Everybody Dupes

by Heavy Mole

Sweetie Belle and Rarity arrive at the Mirror Pool in search of a commode. A "doppelganger" takes up residence in the thatch roof of a local shop owner, and several characters come to speculate on its origin and portents.

4. Bubblegum Breath

Two things were bothering Hondo Flanks as he ate breakfast with his wife and oldest daughter in the squat kitchen of his house by the river.

First, there was the matter of the job he had taken on contract from the Restoration Committee at the old church on which he perceived his whole reputation in town to be staked, and which with increasing resentment he suspected an act of personal sabotage on the part of Gyro Spit, who after all never really liked him and privately envied his home life. It had been Gyro's idea to replace the broken circular glass window in the chapel loft, not with a purely decorative design as it had been before, but with preening monkeys, to reflect the naturalistic spirit of the Unitarians; and it was Gyro who convinced the committee to give the job to Hondo, whose recent hobby was making stained glass simulacra for birdhouses (the very ones sold by his neighbor, Winsome Weathervane, in Ponyville Square, with which members of the committee were fondly familiar), but whose talent for window making only needed the opportunity to shine beyond such humble incipience. Hondo had no use for philosophy, natural or otherwise; but if by his skill could raise the spirits of the worshippers to heavenly climes it was just as good as fixing the fountain at retirement home so that it could once more spritz for the elderly. And, as he had emphasized to his wife Cookie Crumbles, he was able in fact to draw the plans. But his novice equipment did not allow him to go further with the setting of the design in proper lead frames, and now his shed and basement were overrun with useless shards of the parts of glass monkeys.

He set down his fork as he contemplated Gyro Spit's prankish bent, having not yet taken a bite of his Belgian waffle. "This, see… This is the real reason!" he thought, taking in the whipped cream and the slice of mango and looking across the table as Cookie and Rarity chatted with each other. "Monkeys grooming each other! What does Spit know about Unitarianism, anyway?"

After this there were his misgivings about the theater show which had been put on by his younger daughter in the chapel the previous night, attended by his family and a few important friends and functionaries, including some on the Committee who had granted the performance to Hondo as a favor for his commitment on the project.

To be sure, it had been an occasion for him to remark upon some rather interesting windows while in the company of his wife, with whom he was ever desirous to exhibit his new interest. They were sitting at the widest circle of an arrangement of pews which faced outward nearly in front of a wall, a few feet yards away from a writing desk on the periphery; sitting on the desk was a large fishbowl filled with folded sheets of paper and a framed butterfly set up like a lepidopterist's display. Throw pillows had been scattered about the floor which made Cookie, donned in a modest black hi-low dress, blush with the feeling of overpreparation.

Hondo leaned over to her and put his arm over her shoulder. "Now, here, dear—wouldn't you say that these fenestrations are quite different than what you see at the new church in the town center, or even, say, in Canterlot?"

"I guess I never paid attention," Cookie replied distractedly. She took a tissue from her purse and dabbed her forehead. "They represent the soul's illumination, right? It's been so long—my old Sunday teacher would have a fit with me."

Hondo twitched his moustache. "That may be, dear. But the point for us is that somebody had to build them. Get them from paper onto the wall."

"Oh, naturally."

"Can you imagine," he continued, "using the same method, the same tools, as those brave craft ponies of bygone days? Picture setting hoof on one of the great slabs of their foundries, breathing the smell of their soot, as it were. Why, it lifts my heart to think about."

"Do you have the tickets, Hondo?" asked Cookie, who had been looking through her purse again. "What time does it say the show is supposed to begin? Did Sweetie Belle tell you where she's going to be standing? I would hate to be looking at nothing for an hour—I'm very confused."

"Eight o' clock, pet, eight o' clock," he reassured her. "We're in the right place. I'm sure she'll find us, clever girl she is." They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the babble of the other guests which reverberated through the tiny vault like a slipstream. "But," Hondo resumed tactically, craning his neck so as not to be overheard, "if I might add something—picking up our conversation on architecture, that is—in those days, ponies did not have recreation like we do now. Something like this—" he said, indicating a high pointed window in front of them, "might take months, maybe years, depending on the project. No, there was no recreation. Their only enjoyment was the satisfaction of their work—its clarity and longevity, see. There's something heroic in that, isn't there?"

"Oh, Hondo—they weren't slaves," she replied. "My grandfather was a mason. They had music and dancing and bars just like we do. Besides, this old place couldn't have been built more than fifty years ago."

"Now Cookie, this is going to sound forward, but you are really missing something here," Hondo answered firmly. "These craft ponies—the ones that I've been talking about—were ponies of purpose, and it is thanks to them that we can enjoy a Gothic Revival to begin with, and experience the past in so glorious a manner."

Cookie rolled her eyes and pulled out a compact to check her makeup.

"Here, let me give you an example," Hondo went on. "Now, you like to keep roosters around the kitchen—on towels, potholders, ceramics. You say they make it feel 'homey' because they remind one of a simpler and more rustic time. Imagine waking up to the rooster's call as to the embrace of the day's work. Maybe those old ponies knew something about living, maybe not. But your bric-a-brac"—he emphasized the term—"speaks volumes. Now, stay with me. When I go into the workshop I can put my hooves on the same materials my forebearers did—make the same investment, you see? It is as though they reached through the mists of time and said, 'Here are the tools, Hondo, old boy! All that remains is they be picked up by a capable hoof!' Because they left them for me, Cook."

"Thankfully nowadays it's much easier to pay someone to do that, if you want it," said Cookie.

"The point is," Hondo retorted, "that it was the ponies who stuck with their methods, despite the necessary hardship it entailed, that gave us the fruits of civilization which you now enjoy, dear, and not those who would try to haggle with that same fruit."

