A Lady Fit for Royalty
by Fillyfoolish
First published
Ever since Rarity knew she was a filly, she knew what it meant to be a lady. Her prince would sweep her off her hooves any moment now, if only she were a little more lady-like. That's what she tells Twilight, anyhow.
Ever since Rarity knew she was a filly, she knew what it meant to be a lady. Her platonic friends were wonderful mares, yes, but her prince would sweep her off her hooves any moment now, if only she were a little more lady-like. That's what she tells Twilight, anyhow.
This story is part of the First and Only Raritwi Bomb. A week's worth of stories and art all centered around Rarity and Twilight. If you liked it, the previous story posted is Carabas's "Sledding and Other Horrors", and you can find a master list of all Raritwi Bomb content here, https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/873741/the-raritwi-bomb-masterpost.
Thank you to Nonnie for prereading, as well as with fourths, listening to my proto-outline.
Prologue
A perfect lady cares for her friends, sharing affections, crying shoulders, and kindness. By morning, she listens; by noon, she speaks; by evening, she loves. A perfect lady never indulges in half-truths or white lies, never bites her tongue or mumbles. She is kind to many, loyal to few, harmful to none. A lady is the paragon of femininity and her friends the essence of harmony.
A perfect lady cares for her stallion, her dreamy caballero holding her heart in his hooves. A perfect stallion cares for his lady, the flower of his dreams and the honeybee of hers. A lady meets her prince under the Canterlot moonlight, in an art museum, at the Grand Galloping Gala. They lay eyes from afar and swoon at first sight; they approach and speak softly, sparking amorous bonfire. They brush lips and blush, crossing stars and sealing fates with fluttering eyelashes, faint smiles. Overjoyed and enamored, he buys her a ring and proposes, and she gifts lifelong vows. He works the upper echelons of the noble sphere; she cares for their beautiful foals, a kind-hearted filly and a soft-spoken colt. She lives for him and he for her, and as the calendar flies by, they share their final rests, hoof-in-hoof and heart-in-heart.
And indeed, a perfect lady’s friends are perfect ladies with perfect stallions. Thus a lady cares for her friends in want of a stallion, side-by-side their stallions, mourning the break-up or passing of their stallions. A lady serves her husband first and friends second, but for none else would she matchmake, listen, advise, even love. She knows romance and friendship, reserving a destined stallion for one, many wonderful mares for the other. Ever cautious, ever quaint, a perfect lady’s friendship survives and thrives.
My name is Rarity, and I am no perfect lady.
The Love Doctor
Knock.
Knock knock.
Knock knock knock?
A few minutes early for my weekly tea with Twilight, I arrived at the castle. Greeted only by silence, I opened my saddlebag to materialize my Bearer key, unlocking the door and stepping in. I scanned the corridor and adjacent rooms for any sign of a particular purple mare, but the castle was lifeless.
How strange. Twilight always greeted me at the door, but I do suppose she was an occupied mare, and perhaps the occasion slipped her mind.
As a friend, as a lady, of course I would understand such a tiny hiccup.
Typically we took tea in the kitchen, thus there I headed. Yet within the kitchen, there was neither a brewing kettle nor Twilight Sparkle. Of course, the kitchen is the one castle room with perpetual life. I cast a warm smile and hollered, “Good morning, Spike!”
Spike looked up at me from his Supermare comic book, which he held in one claw, the other clutching a spoonful of mushy brownish oat concoction. “Ohirarrie.” He gulped, putting down the spoon, and repeated. “Oh, hi, Rarity! How are you? Looking for the best cereal collection in Ponyville?”
“I’m doing quite well, although I’m afraid I didn’t come for cereal, no.”
Spike shook his head, mixing disappointment with amusement. “Nobody ever does.” He shrugged. “Anything I can help you with?”
“I’m looking for Twilight. We were scheduled to meet for tea this morning?”
“Hmm,” Spike stared off. “I think she’s in the library?” He shrugged, picking up his utensil and spooned in more of… whatever that was he was eating. “Gooluh!”
“Thank you, Spike.” I flashed a smile then turned around, resuming my quest for friendship! For Twilight! For… other things, not that there were other things, of course, because I was – no, because I am – a lady.
Ahem. I entered the library, and I did find her, sitting in a corner immersed in a book in the shadow of an ink and paper cave. I trotted in with audible footsteps, but she responded to no sign of life.
“Helloooo!” I sung. No response. I coughed. “Hello?” Nada. “Equestria to Twilight Sparkle?”
