. “You know Fleur de Lis?!” squeaked Toaster.

“Well, yes,” said Rarity. “Of course. We always have coffee when I’m in Canterlot, and I just adore her husband’s parties. She’s even agreed to model in my upcoming fall- -”

Rarity was interrupted by a gasp so loud and long that Toaster eventually just passed out on the floor.

“Oh dear,” said Rarity, somewhat panicked. She looked around, trying to remember where she had put the smelling salts, before remembering that she had thrown them out for being too smelly. “I think I need to- -”

“Fleur de Lis!” cried Toaster, opening her eyes. She paused, looking around. “How did I get down here?” quickly, she stood up.

“Is that…normal?”

“No, I get a little brain damage every time it happens. But Fleur de Lis!” Toaster released a rather harsh fangirl squeal. “I just adore her! She’s pretty much my role model! I even have a tattoo of her somewhere…” She began looking over her body. “…or did I tattoo somepony else with it?”

“I’m actually surprised you’re familiar with her.” Toaster, after all, did not look like a pony who often bothered to look at photos from high-fashion expositions.

“Of course! She’s one of my all-time favorite prostitutes!”

Rarity froze and choked. “Excuse me? Fleur is a model, certainly not a…a prostitute!”

“Oh, no,” said Toaster. “She is not A prostitute. She is THE prostitute. Literally the most successful call-filly in the 29th Street House’s history! The most elegant, well-paid of us all, in a league lightyears away from any other girl at our brothel! She’s been in the beds of all the Canterlot elite, hired by only the most wealthy, discerning, and influential elite. Princes, diplomats, foreign rulers, weathy heirs and moguls- -they even say she was as consort to Celestia herself at one point! And she SURVIVED!”

“But but but…” Rarity did not know how to process this information. Fleur was a friend, and, in all honestly, Rarity had rather looked up to her- -both professionally and literally, considering Fleur’s height. Fleur had never once mentioned any of this- -but in some perverse way, Rarity found Toaster’s description alluring, momentarily imagining herself in Fleur’s alleged position and, for a brief moment, feeling a twinge of jealousy. “But…she’s married! To Fancy Pants!”

“I know,” said Toaster, wiping away a tear. “It’s such a beautiful story! He was her best customer! And now…now they’re in a long-term contract…”

“Contract?”

Toaster nodded, sniffling against the emotional strain of what she considered to be some kind of love story. “When a prostitute retires, she either becomes a Madame, goes into teaching the next generation, or gets a ‘long-term contract’ with a wealthy patron. I think layponies call it ‘marriage’.”

“Well…that is an interesting way to…er…look at the union of two ponies.” It was, in fact, the exact way that Rarity herself often looked at a union between two ponies- -but there was no way she was going to admit that.

“Of course,” said Toaster. “Fleur de Lis may be the sexiest pony alive, but as a whore, she doesn’t even hold a candle to Yulbee.”

“To whom?” Rarity had the strangest feeling that she had heard that name before.

“Yulbee Cummingtonite,” said Toaster. “Oh, wow. Just, wow. THAT was a prostitute…no, you can’t even use that word to describe her. She’s a legend, with basically a weaponized vagina. Some ponies don’t even think she was real, but I assure you, she was. She didn’t even have a brothel, she was just an independent, like me, but…the things she could do! I’ve managed to learn two or three, but some of them just can’t be taught. The things that pony could do in bed…they say that if she ever went all-out on a stallion, he would die instantly unless he had a mind as hard as stone and a dick five times that hard.”

“You are using the past-tense,” noted Rarity. “Did something happen to this Yulbee Cu…Yulbee?”

“Yeah,” sighed Toaster. “She got pregnant. Married some rock farmer, changed her name to something Quartz…I hear he’s put four foals into her so far.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’ve heard that name before.” Rarity paused, trying to think, but when she came up with nothing, she just sighed and turned to Toaster. “Would you like some tea?”

“Tea?” said Toaster, sounding confused. “You mean those little bags with the crunchy stuff inside them? I do like those, but the little staples do a number on my digestive tract.”

“Staples…you don’t mean to say that you’ve been eating tea bags, do you?”

“And the little strings. I just can’t get enough of those little strings.”

“You do realize you can make a drink from those, don’t you?”

Toaster’s eyes widened and she started to gasp. Before she could get very far, though, Rarity shoved her magic into Toaster’s mouth.

“Sorry,” said Rarity. “But passing out to much is not healthy.”

“Right,” said Toaster. She smacked her lips. “Mmm…licorice and marshmallow.”