Cookie wrinkled her nose at her husband's insinuation. "Oh, for the love of criminy, Hondo! Is this about that Gyro Spit? We're here to see our daughter go up on stage! Can't you set aside that silly grudge for one night?"

"I'd be happy to, pet," Hondo returned, "only I don't know where the stage is. All I can see is an office desk, and I could see one of those at home if I wanted to. And you know that Spit is always trying to have a laugh on old Hondo. You try to be serviceable for the sake of the town…"

"Oh, pipe down, Hondo."

The performance, which turned out to be a squandered opportunity to build rapport with his wife on his new favorite subject, obtruded on Hondo's enjoyment of his breakfast like the burnt portion of his waffle. "Perhaps if Cookie hadn't been so sweaty," he thought, "things might have gone better.

"Or perhaps if Sweetie Belle's theater group had been pushed to a different week, and fallen on a less busy and hot evening," he observed, glancing over at the untouched stack of waffles sitting at her spot on the table—she had still not gotten out of bed.

"Well what don't you understand about it?" Rarity asked her mother earnestly. "Perhaps I can explain. It's really all very straightforward, I think."

"Didn't you think it was a strange venue?" said Cookie, resetting her napkin. "Trust me, darling, I was part of a dance troupe when I was young and I know the budget for these kinds of things can be tight. But the town convention hall is not that expensive and it has a stage. It was so confusing having all of those young ponies moving around the floor."

"But Mother," Rarity interrupted her, "isn't it refreshing not to have the sense of separation between performer and audient that one experiences when one is looking up to a platform?"

"No, it isn't!" she answered with a little laugh. "I pay money to see somebody perform. I think I saw Sweetie Belle on maybe one or two occasions, and both times she was just lugging around a jug of water."

"The performance wasn't about Sweetie Belle, Mom," Rarity said with politic firmness.

"Now that we can all agree on," Hondo interjected.

Rarity leered at them. "Now, I wish you two would be a little more open-minded. It was an interesting and innovative presentation! Besides, Sweetie Belle is very proud to be in Bon Temps' theater company."

"Wouldn't it have been better," Cookie said with a cautious smile, "if Sweetie Belle had sung a nice song under the stage lights? She has such a lovely voice, just like Aunt Snuff. Her teachers have always said that. I don't understand why they didn't let her sing. Instead it felt like she wanted to trap me and take my jewelry. It was very odd, Rarity."

Rarity let her gaze fall down on her coffee without replying.

"I'm sorry, cupcake," said Hondo, "you know I tried. I just don't get that jazzy stuff."

"Ah! Father, I think you've hit it right on the head," Rarity said, sitting forward. "Jazz is all about form. I think you could appreciate that."

Hondo winked at Cookie. "Evidently not."

Rarity took a quick slurp from her cup and said, "The form acts as the container where the plenum of inspiration may abide. If you didn't know the rules of boxing, for example, and you were watching a boxing match, you might think that the participants were just trading blows in an unusually decorative manner. But the rules lay out the moves, and each move is a gesture—it conveys an act of will. A 'fight' in our ordinary experience is just a muddle, save for the event of the fight itself. But when form or structure enters into it we can go deeper into a world of psychic expectations and external realities. That is why even boxing can take on the aspect of art, which is just our capacity for seeing things fresh.

"Now, to go back—" she continued before Hondo could reply, "let's say that boxing is a little like bebop—don't you think? And modal jazz, to extend and compare, is a little like stand-up comedy, all about 'mood'. But you see, in both cases, the formats ground and condition the possibilities, just like the frames in one of your windows."

Hondo blinked and made a pass around the dusty walls and display cases which packed the kitchen and adjacent living room. "If that was supposed to be stand-up comedy," he japed, "I've got a hell of a routine for you."

Cookie joined in. "Gosh, dear. You could have been making millions all this time."

Rarity checked a smile. "…You know what I mean. Call it 'post-modal impressionism, if you like."

"I think I'd rather be in the boxing ring," said Hondo.

Hondo and Cookie laughed together and this time Rarity could not resist joining in. A morning breeze came through the screen door by the water, and as the laughter settled Sweetie Belle ambled into the small kitchen from the corridor leading to her bedroom. She wore patches of bright red and yellow face paint which disguised her features and was sporting an uncombed, unruly mane. She waded up to the table and looked down at her dish like the first morning's swim, then took her spot and began eating without acknowledging the others. Hondo reclined back in his chair as he amused himself over her appearance.

"Keep your wits about you, dear," he said, nodding at Cookie. "If I didn't know any better I'd say this was part of the show."

"What time did you get in last night?" asked Rarity.

"One in the morning, maybe," Sweetie Belle answered her. "But it was hard to sleep, so I stayed up listening to records."

"Were they silent records?" he asked.

She stuck her tongue out, and then told him, "Not before I've had my coffee, Daddy."

"Then let me get you some right away," said Rarity, leaving the table.

"I can't believe how much coffee you drink," Cookie said in disapproval. "Look at the bags under her eyes, Rare. She looks beat up. Doesn't she?"

"Don't be silly, Mother! Hers is a monstrance which glows like a sunrise over the dales of Rainbow Falls."

Sweetie Belle smirked at Cookie as Rarity came back into the room with a steaming mug. "There you are, dear," she said, setting it down in front of her sister. "Now you are ready to face the world!"

"Thanks," said Sweetie Belle. Rarity took her seat and the room became quiet. Sweetie Belle began to swing her legs under her chair. "I didn't want to be too forward with this…" she began. "But… what did you all think of the performance last night?"

"I liked it," said her mother after a pause. "I thought it was very… intellectual."