Silence. I trotted next to her and waved my hoof in front of her vision, interrupting her reading. Finally, she looked up, blinking with her mouth hung open. A beat and she exclaimed, “Oh, Rarity! I’m so sorry; I wasn’t expecting you!” She drooped. “Uh, wait, what time is it?”
What time was it? The same time we met every week for tea. What kind of question was that? “9 a.m., darling.”
“9 a.m.” she repeated quickly under her breath, pained by confusion. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Rarity. There are no windows in here; I didn’t realize!”
Didn’t realize? Oh dear, the patient’s case of Twilightitis may have been more severe than initially diagnosed. “Twilight, may I ask you a question?” I paused. “And do answer me honestly.”
“Always!”
“Precisely when did you go to sleep?”
She just stared, opening and closing her mouth once, twice, thrice, no sounds leaving except for an exasperated sigh.
I hung my head low, chiding her like a mother. “Twilight, did you not sleep at all last night?”
Twilight turned her head to the corner of her desk, containing two enormous stacks of book, most of which with pink or black covers and flowery cursive lettering along the title spines. “I’ve been reading?” she mumbled with an uptilt, asking as much as reporting.
I confess, looking back, I may find this incident the slightest bit entertaining and perhaps the teensiest bit adorable. But in the moment, oh, how she shredded my heartstrings. I pressed my hoof against my temples, nonchalantly affirming, “So I gathered.”
Twilight turned back to face me. I felt myself losing consciousness to the depths of her vision. She sputtered out, “Okay, okay, okay! I know it looks bad, but I promise there is a perfectly reasonable explanation!”
“I’m listening.”
“You know how you told me when an opportunity for romance presents itself, the protagonists in your books would take it?”
Romance? Twilight, what did you go and do? “Yes, that is how the author advances the plot.” I stared off up to the brightly lit corner, noticing a lampshade hanging from above.
Twilight nodded swiftly. “Well, an opportunity presented itself, in a manner of speaking.”
“Oh?”
“You know Doctor Hooves? Brown-coat, stallion, hourglass cutie mark?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen him around Ponyville, though I’m afraid I’ve never met him.”
She blushed. “Well, he, uh, he asked me out.”
Princess Twilight Sparkle? Asked out? By a stallion?
What an… unexpected turn of events. Not that it is unexpected that somepony would have feelings for Twilight, of course, and I suppose there really is nothing unexpected about somepony acting on said feelings, and I suppose that yes, if anyone were to ask out a given lady like Twilight, it would have to be a stallion, so there is nothing unexpected, for this is exactly how a lady is supposed to interact with a stallion. And a stallion with a lady. And. Um.
So no, I do not have a problem with this absolutely typical situation whatsoever. There is no part of me that minds in the slightest bit that a stallion is taking interest in my clo– in one of my closest friends.
I am one-hundred percent okay with this. I am a lady, and she is my friend, and I must be there for her to guide her and lov– support her as she finds love. With a stallion. Because that is what mares do. Date stallions.
Ladies dating stallions, to be a real lady. So I’ve told myself since grade school, the first days of my fillyhood when I resolved I must become a lady.
I confess Twilight has had more success in this endeavour, and I don’t believe she was even trying. Of course, she did have the advantage of birth. And, I suppose, a stallion asking her out.
That would help my case, wouldn’t it? Shame it didn’t work out with Blueblood; as intolerable as the brute was – what a mockery of stallionhood! – his presence by side would have reinforced my ladyhood.
Twilight’s would be detrimental.
Not that I would ever consider consider the detriment of me dating Twilight, because that is exactly what it is. A detriment. A detriment that I have no interest in. Since I have no interest in dating my platonic friend. Twilight.
See? Settled!
I beamed, relegating to my ladylike duties. “Ah! Tell me everything about this stallion.” I squinted, eyebrows aggressive but lips enjoying every bit of drama. “And do not leave out any details!”
Twilight giggled. “I don’t know! We were in the marketplace chatting. He asked me what I’ve been up to, and I started explaining Equestrian political structure, compared with the neighboring kingdoms.” Talking politics to her date: classy, if unorthodox. “Though I admit he wasn’t the courtroom type.”
“No. Really?” I exclaimed, bringing my hoof to my chest, closing my eyes with a jaded frown. “Colour me surprised! How could a perfectly good stallion not absolutely adore comparative contemporary political science?”
Twilight laughed. “I wish I knew! Well, as soon as he realized he was more of a science type, I obviously delved into my research on chaotic loop theory.”