Rarity led Toaster over to the kitchen, where she reached telekinetically into the cabinets and produced a steel kettle. She filled it with water at the sink and set it on the stove. The whole time, she noticed, Toaster was watching, following the shimmering blue of Rarity’s magic with her eyes. It was weird and uncomfortable, but Rarity did not feel threatened- -yet.

“This might take some time to boil,” she said.

“I can make it go faster,” said Toaster. The tip of her horn glowed with red light, and the kettle instantly began whistling more loudly than Rarity had ever heard whistle before.

“Oh my,” said Rarity, picking up a pot holder with her magic and removing the kettle from the stove. “A heat spell? That certainly is uncommon.” She poured out the water into several mugs and went to the tea cupboard, looking through her collection of teas for one that she imagined that Toaster would probably like. “I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you had succeeded in using your magic on my in that alley.”

Toaster took a deep breath and closed her eyes, grimacing. Her tone changed so sharply that Rarity actually paused as she reached for a rarely used chocolate mint blend on the top shelf. “Please don’t make me think about that,” she said.

“Well,” said Rarity. “I suppose it could have been worse had my friends not intervened. Of course, this black eye is no summer picnic. I haven’t been able to show my face in public for nearly a week because of you, and I still have a very important meeting with Twilight and a touring diplomat in a few days.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Toaster. “And you’re white too…you probably bruise like a banana.”

“I do. And it is extraordinarily rude to hit a lady in the face.”

“I know, and now that I look at you, I feel like I defaced some kind of precious art…thing. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Well, I do, but it was based on faulty logic.”

“And I still have not forgiven you,” said Rarity, making the tea and setting it on her table. “Not yet.”

“I don’t expect you to. Not easily, anyway. If you were a stallion, I would consider giving you a horn job as an offering.”

“A ‘horn job’?”

“Yeah. I would stick your horn in my mouth and lick and suckle it until you shoot your magic down my throat.”

“Oh my,” said Rarity, now feeling VERY uncomfortable and blushing substantially- -but at the same time wondering if she could actually managed to do that herself. “That sounds dangerous.”

Toaster nodded. “It is. Even professionals sometimes lose their heads. There’s spells to help, but non-unicorns usually have to go to the side at the last second. Horn rubbing is safer, but you can get horn rot from that if you’re not careful.”

“Horn rot?” said Rarity, nervous, knowing that her own horn had touched Toaster’s.

Toaster smiled. “You don’t have to worry. I’m clean. I only ever horn-rubbed a stallion once.” She sighed. “He’s an earth pony now…”

“Oh my,” said Rarity, relieved and terrified at the same time. She sat down at the table with Toaster and lifted her teacup, sipping from it gently. It was warmed perfectly.

She watched Toaster do the same- -except that Toaster lifted the mug with unusual hoof precision instead of using telekinesis.

“I see you’ve spent some time with earth ponies,” she noted. “Or perhaps Pegasi?”

“I’ve spent time with many ponies.”

“Oh! Yes, well, um…It’s just that you’re not using your magic to lift the cup.”

“Oh,” said Toaster, looking down. “Yeah. I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Nope. Can’t use magic.”

“But the heat spell!”

“No, you don’t understand.” Toaster looked around, and her eyes settled on a dish of sugarcubes. She picked one up in her hoof and held it out. “You might want to cover your ears.”

Toaster lowered her head slightly, and a small plume of red magic formed around the tip of her horn. A similar plume formed around the sugar cube, and with undue concentration, Toaster gently lifted it a few millimeters into the air.

Then, before Rarity even knew what was going on, an explosion racked her house. The concussive blast was so powerful that it blew open her windows and knocked her backward off her chair. For a moment, she was knocked into a daze and partially deafened. Slowly, though, she sat up.

The sugar cube was gone. In its place was a smoking black stain on Toaster’s brown hoof.

“It isn’t stable,” said Toaster. “I can do heat spells…but only heat spells. Anything else that I touch with my magic…well…this.”

“That’s terrible!” said Rarity, returning to her seat. She was still momentarily disoriented, but the explosion had been more surprising than actually dangerous. In volume and effect, it was not much different from one of Twilight’s teleportation spells. Except that when Twilight teleported something, it actually went somewhere instead of being reduced to ash.

Rarity reached out for the remainder of the sugar cubes, but suddenly found that the bowl was completely empty. Rarity’s eyes flashed up to Toaster just in time to see her swallow them, and chase them down with a delicate and nearly ladylike sip of tea.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Not a problem. I prefer it black anyway.”

“Ah. So you are THAT kind of pony.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each slowly sipping their tea. It was uncomfortable, but Rarity just did not know what the two of them might have had in common.

“You know,” said Rarity, at last. “I suppose, in a way, I have to admit that I am just a teensie bit jealous of you.”