"Intellectual?" Sweetie Belle replied as though an insect had landed on her shoulder. "Um… Yes. Well, a lot of thought does go into it. But 'intellect' is like… Imagine being quarantined in a place where everything valuable seems to be outside of you—the tangibles—food, friends, beautiful things. That is the intellect. I mean, that's important, too, because it helps you put things into context." She thought for a moment. "But in the compound all you have are the objects which seem to make up mundane life. You have to draw something from them, or else you are just trying to escape from yourself. So it's about instinct… yeah. Do you have any questions about it or…?"

Cookie startled. "Oh, no, no. I just that it was very different from something I would have done at your age."

"It's always fun to try something new, isn't it?" Sweetie Belle said demurely.

Her mother conceded a smile. "I do have a question, actually. Have you told your theater troupe director that you can sing? I think that if she were aware of your talent she would certainly consider it a wonderful addition to the show."

"I think she knows," Sweetie Belle replied, blushing. "It's come up a few times in talking with some of the other players."

"But have you shown her?" Cookie said with mild irritation. "Don't undersell yourself, Sweetie Belle. I don't know why you act like that. I bet they would love you in Rolling Oats. It's a music city. I think you should go right up to her and say, 'I know you're busy, but just give me three minutes of your time.'" She turned to Hondo. "What do you think, dear?"

He nodded. "Couldn't have put it better myself.

"Oh, that's not necessary," Sweetie Belle said. "I don't really see myself as being a 'star'. I went to Rolling Oats so that I could learn from Miss Bon, not to steal the spotlight from the project. I like my role in the group. I've gained a lot from it."

"Good for you, dear," Cookie answered listlessly. "I'm glad to hear."

There was another break—this time no one was eating. Sweetie Belle picked up her coffee mug and took a sip.

"Princess Cadence liked it," she said. "We talked for a half an hour at the juice bar after the show! She said the performance made her 'go inside'."

"Into a hole?" Hondo said, shooting another glance at Cookie.

"Hondo!" she chided him. "Now that's enough out of you. Next time you get a waffle in your eye."

"I'm just kiddin' around," he replied with a joker's grin. "You know that. Right, cupcake?"

"It's okay," Sweetie Belle replied, mashing a piece of waffle on her plate. "Black box theater is a little weird. It's going to be challenging for some ponies. I'm actually impressed you guys came out and made the effort! Especially you," she said, tossing a mango slice at Hondo. "I mean, we don't even tell you when to clap."

"Oh, so that's how they explain it to you," Hondo laughed. "I can feel your mother giving me the evil eye, but you've had your coffee now. There's no excuse. But if you like I'll tell you what I really think. You've got business sense like your sister, who has business sense like me. And business requires a strategic mindset. Why, this beautification project I volunteered to undertake—there are some who might look at me and say, 'What a fool that Hondo is, getting caught up in all that work.' Question, cupcake!"

"Answer, Daddy."

"How do you go from building small windows to building big ones?"

She shrugged.

"By building big windows!" he said as though he had just dealt twenty-one.

Cookie rolled her eyes. "Just ignore him, darling. This is all just part of a petty game with that Gyro Spit."

"Gyro Spit?" said Rarity. "You mean your old roofing partner? Gosh, I don't think I've seen him since Carousel was being finished."

"Now, ladies," Hondo carped, "there are certain names which I humbly request not be mentioned in this household, and that one happens to be one of them. Spit is a scoundrel of a pony, a thief and a deceiver. That I'll maintain until I'm old and crusty, or at until I'm older and crustier than I already am. However, in this case he offers a comparison which is exactly to my point. This 'Miss Bon'," he said, turning back to Sweetie Bell, "to be forward with you, cupcake—and I hope you'll forgive me—seems to me like a witch who has had a little white pearl fall into her clutches."

"You don't even know her, Daddy," Sweetie Belle snapped back at him. "I think you're focusing too much on her media image. Miss Bon has been super kind and supportive to me. And I'm no pearl."

Hondo frowned. "See, that is exactly what I'm afraid of. She has got you so under her hocus pocus that you think you're lucky to get the gig. But deep down you're too smart for that. You smell the ruse. It was in your face when you were trotting around that little chapel, I tell you. You're thinking about the next step, and if you have to play in the sandbox for a little while then, by the dog, you'll play in the sand."

"You must get some kind of school credit if Miss Bon is so well-known," Cookie said, chiming in.

"I don't think so…?" Sweetie Belle answered, sighing as though her pile of leaves had just ben diffracted by an autumn gust. "There might be, maybe."

"Well, goodness, you should ask her, or somebody! And two princesses were there? And they enjoyed your show? All this opportunity around you, honey! Don't get upset. I just don't want you to get to the end of this and feel like you've wasted your time."

"But I don't think it's a waste of time," Sweetie Belle said. "Mom, listen. It felt so good to get out of Ponyville for a while. I love this town. But I really love being part of this theater group, too. Believe me. It just makes me feel… more free," she said, surprised by the weight of her own words. She placed a comforting hoof on her mother's wrist. "And I'm really grateful you guys gave me the chance to do it."

"I'm glad you had a good experience," Cookie replied patiently. "But you have your future to think about, as well. One of my girlfriends was telling my about an excellent charter school in the Crystal Empire—Crystal Clear—small classroom sizes, one of the top-rated in Equestria. She has a daughter that went there and they were able to give her lots of personal attention. I think that's what you're really looking for. And I'm sure Princess Cadence could help you with admission. In fact, I bet that's exactly what she was thinking about when she agreed to come to your show. She's a very smart pony."

Sweetie Belle looked away and took another bite of her waffle.

"Don't turn away, dear," Cookie resumed. "This is important. You know what the school motto is, there—? " she paused for effect. "One is not born a mare—one becomes one."