I racked my brain. Chaos, loops, I had definitely heard those words before, though not memorably together. I did recall her showing me some fancy research apparatus she built. “Is that the big machine you have in the basement? The one that keeps making those crash noises?”
Twilight blushed, looking away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Umm..”
“And if there was such a machine” – I felt the floor rumble as she spoke, a crash no doubt echoing from beneath us – “which there is not, do not tell Princess Celestia.”
I nodded blankly. “Okay.”
Twilight snapped back into reality, coughing. “So I was talking to Doctor Hooves about the parts of my research that don’t involve proscribed magic – which is to say, all of it!” She smiled like a proud foal showing her parents her A on her spelling test.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! And he then told me about his research on something he’s calling ‘linear algebra’, which is super interesting stuff. It turns out there’s this idea where…”
I have to be honest. I have no idea whatsoever what she was babbling on about. I don’t know what a linear is or why it would be algebra. But I did enjoy her presence, and if the cadence of her speech was an indication, she enjoyed having a friend to throw words at.
She had a friendly warmth then, trailing on about science and mathemagics. There I was, the scientist, observing her in her natural state.
I lost track of time spent with her lecture passing through one ear and leaving from the other, and no doubt she lost track of time lecturing. But at some point, it must have come to close. C’est la vie.
“–and that’s how time travel was discovered!”
…Sometimes it isn’t worth it to question. “That sounds wonderful, Twilight.”
She clapped her hooves. “It is! I don’t know what happened exactly; we just really got along, you know?” I nodded, well-aware of the feeling. From real life, totally, definitely not novels. “He asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him sometime, and I wondered if it meant he was asking me out, but maybe he just meant that as a request for further communication scientist-to-scientist.”
I smiled, though a knot was tying itself within me. “Do go on,” I begged.
“Well, I asked him, and he said, yes, he would like to go on a date with me!”
I would have exclaimed, but I lacked the force within me. “That sounds lovely, dear.”
Twilight beamed, sincere it seemed. “It felt really nice! So as a scientist, I knew what I needed to do.”
“Oh?” Oh my. “What’s that?”
“Research!” she shouted.
“Oh my.”
“‘Oh my’ is right, Rarity!” She panted. “As I see it, Doctor Hooves presented me with a wonderful educational opportunity. There is so much about romance I don’t know, and there was only one way I could find out.”
“Putting yourself out there and dating a pony, even knowing it may or may not work out?” I ventured a guess. Maybe if I followed my own advice… I shouldn’t venture there.
“What? No.” Twilight snorted. “No, I wanted to follow your advice, Rarity. You’ve always told me that your strategy for learning romance has been reading romance novels–”
“–I’m not sure that’s a strategy I would endorse, darling–”
“–so I took your strategy to the logical limit!” She turned her body and outstretched a hoof to point to a colossal pile of books in the corner of the room, of which the two stacks on Twilight’s desk were apparently only a tiny subset. With pride, she elaborated, “Those stacks contain the entire deduplicated collection of romance novels within the Ponyville Library system, from both the Royal and Everfree branches, as well as assorted psychology collections tagged in the library database as love, romance, or relationships”
I blinked.
“Oh! I also borrowed some books on an interlibrary loan from the Canterlot system. Normally, it might be frowned upon to borrow that many books at once, but nopony asks questions to a princess.” She fanned out her wings. “And after all, this is an emergency.” She fanned back in her wings, bearing a blush, and mumbled, “Of a sort.”
I blinked again.
“So! The books from Canterlot should be arriving tomorrow.” Her eyes drooped, highlighting a pair of gloomy dark circles. “Uh, today,” she frowned.
I blinked thrice, scanning over the hundreds of novels and nonfiction, her piles containing everything from Greyscale Quill’s classics Guardaespaldas and La Princesa to Flaming Dress’s Dichos Tavianos, works with dozens of titles I recognized and hundreds more I did not. “Wow.” I ogled. “Certainly puts my adolescence to shame.”
“Ha!” She beamed ear to ear. “I’ve been reading nonstop since last night. I’m making good progress, but there’s so much to do!” She giggled. “Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part!”
“Yes?”
She bounced up into the air, spreading out all four hooves. In her magic she held up a journal with random pages torn out; illegible Equestrian cursive sprawled out across the pages remaining. “Notetaking!”
Notetaking, indeed. I hesitated. “Uh, Twilight?”
“Yeah?!”