“Of me?” said Toaster, confused. “But you’re the elite of elites!”

“Oh, no, darling. I’m just an ordinary pony, the same as everypony else.”

“My own shi- -”

“Language!” chastised Rarity.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s just that…well, it’s rather ironic really. You mistook me for a prostitute when, in fact, I have a bit of a dearth of male attention in my life.”

“What? No way! A unicorn like you, come ON! You have the pick of the litter, especially in a town like this! You could probably swing yourself a whole reverse-harem! I saw those two before, you had them wrapped around your little hoof.”

“Well, yes. I would be lying if I did not admit that I do…flirt. And that I sometimes use it to get things that I want.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“But that’s all I really can do.”

“What do you mean?”

Rarity looked down at her tea. “I’ve gone through a lot to build a reputation. Getting in with the correct crowds, climbing in society, building my business. My image is important, and an important part of me. But having to uphold a reputation is…taxing.”

“Reputation?”

“Not something you would know about. Or maybe you would, but in the opposite way.” Rarity let out a long sigh. “How I would just love pull a handsome stallion into my boudoir for a steamy tryst…but if word got out, my image would be ruined.”

“That’s terrible!” cried Toaster. “That’s positively draconian! And I don’t even know what that word means!”

“It may be old fashioned, and I admit that there is a double standard, but that is the way it is. Stallions are expected to be experienced, but a proper mare should go into marriage as pure as fresh linen.”

“Tell that to Fleur.”

“Which…I suppose that’s hard for the stallions, too,” said Rarity, for the first time thinking about that fact. “If they are expected to have…ahem…been ‘broken in’, it must be terrible feeling like they are ruining the future of the mares they lie with.”

“That’s my job,” said Toaster.

Rarity looked at Toaster’s green eyes. “I suppose it is.”

“It’s such a waste, though. You have a killer color, and you can’t even use it? If I had your coat color and a horn that actually worked, I would sleep on a bed made of stallions. Solid, stallions. And by solid I mean- -”

“I know what you mean.”

“But instead, I’m stuck with green hair…”

“Actually, regarding that,” said Rarity, who had not been able to take her eyes off Toaster’s unusual haircut for most of the meeting. “I simply must ask, who did your hair?” Then, adding under her breath, “so I know which hairdresser to avoid.”

“Scootaloo and Lyra did their best,” said Toaster, rubbing the green fuzz that made up everything except her bangs. “They evened it out, but they couldn’t fix it entirely.”

“Did something happen?”

Toaster averted her eyes. She paused unduly long, clearly thinking. “Let’s just say that you have a lot of devoted fans, Ms. Rarity.”

“Fans? I don’t understand.”

“It’s not that I didn’t deserve it. I definitely did, for what I did to you. What I almost did. Hay, I deserved much, much worse.”

“What happened?”

Toaster looked up at Rarity, and then away. “That night, I came to try to apologize to you. I felt terrible. But they caught me.”

“Who?”

“Stallions. And one mare with blue eyes. They were wearing masks, so I didn’t see who they were. They tied me up, beat me…I lost two teeth…and then they shaved my mane and tail.”

There was a sound of a teacup shattering. Toaster looked down instinctively, but saw that hers was somehow still intact. Then she heard the sound of a stool being pushed back sharply, and saw Rarity standing. Toaster immediately felt afraid, wondering if she had said something wrong. Unlike her, Rarity had full use of her magic; Toaster had only managed to get the drop on her before. If Rarity wanted to hurt Toaster, it would not be difficult for her to do so.

“They WHAT?!” cried Rarity.

“Shaved my head…and my tail…”

“Of all the horrid, despicable barbarism that one pony can do to another!” cried Rarity, now nearly screaming. “I can’t believe- -are you sure?”

“I was there,” said Toaster, wishing that she had not been.

“And you seriously believe you DESERVED that?”

“I did.”

“No. NO! Never! You may have hurt me, given me a black eye, and called me ‘crab infested’- -which I still have not forgiven you for, mind you- -but you at least had the common curtesy- -not, DIGNITY to leave my hair out of it! What kind of a monster takes a mare’s MANE?”

“It’s actually growing on me, I think,” said Toaster. “Literally, even. Because it’s hair. But Lacy Leather says it looks sexy, and I agree.” She sighed, and then reached behind her. Rarity almost cried out when she saw the mostly-shaved nub of Toaster’s tail. “But I miss my tail. I used to be able to make it so poofy and cute. Now I’m not cute anymore. I look like a rat.”

“You do! I- -I mean no, it isn’t bad! Short tails are quite ‘in’ this summer!”