"Simone de Bovine said that," Sweetie Belle answered her, letting her eyes fall down on her plate. "But that was part of a long argument against biological essentialism, not an endorsement of finalism. I doubt they'd have any of that written on the side of the school."

"You said it was good for you to get out of Ponyville, right?" said Hondo, cutting off his wife. "Well, here you are, cupcake. Think about the next step. If you were shrewd enough to get Princess Twilight and Princess Cadence to come out to Ponyville—to stir up a little publicity, if you know what I mean—why not capitalize? You've earned it."

"It's absolutely true, dear," said Cookie, following him. "Look at your big sister. Do you think she would pass up a chance to improve her prospects?"

Hondo and Cookie glanced over at Rarity in unison—she was seated with her chair pushed slightly out from the table and started at the mention of her name. Sweetie Belle continued working on her breakfast.

Rarity cleared her throat and said: "Well… I think we should remember that Sweetie Belle has been feeling a little bit depressed lately. I was very disturbed to see her that way the last time I visited. Now, I admit that experimental theater seems like a strange remedy for this, and not quite to the point regarding some of these practical matters, of which we should of course be very cognizant," she said, sidling a look at Sweetie Belle. "But on your part Mother, you must admit that all of this has been so much more effective than conventional therapy. I dare say Sweetie Belle has got her legs under her again! See how expressive she is! And let's not forget, it was her initiative to bring Miss Bon's troupe down to Ponyville to share with us, and that in my mind is as valuable a logistical exercise as any."

"And I didn't invite the princesses to the performance because I wanted to 'stir up publicity'," Sweetie Belle interjected sourly.

"And I suppose you think that 'Miss Bon' would have wanted to go through the hassle of shifting operations to the hometown of a first-year understudy if there were no promise of tiaras in the audience?" Hondo launched back at her.

"Dad!" Rarity hissed at him.

Hondo held up his hooves in defense. "Hey, Sweetie Belle is my shining star, she knows that! But you've got to know when to look at things from a business—"

"It's okay," said Sweetie Belle, stopping him. "You're right. I mean… it would be kind of silly for me to argue otherwise, wouldn't it?"

She went back to eating, and another silence fell over the room. Finally Cookie, tottering in her chair like a bowling pin, put on a tender smile and asked, "Did you have fun, dear?"

Sweetie Belle nodded. "Oh yes, it was a blast! Would do it again!" She proffered a puffy smile which was reciprocated by all present.

Hondo pushed himself away from the table. "Time's a-wasting," he grunted. "Cupcake, maybe you can help me with a little project. I need someone to draw me some new patterns—you're an artist, right?—real simple, I'll even give you the measurements. Since you're bursting with 'expressiveness', and all."

"What time do you leave, darling?" asked Cookie, following Hondo.

"Oh, pretty soon," Rarity answered, putting her napkin on her plate. "It won't be too much of a rush, though. I'm mostly packed."

Amidst the commotion of moving chairs and plates there was a knock on the door.

"Wonder who that could be," said Hondo. "I bet it's that Spit, come to apologize…"

"Now you've broken your own rule, dear!" Cookie called after him, gathering the empty plates to bring into the kitchen. "You have no right to be angry with us."

She gave Sweetie Belle a playful elbow as she went to the sink. When the sisters were alone at the table they caught each other's gaze, and Sweetie Belle puffed another smile; Rarity stuck her tongue out in reply.

"Rare, it's for you," Hondo announced as he came back into the room. "What's her name?"

"Well I don't know, Father! I have to go see." She offered Sweetie Belle a parting shrug and got up from the table. "But who could be calling for me, here?"

She stepped into the foyer and laughed to see Starlight Glimmer waiting at the door. Her legs were folded and she was tapping the hardwood floor as though water might come out with sufficient concentration; she did not look up until Rarity addressed her directly.

"Why, hello there, Starlight!" said the latter, buoying in. "You've found my parents' house, you goldilocks. I hope you find it to your liking—who knows what troubles you've endured to get here."

"Only one," Starlight replied facetiously. "I'm sorry to intrude, but this is where I was told you would be."

"Skip it, dear. Would you like to sit down?"

"Let's keep this private," said Starlight, looking over into the noisy kitchen.

Rarity's smile fell from her. "Okay. What's the matter?"

"What happened with you and Applejack at your picnic yesterday?" asked Starlight.

Rarity was quiet for a moment. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Applejack hosted a big lunch in Sweetie Belle's honor and you wound up playing some kind of joke on her?" Starlight replied as shrill as a squirrel scurrying into a canopy.

"Can we step backward for a moment?"

"I saw Rainbow Dash at the farmer's market this morning. It was unusual to see her there without Applejack. When I talked to her, she said that AJ went to be early last night because she wasn't feeling well."

"Oh no!" gasped Rarity. "I can't imagine what this is all about."

"It's about you making weird speeches with your sister then leaving abruptly because you'd rather suffer than use AJ's outhouse," Starlight answered hotly.

Rarity brushed back the hair over her temples. "It was not like that at all. There was a long repartee in which my lavatory preferences were discussed in a light-hearted manner. I was very straightforward that I prefer to be around my own amenities, and there seemed to be no harm done. I feel bad for her but I don't know why she is acting the way she is."

"Come on, Rarity. You didn't think for a moment that something like that might hurt her feelings?"

Rarity blushed at the feebleness of her excuse; yet the truth was equally ridiculous, and perhaps less believable. She sighed. "Look, I have a little time before I have to leave. I think this whole thing can be smoothed over. I'll go to her and apologize and we can all be back on good terms, peaches and cream. I really didn't mean for things to go like this."