“I’m worried about you,” I said solemnly.
She deflated, my words pins popping into her nerd balloon. She drooped back into her chair, released the notebook from her magic, and sagged, the adrenaline rush crashing and sleep deprivation kicking in. Frowning, she muttered, “I hoped it’s what you would have told me to do.”
I bit my lip. “I admit much of my romantic knowledge is not from personal experience, and much of the second-hand knowledge is from romance novels–”
“–See!–”
“–But that is no excuse for going thirty hours without sleep!” I barked. “I love you, Twilight, and that means I care about you, okay?”
She grinned adorably, and it became harder to scold her when I could be indulging her. “Aw, I love you, too, Rarity!” Her grin turned devilish. “So seriously, could you help me figure out how to prepare for my date with Dr. Hooves now?”
I closed my eyes for a moment to breath in and out. A lady never lets her own emotions overtake her responsibilities as a friend. “I care about you, and that means I care that you have enough sleep to function, okay?” A smile upon my lips I tried on for size, but it didn’t fit; I allowed myself to mirror her deflation.
She huffed. “You’re not my Mom, Rarity!”
I rolled my eyes. She had a point there, I suppose. “Touché. Okay, tell you what. Get some shut eye now, and I’ll come back later this afternoon to help you with your boyfriend.”
My dreamy commandment was lost as she repeated, “My… boyfriend?”
Though the words felt hollow to me, they were what lady Rarity lived for, were they not? I waggled my eyebrows, an empty gesture by an empty mare.
Twilight blushed, slowly raising herself from her chair. “I, uh, will get my pillow.”
“I don’t suppose you need to me read you a bedtime story?” I smirked.
“Rarity!”
“Or sing you a lullaby?” I cleared my throat. “Hush, Twi, quiet Twi…–”
“–Okay, okay, you win, I’m going to sleep!”
I smiled. “Good night, Twilight.”
“Good night, Rarity. Erm, morning.”
The Love Sickness
A few weeks of giggling, lovestruck Sparkle later, I sat alone in my workspace on a Friday night, sewing an expedite-order lacy purple dress for a mail-order client. I would have wished to defer to Monday, but my eyes were wide awake beside the candlelight. Business calls – the little sacrifices we make for our livelihood. The large ones for our art.
Needle in, needle out, the zen state of flow within me, zoning out and zoning in as the threads bundled into creation. Needle in, needle out, a poetry of dressmaking, a music a la mode, and a painting of th–
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I dropped my needle, the magic aura of concentration broken by bullets pounding on my door. Why in Equestria anyone would come over this late is a mystery. It could be a solicitor, but marketing door-to-door this time at night is simply uncouthe, I tell you. The new generation of Equestria at play. I sighed, intent on resuming sewing wh–
Tap! Tap! Tap!
For the love of Celestia, how hard is it to get some peace and quiet around Ponyville, in my own private home, to simply get a little work done? I realize I am not the only pony in the city, but seriously!
¡TAP! ¡TAP! ¡TAP!
A familiar feminine voice screamed, fright fraught with sadness, and my stomach dropped. “Raaaarity!”
I dropped the dress and galloped to the door, unlocking and swinging it open to reveal none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle.
The Princess, in dire straights, laying out curled up on the cold winter ground outside the Boutique, head staring at the floor of the door, hind legs dug into the snow bank beside the pavement. The Princess, forehooves outstretched to punch through the door the minute I swung it open. The Princess, overdressed in shoddy makeup, now a coloured river streaming down her muzzle leaving misty trails behind.
The Princess. My best friend.
At the sight, I swore my heart shattered then and there, and to this day, glass shards remain outside my Boutique door, so do be careful where you trot.
Needlessly I asked, “Twilight, are you okay?”
She looked up at me, and the hurt in her eyes told me all I needed to know, eyes that lost their specular spark of optimism, eyes that lost their shine. Pleading eyes, muddy eyes, dying eyes. Her vocal cords on the verge of snapping, she croaked, “No.”
No.
No. No, please could she have any other word but No., but no, ’twas no and nothing more.
I bent down so my face was on her level, stretched my hoof and beckoned her to the warm inside. “Come in, please,” I urged. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
To tell the truth, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what this is, but as I saw her sigh and swallow, I knew those were words she needed to hear, the words I needed to say. Wobbly, she raised herself up and trotted in, with great resistance – walking through the jelly aether into my home. By instinct or desire, I could not say, but she led herself to the couch in the front room, and plopped down, curled up against the fabric cushions, and cried.