Toaster raised an eyebrow. “Short tails are NEVER in.”

“Indeed,” admitted Rarity. She sat back down and was silent for a long moment. Then she looked up at Toaster. “I just don’t understand how any pony could do something so ghastly, so brutal. I would offer to try to fix it but…but even I have limits. Darling, that must have been horrible!”

“It was pretty bad. But I was pretty ugly to start with, so…”

“Don’t say that!” snapped Rarity. “I won’t have you disparaging yourself under my roof! Every pony is pretty in her own right, even if she…”

“Is brown, half-shaved, with green hair and a defective horn?”

“Yes,” said Rarity. “You may be violent, uncouth, classless, and possibly disease ridden- -”

“Not helping.”

“But you still are pretty! Well, in a non-classical sense!”

“Really?”

“Really. And if there’s anything I can do to help you…”

“Actually,” said Toaster, shyly. “There is.” She produced a small bag and placed it on the table. From the jingling, Rarity could tell that it was full of bits. “I know I’m in no position to ask this, and I’d understand if you say no. Or threw me out just for asking. But, I was told you make dresses…and I have a big date coming up with Muffins’s brother…”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “There’s ANOTHER one?”

“With the way they go at it, I’m surprised there’s not way more.”

“Can’t you just have Lacy Leather make you one?” said Rarity, momentarily unable to control her snideness.

Toaster shook her head. “She only knows how to make lingerie, not real dresses. And the only ‘dresses’ I actually have are so short that they show of my pony-parts. Or my a kimono, and that’s not appropriate for Ombre du Château either!”

Rarity gasped slightly. “You mean that new restaurant that just opened near the castle? The one specializing in the very hautest of haute cuisine?”

“I’m not sure about the temperature, but yes, that one.”

“How ever did you get reservations?! And you’re taking Muffins’s brother- -oh dear. If he is anything like her, I certainly hope they have good insurance.”

“Muffins has connections. But that place is all fancy and junk! I can’t show up naked! Please, this is my whole week’s pay. I don’t need something custom, if you’ll just let me buy something off the shelf, that would be better than I could ever have hoped for.”

Rarity let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, darling, but I just don’t do off-the-shelf in my Ponyville branch.”

“You have more than one branch? Are you Fluttershy?”

“No. But I only do custom work here in Ponyville, and I’m simply too backlogged right now. You must understand. Could you not perhaps borrow a dress from somepony?”

Toaster shook her head. “Lyra’s clothes are all made out of titanium, and Muffins’s are too small. And Bon Bon doesn’t want me wearing her clothes around Lyra.” Toaster stood up from the table. “Well, at least thank you for considering the request. And once again, I’m sorry for beating you like a rented mule.” She turned to the mule that was peering through Rarity’s window. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he whispered in response.

Toaster moved to leave, but then Rarity suddenly had an idea.

“Wait!” she cried, jumping up so fast that her stool fell over behind her. “I actually have an idea!”

Toaster turned around, her eyes suddenly inordinately large with hope.

“I was working on a dress,” said Rarity. “It was supposed to be for a pony named Flitter, a darling Pegasus girl, really, but she never showed up for the fitting.”

“Come to think about it…she was supposed to be at the lingerie show, but she never showed up.”

“Here, let me show you,” said Rarity, leading Toaster into the main room. Past several exquisite but gaudy dresses for their respective owners, there was a far simpler dress on a mannequin against the back wall. “Without her fittings, I put it on the back burner, so to speak. It’s just an unmodified shell right now, and it is fitted for a Pegasus, but if I let it out a little to accommodate for you…er…”

“Height?”

“Sure. But if you accessorize properly, I think it would be more than appropriate for any occasion.”

“But isn’t it hers?”

“Not anymore,” said Rarity in a huff. “Not showing up for an appointment and not calling is extremely rude. I can only figure that she does not want it anymore. I was going to disassemble it for fabric, but it will only take me a few moments to hem. Of course, the color is still a bit…bland…” Rarity turned the mannequin to get a good look at the dress she had been working on. It was a perfectly suitable dress, just terribly dull.

She turned back to see if Toaster was even interested in something so simple, and suddenly found a pair of enormous, glimmering green eyes staring back at her. “You would do that…for me?”

“Well…yes…if you stop looking at me like that. It’s weird.”

“Hugs!”

Before Rarity could stop her, Toaster wrapped her in an enormous hug.

“Fractured rib! Fractured rib!” wheezed Rarity trying to escape.

“Oh,” said Toaster, putting her down. “Sorry.”

“Not a- -cough- -problem,” said Rarity. “Now stand on that pedestal over there and…”

“Turn my head and cough. Yeah, I know the drill.”