"It won't be so simple," Starlight said. "Now Rainbow Dash is in a tiff because she thinks Applejack is being melodramatic, and I think she's a little cross with you two for 'acting out' in front of one of her superior officers."

"Acting out? What does that have to do with anything? We were all acting out…" Rarity swiveled around in frustration. "Rainbow, dear. Life is a teacup meant to be drank from, then used to hold biscuits, then arranged into a pretty play with the little dishes and silverware, then worn on one's head! Short of that we just become old and spiteful"—she turned back around as though Starlight had just walked through the door. "What did she say, Starlight Glimmer?"

Starlight grimaced a little, like she was trying to keep from passing wind. "I didn't push too hard. I caught her as I was on my way—we were both going our own ways. It was a short exchange."

"And?"

"She said that you and Sweetie Belle were asking strange questions and seemed to be having some kind on 'inside' conversation… I think she thought you might have been showing of contempt for the military lifestyle."

Rarity stuttered a laugh. Had she been guilty of flippancy? The indictment flooded around her like the inertia of an incoming ocean wave. She also recognized a delicious incongruity in the thought that followed this feeling, that it was so characteristic of military ponies to attach themselves to preposterous notions of rank!

"Well what am I to do then, Starlight?" she asked resignedly.

Starlight corralled herself like a bull ready to charge. "Let me be clear: an apology is absolutely in order. But I'm sure you can handle that all yourself. Heck, I bet you would have done it anyway without my prompting, at some eventuality."

"Something like that," Rarity replied. "Well, thank you for the telegraph, dear."

"Wait. I wanted to come to you in person—not because I thought this wouldn't reach you, nor because Twilight put me up to it or anything like that. Rather, I have come to petition you."

Rarity scratched her head. "Petition me? Do you need my congressional support, or what?"

"When one of the students is dealing with a 'latent issue'," Starlight explained with air quotation marks, "I will often initiate a petition to help bring the problem to a 'state of cognizance'. This involves gentle, non-coercive reminders from myself and other ponies in their caring circle that an important intra- and interpersonal obstacle not being addressed, and that it is within the troubled student's power to make it right. The idea is to not just to bring the issue to light but also to impart the student with a sense of what I call capacity."

"And upon what issue have you come to empower me?" Rarity asked.

Starlight's face softened. "How do I get to this… Rarity, have you considered what effect separation from you is having on your friends and family?"

Rarity forced a chuckle. "Starlight, I think you're taking this a little seriously. All we're dealing with is a little misdirected banter. I don't see a need to—"

Starlight held up a hoof. "I want you to close your eyes for a moment," she said.

"Um… All right," Rarity replied, closing them.

"I'm going to close mine, too. This is to show that I'm not trying to overpower you. Would you like to open your eyes and check?"

"I trust you with my foals, dear."

"Good, good," Starlight said with a smiling voice. "I'm glad to hear it. Now, it's very important that if at any time you feel like you need protection from me, you say so."

"Got it."

Starlight let out a long, aspirated sigh. "Sometimes when I'm thinking about a problem—trying to work something out—I find it useful to let the diaphragm relax. Just a gentle release in the ribs and the belly," she said as methodically as though she were painting a clown nose on a child's face. "We mares especially tend to be self-conscious about our bellies. But in other cultures the belly is a symbol of wisdom, of our total communion with nature and everything that proceeds in us without our noticing. Let's be in our bellies for a moment."

As Rarity waited for the next instruction she began to notice noises around the house: she heard hot water and the artillery of clanking places coming from the kitchen; she became sensible to bodies there and to the creaking of the old floor of her childhood home and she and Starlight swaying gently in place like graying daffodils.

"Starlight, I—"

Starlight shushed her. "Are you okay, Rarity? Do you need a hug?"

"No, I do not need a hug."

"Just let me know. Now, let's talk about you," Starlight continued. "This is your time to sink into yourself and become open. Let loose anything that is stopping you up."

"Er… How would you like me to do that?" asked Rarity.

"Let's imagine that you and I, just us, are at opposite ends of a large pond—let's say, one perhaps four hundred feet in diameter. The surface of the water is still. It is so still, in fact, that we see ourselves clearly, and can look at almost nothing else but our own reflections, until we lift our heads and—lo!—we see each other on opposite shore. …Rarity, is that you?" she asked, and left a pause.

The sound of plates being put away hung in the air. "Um… H-hello, Starlight? Yes, it's me, Rarity! I see you've found my favorite pond!"

"Oh no, the weather is changing!" Starlight said in a mock panic. "A cool front is moving in and mist is beginning to settle over the water! I think I can hear you, but your image is fading away… Where did you go? Speak to me, Rarity!"

Rarity hemmed. "Shall I just… walk over and join you?"

"What was that?

"Do you want me to walk over to you, dear," Rarity said like she was speaking over a din. "It doesn't seem so very far."

"No!" Starlight barked in reply. "This is no ordinary mist. I've encountered this before, at other ponies' ponds and at my own pond, too. Do you taste that? It has an acidic flavor… It must be a Haze of Held Resentment! Any step you take toward me could be the path of the will o' the wisp, which could tangle you in fruitless struggle for months or even years."

"Well we wouldn't want that! Forgive me, I don't know what I was thinking."

"We'll have to cut through this fog using the candidness of our words and our unperturbed feelings of mutual friendship," Starlight called out like a logger.

"There could be no other way," Rarity agreed likewise.

"And I want to reassure you," Starlight continued, "that I know how frightening it is to be in your position. I've spent my own time in the Haze of Held Resentment. Strange to say, I grew to almost enjoy the feeling of alienation that came with it. There's a kind of paradox in it—after all, it is a way of relating to other ponies to excise them for how one perceives one has been betrayed. It was a while before someone came along and held out a hoof through the fog, and helped me to let go and make sense of my confusion. Take my hoof, Rarity."