My chest heavy, I sat beside her, in silence at first. Silence broken by her tears, silence broken by my whimpers. I wasn’t sure if I was helping or hurting, but she was hurting, so what could I do but finally ask, “Twilight, dearest, please, what’s going on?”
Twilight sniffled. “You know how Time Tur– how Doctor Hooves and I were together?”
Oh dear. “Yes?”
“Well, we’re… not anymore.”
Oh dear indeed. “I’m so sorry, darling.” I outstretched my hooves to her, offering a simple hug. She responded not just by hugging but… enveloping herself in me? She lunged within her seat into my hooves, yes, and rested her head against my shoulder. Then and only then did her sniffles escalate to waterworks.
I allowed my hooves to wrap around her, a safety blanket of physical contact. “You’re okay,” I whispered to empty ears, my words inaudible next to her creaking. I did my best to focus on Twilight – my friend – and not the fact that she was pressed up against me and there were no shortage of ways this could end poorly.
Did I mention the room was hot? It must have slipped my mind. Funny, too; it was winter with a broken thermostat, and I was melting.
In between sobs, Twilight let out, “Yeah – well – we had this – this date.” She rubbed her eyes, pausing to open the aqueducts behind her irises. “We had this date planned for tonight. At a restaurant in Ponyville?”
A. A date. Some date it must have been, and I trembled to find out why.
“Except. Except it wasn’t really a date. And he wasn’t asking me out. And he. He just came to tell me. To tell me that he… He… He didn’t…”
Oh. Oh no. This was going to be a long night, wasn’t it.
You know what the legends say: some hurts never go away.
What could I say, to make things better? Nothing I could think of, nothing including what I did say, a meek declaration of “I’m sorry.”
Twilight bawled, head buried into my shoulder as we hugged. “What do I do wrong Rarity? How could I have screwed this up so bad? We were only together a few weeks, and he already doesn’t want to be with me! This is all my fault!”
I wrapped my hooves together awkwardly, tightening within. If I can’t be strong for myself, I must still be strong for my dear friend. “Sometimes it isn’t you,” I said. “Sometimes it’s just him.”
And sometimes?
Sometimes it’s me.
“I guess.” Twilight sniffled. “But. I’m just.” She hung her head. “I’m unlovable, Rarity.”
“Hey,” I whispered straight into her ear, interconnected. “You’re not unlovable.”
“I’m not?” Twilight asked, as curious as incredulous.
“You’re not. I promise.”
Twilight bit her lip. “How can you be so sure?” Strained, she said, “He doesn’t love me.”
Yes, I suppose that much was clear to both of us. But I could be sure. “Because,” I leaned in to whisper once more at her. “I love you.”
I felt awfully rosy in the cheek region, if you follow, but these are sacrifices we make for loving friendship. Friendship.
As I spoke these words, she was still sniffling, and it still pained me to listen to the hurt waves echoing from the depths behind her eyes. Yet for the first time that evening, I saw a sliver of a smile creep onto her lips, in deep contrast to the frown painted across her eyes. “I love you, too, Rarity.” She sort of looked at me, with that indecipherable look of someone two standard deviations above your intelligence, the look where you’re not sure if you’re being seen or merely analyzed as a specimen. “You’re my… my… You’re my best friend.”
I strained to smile, uncomfortable with the declaration, yet ever proud. That title, even if it were all I could ever manage, that title would justify the struggle in and of itself, no? It was a title I earned, after all, in so much as anyone else earned it.
I’ve never liked the phrase “best friend”, so competitive, so hierarchical, so selective, so impossible.
I’ve always craved the phrase “best friend”, and here I am carrying her – it – so what can I say?
I don’t suppose I really could have been Twilight’s best friend. She was a princess, and I was a nobody. To her, I suppose I was a somebody, but still, she was a paragon. She deserved a mare infinitely better than I could ever be for her best friend.
She deserved a real lady. Not an impostor like me.
Not someone who crept her way up the social ladder to be seen and to be loved, always pining after success if only to distract from her loneliness.
Her.
Her.
Now there is a word I struggle with.
Her. Best friend. So perfect. So wonderful. So impossible. Such craving.
Her best friend.
So deep into the wishes of my heart and so far off from anything I could earn with my own merit. But could I deny that in such a state of catastrophe, Twilight came to me of all ponies.