"Oh, my! But aren't we four hundred feet apart?"

"I mean actually take my hoof," Starlight said.

"Oh, okay."

All the while they had been talking Rarity and Starlight had their eyes closed as part of their imaginative exercise. Rarity groped the air in front of her until her hoof was caught by Starlight, who gripped her with serpentine tightness.

"Ah, there you are!" said Rarity with a laugh. "You know this is kind of fun."

Starlight took a deep breath and wound their joined hooves in the air as she spoke. "We're all a little different. I've got gray hairs coming in now, and meanwhile Twilight is as purple as a vine plum. One just has to be humbled sometimes. I even joke about it when I see her—it's all good. I've made peace with it, you could say," she said, squeezing a little. "Now, let's take your case. I know you must think it very embarrassing to be 'inexperienced' at your age. Especially when you're around other ponies and their families—it's only natural. Maybe you're a little shy—I don't know—just not good at talking with other ponies in that way. Maybe you didn't have a good model to take after growing up. The reasons could be many, and I'm not here to judge. But you have to try and avoid those bitter scenes like the one you let yourself fall into yesterday."

"Starlight, may I interrupt you?" Rarity interjected, opening her eyes.

"What's up?"

"On the 'awkward' scale this conversation has reached a six."

Starlight looked back at her. "Well I'm sorry, Rarity, but it must be had."

Of a sudden, Rarity began to feel something unpleasant flare up, like the swelling itch of a sunburn acquired unwittingly during a busy day; it was a creeping spite for Sweetie Belle's theater engagement. She identified it unmistakably and with miserly satisfaction: the unhappy mess of ideas, the shadowy troupe and its difficult appeal, the dirty shirts and disheveled atmosphere—all of her sister's foolish, mistaken pride—"some ponies just can't be helped," she thought with bitter detachment.

"Yes, you are right," she said. "I suppose I have too high a tolerance for solitude. But we are all creatures, in the end. I will try to be more responsible on that front."

Starlight placed a hoof on her shoulder. "Here's a little trick. When you feel the anger welling up in you, imagine you see 'Little Rarity' watching you from inside a big transparent balloon. She's watching you lovingly, remember—do you think 'Little Rarity' cared about this sort of thing? She is just waiting and wondering what you're going to do next.

"Imagine the balloon she is standing in is pulsing, almost ready to burst. Then, go up to it and lay yourself on its surface, hold it in your arms, hug it with your whole body. Hug it until it becomes softer and you feel it receding, getting closer and closer to the 'Little Rarity' within."

Rarity heard the floor creak behind her. She turned and saw Sweetie Belle tiptoeing through the foyer with a damp mane that matted against her forehead from work in the kitchen; the face paint from her performance had nearly been washed off in the vapor.

"Ah, there's the pony I wanted to see," Starlight said, raising a hoof in salutation to her.

Sweetie Belle offered a meager smile. "Oh, it's you."

"Yes, it's me! Helping Mom in the kitchen?"

"Beats playing outside," Sweetie Belle replied dryly.

Starlight laughed like a songbird. "Oh Sweetie Belle, you're so funny. I've always thought that a sharp sense of humor is a sign of great intelligence. What about you?"

She shrugged.

"Hey, your sister and I were just talking. I've got some bad news, unfortunately."

"What's that?"

"I'm afraid the way you were acting at Applejack's picnic yesterday might have really hurt her feelings."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Starlight nodded. "I bet you noticed that she wasn't at your show last night."

"Yeah, I did," Sweetie Belle answered dolefully.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Starlight asked as Cookie waddled into the room. She greeted Starlight by eye contact and took a place beside Sweetie Belle.

"No thank you, Ma'am," Sweetie Belle said. "I was very excited, that's all. There's not too much to say about it. I'll make sure to go see Applejack today."

Starlight came in closer to her. "Sweetie Belle, I need to tell you something, but I don't think you're going to like it. I want to let you know in advance that the point of this is not to threaten you or to make you feel embarrassed. I'm glad Mom is here, too. She can support you. Are you ready?"

Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes and made a presidential salute.

"I think you have a hard time being cooperative with your emotions, Sweetie Belle. This is a big struggle for you. It has definitely hurt your grades," she remarked as though she had discovered an open candy bar wrapper on the windowsill. "We all want to help you, but we can't keep waiting for you to come around."

"It's true, honey," Cookie added after a fermata. "I always feel like you're keeping something from me."

"Can I ask a favor of you guys?" Sweetie Belle said calmly. "We're talking about cooperation, right? Can we not go into this today? Now, I think what you've said is very fair, but I don't want to focus on the negative, you know? I just had my big show in town, and my sister's here, and I'd just like to enjoy the moment, if I can."

"Oh, absolutely!" Starlight responded quickly. "I'm down with that. By the way—totally stoked that you brought black box theater to Ponyville. Fritzel Fussbudget, right? I had a boyfriend back in my hometown who was totally into him. That was more years ago than I'd care to count! You know what I'm talking about?" she asked Cookie with a wink.

Cookie covered up a Pinocchio smile. "I think you have some catching up to do to get to where I am, young lady!"

They laughed like dogs barking in a far-away lot. Then Starlight resumed, "All the same, Sweetie Belle, this can be the kind of moment where it is most important to evaluate your emotional landscape. A performance, metaphorically speaking, is where everything significant comes out. Right? It's what all those rehearsals are for, after all. In my field we call it a crucial juncture. I have a game we could play to make it easier. Would you like to hear about it?"

"I don't know," said Sweetie Belle. "I don't think it will help me."