Yes. Yes, I could. I was the always the romantic of the group, and it was without a doubt my fault that she entered the relationship prematurely to begin with, so undoubtedly those tears on my bloodied conscious. How I earn the label “best friend” after hurting her – indirectly, I suppose – I can never understand.
But how I earned the label “lady” after climbing way here, I could never tell you.
Ignoring the torrents, I said the only words natural in reply. “You’re my best friend, too, dearest Twilight.”
Twilight was mollified, if only until the instant she confessed, “I just. I don’t know, Rarity.”
“Know what?”
“I don’t know how any of this could have happened. I did everything you told me to, Rarity.” She tapped her hooves, as if to enumerate the list. “I was nice and polite, and I’m smart, and I listened when he talked about… whatever he talked about…”
“If I may ask, what did you talk about?”
“Um.” Twilight stared off. “Science. Mathematics. Magic theoretic properties of the usual. You know. Light conversation?”
There we have it, I suppose, the problem illuminated with no solution in sight. A problem I could pretend to recognize and diagnose from my own experiences. A problem I’ve seen in many a protagonist, but Twilight was my protagonist.
Platonically, of course.
I frowned. “Did you two ever talk about anything else? Anything not related to your work?”
Twilight strained, her eyes darted up to a corner as she walked through memories. “There was that one time when he was wearing a hat, but he took it off. Later in the evening, he lost the hat, and we tried to find it together. Like that?”
Curiosity did get the better of me, I confess. “…Did you find it?”
She chuckled a bit, quietly, empty, as if the vibration of the chortle bounced through her chest but there was nothing left to vibrate, all substance drained out in hours prior. Still, a fondness remained despite the heartbreak. “It was in his saddlebag.”
Always the little things, with the bookish types, hmm. I sighed. “You see that?”
“What?”
“That… casual bonding?”
“Mm?”
“That is a foundation of relationships,” or so I read, remember, recite. “It’s great that you shared interests about science, but if that’s all you share…”
Overshadowing realization dawned on her as a cloud of darkness as she finished my sentence. “…That makes us coworkers, not lovers.”
I nodded solemnly, and she furled up her brow. “Oh.” Just a simple oh and nothing else.
I hesitated to respond, brewing a silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, no, but still. A silent stillness.
Yet in the silence there was discomfort, or comfort, or a messy mix of emotions as the two of us remained embracing, physical touch uniting us, the smell of Twilight overtaking me in absence of her words.
The sense of her. The sense of belonging. The sense of me, ceasing loneliness for the first time.
But why ever do my thoughts falter? I am a lady, and so is she, and that puts an end to it, or so they say.
I am a lady, and she is emotionally vulnerable, heartbroken by that ruffian and now under repair as it were. Even if she did like me that way, it could never happen, not ever, but especially not now.
Twilight was first to break the silence. “I don’t get it, Rares.”
“Hmm?”
“You know so much about romance, and I know so little.” She blinked. “How did I end up with a coltfriend and you didn’t?”
Because I’m a hopeless wreck with crippled self-esteem and a vague history of codependency issues? Because I’ve spent my life searching for Mr. Right when she’s been standing beside me for years? Because I’m obsessed so dearly with the notion of “ladyhood”, a ladyhood I may never and in all probability will never attain, yet that still drives my every word, my every thought, my every action. I shrugged. “That’s fate, I suppose.”
“I just…” Twilight scrunched her muzzle. “This is so not fair!”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve said so many times that having a coltfriend is super good! But this is just so unfair and so complicated, and not in a good way, not like calculus is complicated!”
She had a point there, I admit. “I…”
“I just.” Twilight furled up her brow. “I don’t understand why I need to love a stallion when I already have so many wonderful friends I love.”
That’s simple, social customs for a lady dictate that a stallion must always be present in your life to provide legitimacy to your ladyhood.
Or so I’ve told myself over the years.
I admit she did have a point, did she not? Though I can’t believe Twilight of all ponies is the one giving me romantic advice. She was the one who fell. And scraped her lovestruck knees on the way down. Still more than I’ve managed.
Ladyhood is too complicated.
“Hmm!” I chirped.
Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know. I love Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, but I’m not in love with them. And I love Applejack and Pinkie Pie and…” She trailed off, her eyes mouths of little rivers. “And…” She stared down at the floor for a moment, perhaps contemplating, perhaps spacing out. Tears streaming ever faster with every word, she said the three magic words sending shivers through me. “I love you so much, Rarity, for Celestia’s sake, I think I love you more than I could ever love a stallion or anypony, and this is stupid, Rarity, you’re already like a sister I’ve never had, so why am I bothering with a stallion when I have…” She paused, eyes wet and heavy, continuing only in a whisper, “When I have you, Rarity.”