"It'll be fun," Starlight replied. "Listen. I call it 'Feelings Tic-tac-toe'. You begin with a nine-square grid just like in regular tic-tac-toe, except when you put down an 'O' or an 'X' you have to include a genuine feeling you have about someone else, a situation, or yourself. The rule is: when you make a statement, you must always begin with 'I think that' or 'It is my feeling that' to be clear that you are talking about what you perceive, and are not trying to ascribe something to someone else. Of course, you can always say something positive!"

"What happens when you get three in a row?" asked Cookie.

"You get to ask your opponent for a judgment-free compliment! This can be frightening but very satisfying—normally we don't give ourselves permission to ask for praise. It could take the form of 'Tell me about something that makes me beautiful' or 'Tell me the most fun memory you have of me' or whatever seems relevant to your state of mind."

"Ooh, let's play!" said Cookie, elbowing Sweetie Belle in the shoulder.

"This sounds really dumb."

"Just go with it, Sweetie Belle," Rarity said with impatience. Silence hung in the air like firecracker smoke.

"We don't have to play if you don't want to," Starlight said.

"No, let's play. You first," Sweetie Belle replied, squaring herself in front of Starlight.

"Me? Okay…" Starlight made four strokes in the air between them, representing the board. She thought for a moment, then made another mark in the air and said, "'X'—I think you're unhappy at the School of Friendship."

Sweetie Belle made her own mark on the board. "'O'—I think you're trying to corner me."

Starlight made another cross. "'X'—It seems like your family is worried about you."

"'O'—I think they love me very much."

"'X'—I think you are a good daughter to them."

"'O'—I think they want me to be more like Rarity."

"'X'—It seems like you are very confused."

"'O'—I'm a fuck up."

"Watch your mouth, Sweetie Belle!" said Cookie. "For goodness sake, we are trying to help you! And, by the way, what you said about Rarity is not true," she added tartly.

Starlight stopped her. "Let's give it a little air, Mrs. Crumbles." She turned to Sweetie Belle with a minty smile. "Sweetie, honey, I know we're tapping into strong emotions here, but let's try and remember the most important rule of Feelings Tic-tac-toe."

Sweetie Belle let out a wet sigh. "It is my feeling that I am a fuck up."

"Good," said Starlight. "Now, that gives me the last move. 'X'—I'm glad that we can be friends. It looks like I win. As per our rules, I am allowed to ask you for a judgment-free compliment. Let's see… What would you miss about me if I went away on a six-month mountain climbing expedition?"

"Your breath," Sweetie Belle replied with facility. "You always have fruity bubblegum breath which reminds me of my time in counseling. It may be storming outside, and I might be much happier somewhere else, but I can always count on your excellent taste in gum."

Starlight balked. "I see. Well… Thank you, Sweetie Belle. I acknowledge and accept your compliment."

"Are we having fun? Because I'm not," said Rarity in a brass voice. "Honestly, Sweetie Belle, you're making this way more difficult than it needs to be. Starlight and Mom are right—and I will summarize their feeling and say that you need to learn tact. We all have to give in to each other now and then. It is very true in business. One makes little compromises all the time to establish good relations and a professional reputation. Even if I think a client is unpleasant or undeserving I will still entertain a negotiation of price for my services with them if I think it will be of long-term benefit to the store. And I think you would profit greatly to look at this, Sweetie Belle, and even more to have a concrete experience of it, because it is the exact same way with friends and family. You'll see that one must learn to network with one's dear ones, too. It is all part of having a productive life in the real world."

"Ah," Sweetie Belle replied weakly, "that makes sense." She leaned and started brushing the floor with a dangling hoof.

"It's so true," said Cookie. "I always consider it a point to make holiday appearances at Winsome Weathervane's get-togethers, even though I don't know most of her friends and never really enjoy myself, honestly," she remarked as though she had delivered a punchline. "But I can't complain about Winsome. She's quiet and is always willing to lend us her tools when we need them."

"And once you've built those relationships," Starlight added, "then ponies can get to know the real you."

"Yeah, I see that," Sweetie Belle said. She looked up at Starlight and Cookie. "Look, just ignore me. I'm tired still. I'm going to go take a nap. Thanks for coming to see me, Starlight. It was really considerate of you to go out of your way to make sure I'm okay. We'll have to continue this at another time," she said, turning to go.

"Oh, anytime!" said Starlight. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to your sister?" Cookie asked after Sweetie Belle. "She's going to be leaving soon."

"Oh yeah, have a safe trip," she returned from down the hall; they heard the door shut.

"I hope I was of use today," said Starlight.

"Oh, of course, darling," said Cookie. "You are always welcome here."

"I don't know. Did you want to get Dad into this?" Rarity said distantly.

Starlight shook her head. "Oh, no, no. Maybe some other time. I've got to get going—we've all got places to be, I'm sure. Just one more thing, though."

Starlight waved for Cookie and Rarity to come over. Cookie took a stolid first step then looked at Rarity as though she had already lost hear way; Rarity then took her like a convalescent by the shoulder to where Starlight was waiting for them with a broad smile, before girdling them into an embrace.

"I love you guys," she wheezed in a breathy voice.

After several moments they released. "Always good to conglomerate with you," Rarity said.

Starlight smiled in approval and departed.

"You've met before, right?" Rarity asked after her mother after Starlight had gone.

"Oh yes," said Cookie. "At least twice, I think."

"Mother, I'm going to go check on Sweetie Belle before I go," said Rarity, glancing in the direction of the hall.

"She's probably sleeping," Cookie replied. "She looked exhausted this morning, didn't she? Are you sure you want to poke that bee's nest?"