We were friends hugging throughout her proclamation. As she cried, she was already pressed up against my fur; I could feel the pulse of her body heat mixing with mine. When she knocked on my door in tears, I was prepared for anything she might say to me. I thought I was prepared for anything she might do.
I was not prepared for her face to smush up against mine in that moment.
She punctuated her crying monologue with a kiss on my lips. Well. Loosely speaking, it was less of a kiss and more of a facial collision with my lip and tongue movement, but given her emotional state it would pass for a kiss. Looking back, I suppose it really wasn’t the best kiss I’ve ever received, but at the time, au contraire, stars above, here was Princess Twilight Sparkle with her lips on mine.
I swear I could taste apple cider on her lips. I could certainly taste love, and wonder.
In other circumstances I might admit to that being my first kiss. But stars above, a kiss from Twilight Sparkle of all ponies! Perfection bottled and…
And this is wrong. No. Rarity, you are lady, and she is your friend.
I brushed over my raging interior emotions with a stoic blank face, focusing only on breaths in and breaths out. Never betray your ladyhood, Rarity, never betray.
But oh, there was simply so much worth betraying! Her lips on mine were stars twinkling in my soul; her smile was all the sunshine I would ever need to be happy even throughout an alicorn lifetime. Ladyhood is wonderful, I maintain, but Twilight Sparkle is simply divine.
But ladyhood would have to win out today, as it always has and always will. There is no place for Twilight Sparkle – my friend, a mare – in a slot that ladies must reserve for a stallion.
Ladies like me, most of all. If only I had been born with fabric instead of a sewing needle, if only. What simplicity that would bring – to be accepted as a lady for simply existing, never having to prove myself.
I would never know what that’s like, would I? Every day’s a fight to be a lady – to be seen as a lady by every other lady, and especially every other stallion. Some ladies are born, and some ladies are made. What choice do I have but to be made?
I can never know what it’s like to be like lady Twilight Sparkle, born with a fabric that matched her coat.
Yet here I am, her lady friend – no, not her ladyfriend but a friend who happens to fancy herself a lady – and I’ll never be able to sew that fabric either.
Pardon the implication; my mind betrays me. While busy losing myself within the feeling of her lips on mine, she pulled away from the kiss and to the hug not a millisecond later, immediately Twilighting out. “Oh my gosh, no, oh my gosh, no, oh my gosh, no! What the ponyfeathers, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh my Celestia, I’m so sorry. That was terrible, Rarity, I’m so sorry. Consent is super important; I’m such a terrible pony, agh! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll show m–”
I brought my hoof to her lips – only seconds later and there I was touching her lips again, forward even by my standards – silencing her immediately. She only grew pinker with the contact, but what was I to do? Simply stand there idly while she berated herself? Twilight Sparkle, if you want to see a terrible pony, look in front of you, not the mirror. You are a light in my life and the lives of everypony around you, and… I’m talking to myself. Again.
Holding her lips and staring into her eyes, I prayed that I wouldn’t lose myself in them and make a train wreck out of my thought. “Twilight, calm down. I’m not mad at you.”
I released my hoof, and Twilight mellowed, her red glow disintegrating but still visible. She tilted her head, like a puppy caught stealing cookies. “You’re not?”
I wasn’t mad, no. Rather the opposite of the scale, if we really must be blunt. Something near the vicinity of giddy and head over hooves falling. Perhaps I ought to have been a little mad about losing my ladyhood, but nothing is lost if nothing has been done. This little hiccup we would forget in time and forgive immediately.
Yet there’s that nagging thought.
I didn’t want to forget this hiccup.
To be crass, that moment I cherished, however brief, however mistaken, however forbidden. I don’t want to say that was forbidden love – but it was, between a lady and her newly broken up friend I don’t want to say it was meaningless – it meant the world to me, and given the amount of profanity flying out of her mouth, it must have meant little less to Twilight beside me.
I didn’t want to say I wanted to repeat it, but on some level, I suppose I did.
That then was my chance. If I had been waiting, that then was the time I could – shall we say? – sew my wild threads together.
But I was a lady. I don’t merely mean a Canterlot lady, paragon of heteronormativity, although at the time I lament I must have been her too. No, I was a lady, and a lady above all cares for her friends.
What sort of lady – what sort of friend – would take advantage of a friend hours after breaking up with her first real ex? I don’t see anything wrong with starting a relationship with someone after a few months, but hours after? I refuse to demote myself to a rebound buddy.
Still, would it be so bad, my one – possibly only – chance with the princess of my dreams?
I think I sighed, or swallowed my pride.
Yes.
Yes, it would.
“I understand you’re emotional, Twilight, but it isn’t like I don’t have embarrassing anecdotes of my own.” A former life flashed before me, a former life I squashed down to focus on a life crumbling around me in the present. “Just remember the little things. Deep breaths will make a world of a difference.”
Twilight closed her eyes and inhaled, repeating, “Deep breaths.”
“And apple cider,” I tagged on nonchalantly.
She peaked open one eye half-way, furling up adorably. A little nasally, she asked, “Apple cider?”
“Oh, it’s something Applejack once said to me many years ago.” I felt the memories of an adolescence blurred into another life sweep me away. “The foundation of a clear mind and a clear body are deep breaths and apple cider,” I recited. “In hindsight, I don’t think she meant the cider sold to fillies our age. Legally, anyhow.”
Twilight rolled her eyes, a small smile slipping through the disapproval. “Rarity…”
“What?” I lowered my gaze, and I ought to have lowered the pitch of my voice, but I was too fearful of the change in acoustics if I had. “Do you think we should try that? Oh, I’m afraid I don’t stock any sort of cider when it’s not in season, but I could brew us some apple rhubarb herbal tea, served with cinnamon perhaps?”
She cracked a smile. “That’s alright, Rares.”
“Deep breaths, then.”
She obeyed, and I noticed her chest rise and fall to the beat of an invisible tune of tranquility. “Thank you, Rarity.”
I smiled. “Hey. It’s what friends are here for.”
“Thank you for being the best friend I could wish for, Rarity.”
“And thank you for the same, Twilight.”
Twilight mumbled, hugging herself with her hooves a little distant. Noticing the gesture, I outstretched my own hooves towards her, and she gladly threw herself into me, inundating me with a warmth I forced myself to ignore. The deed was done, I missed my chance – if there was a relationship to be had, that was relegated to the past of five minutes prior.
But I do suppose as a platonic friend there was nothing wrong with enjoying platonic warm fuzzies to their fullest, and what warmth there was to enjoy by her side! I felt myself feel warmer than the warm fuzzies, especially in the fabric-and-needle region, shall we say?
But little compromising facts I can ignore with ease.
I’ve built my life ignoring tiny details that could ruin me in the eyes of Canterlot snobbery. What they don’t know can’t hurt me.
Twilight yawned. “Tired, darling?”
Twilight grimaced. “Getting dumped is exhausting.” I stared at her softly, chuckling ever so softly, and she joined in. Sometimes the irony of our own situations is the finest comedy.
The irony would have been lost on her, of course.
“Hey, Twilight?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
“Could I promise you something?”
“Mm?” She perked up, the promise of a promise ever alluring.
I regarded her with contented pride of an elder, and promised, “You’re going to be okay.”
She smiled weakly, still strained but with the faint trace of belief glimmering in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That means a lot coming from you all of ponies.”
I scoffed playfully. “Me, of all ponies? And just what is that supposed to mean, missy?”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “It means I really care about you, you silly pony!”
“Uh-huh.” I grinned, outstretching my hoof to boop her nose.
My, did Twilight have a soft nose. Not that I’ve known terribly many ponies with noses that, er, weren’t soft, nor have I touched the nose of all that many ponies altogether, but Twilight’s was exceptionally soft.
With the press of my hoof against her, I notice her glow a faint red. I suppose that is progress.
Not that there is an end goal to be progressing towards of course. Ladyhood, friendship, Plato, etcetera.
“Hey, Rarity?” she chirped, her voice shaken.
“Mm?”
“Would you mind if I, umm…” Her cheeks flushed as her words trailed off, and I gently prodded for her to continue after a distracted pause. Quickly and softly, her words flying like bullets, she asked, “Would you mind if I stayed the night?”
I blinked. Stay the night? Of course she could stay the night – the darling could stay for life if she so desired. But such I thought I shouldn’t vocalize, not yet anyway; I couldn’t let a stray pawn betray my queen within. In my hesitation, she elaborated quickly, eyes white, “Ponyville can be scary alone at night. So, um, do you think you would mind…?”
And so it was settled. I wrapped my her hooves around her affectionately, if not intimately, and whispered, “Not at all, darling. Not at all.”