Rarity nodded. "If she's sleeping I shall quietly tiptoe away, I promise."

She went down the hall; the door was not locked. When she looked in she found that Sweetie Belle was not in bed but rather seated at a rickety turquoise vanity making brushstrokes though her mussed hair in its tiny mirror. He belongings did not take up much of Rarity's large old quarters: only the aqua vanity, a small black trunk at the foot of the bed, and a petite wooden-panel bookshelf were her own contributions to the décor. Next to these, Rarity's old queen bed towered with minaret bedposts, along with an armario which was now in disuse. There was a phonograph on the floor and a dusty mousetrap by the floor molding, though Rarity did not remember having a problem with vermin.

Rarity did not announce her presence but entered with gentle wonderment as she parsed the objects which now populated her old room. She examined the bookshelf opposite to the vanity where Sweetie Belle was toiling. Slumped on the top shelf were several button-sewn stuffed dolls which gladdened her with their familiar, mock-Victorian facades; below the dolls on the next shelf were some dappled school textbooks and a slosh or earmarked poetry volumes and some slim philosophy readers. Among the poetry the most careworn collections were Amethyst Remembrance by Feathered Thing and Ariel Plow's The Colossus, the latter a library tagged book which was many months past due. Below these still was an assortment of weathered boardgames which were displayed in dust like precious antiques.

Turning back to the vanity, Rarity was struck by the sparseness of her familiar habitation: nothing but a throw rug and a few jettisoned accessories covered the lake of swollen floorboards which now fell between where she and her sister stood in the old family home.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she said, "and to say goodbye. Back there… The context was a little strange, wouldn't you agree?"

A moment passed before there was a reply. She heard the rip of another hair stroke, then Sweetie Belle said, "Well, yes, it was. But you see me now, and I'm fine."

"Is there something you'd like to talk about?" asked Rarity.

"I don't want to talk," Sweetie Belle said shortly.

"I know when something is not right with you," Rarity chafed, "and bottling it up won't do either of us any good. I am almost offended that you aren't willing to be candid with me, Sweetie Belle. Your therapy couch excuses are no good with me."

Sweetie Belle wheeled around to face her. "Why can't I just be sad? What's the big deal? Everybody gets down sometimes. Honestly, it's none of your business and you just make it worse." She went back to looking in the mirror.

"Are you angry because Mom and Dad and Starlight are pressuring you to go to Crystal Clear?"

Sweetie Belle glowered and went back to picking at her hair. "I don't know. I'm not happy at the School of Friendship, I guess. I like the ponies there—even Starlight, when she's not so wound up—but I feel like I'm just watching. Watching them find partners, watching them matriculate. I feel like maybe I don't belong there anymore, and it scares me." She set down the brush with an aggravated sigh. "Hey, Rarity—could you…?"

"Oh, sure." Rarity jaunted across the room and took up a place behind her sister. She gathered a swath of Sweetie Belle's hair in one hoof, then the other, and pulled the mélange back tightly so that it tugged her forehead into a smooth white prominence.

"Look at you!" Rarity said half-admiringly. "Oh, to have a coat like that again!" She reached for the brush with her spare hoof and began going to work like a bivouac surgeon. "What is it you're scared of?"

"Like… ponies are disappointed that I don't like to sing as much as I used to. It leaves me with a weird feeling in my stomach, like the earth is going out from under my hooves."

"Well don't you?" Rarity asked with hair pins dangling from her mouth. "Enjoy singing, still, I mean."

Sweetie Belle was quiet. Rarity worked and hummed an inaudible melody to herself as she wrenched and combed her sister's tresses into a firm, pliable weave. Sweetie Belle continued, "When I first started singing for ponies, it made me happy that I could do something that I loved to do and that the community loved at the same time. There wasn't a division between 'Sweetie Belle at home' and 'Sweetie Belle at school', I guess. It was simpler. There was no need for argument. The more I nurtured myself, the more others seemed to be nurtured by me."

"Mhm."

"Well, I stopped nurturing myself. It just seemed like bullshit—excuse my language. Like, what is the point of that? To be able to sit on my throne and look pretty? I want to get dirty, and to be changed, and to be there. The 'personal improvement' stuff pushes ponies away, takes me out of it. I don't want to have a better message—I want to be in a place where there's no 'message' to impart. How can I get to that?"

"I don't know, dear," Rarity said as she carefully preened the hairline by Sweetie Belle's ear. "Honestly, I don't know what you're asking—I think that one is more open to others when one has a strong sense of oneself."

"You know what I mean," Sweetie Belle said. "I know you do. I want to sing—to go back to that old feeling, rather—but I can't. I knew that if I just got to Rolling Oats things would be better, like I would find some kind of direction to the answer. …I still feel like that might be true, but my problem that I also might get swallowed up being there."

"Isn't that what you want, though?" Rarity asked.

"Now you sound like Dad. I know it's dumb, or I'm dumb, or I'm overthinking it, or whatever."

Rarity harrumphed as she teased the top of Sweetie Belle's mane. "I don't think it's dumb, Sweetie Belle, and I'm here to support you, and so is Starlight, and Mom and Dad too, even if they miss the mark sometimes. We all want you to do well."

"I get that," Sweetie Belle replied. "And I appreciate it. But you can't help me, not with this particular thing."

"Now I went with something a little different," Rarity said, cutting by her and gently craning her head to eye level with the mirror.

Her locks had been woven into two plaits which crowned her head and came down into a bun at the back of her neck, clasped together by a topaz barrette—the centerpiece clarified the braid and added a tone of slightly masculine self-assurance to the weft. Rarity had altered the comb of her hair from a romantic side part to a simpler centered figure, and evened out her bangs to allow them to accent her temples and eyeline. Sweetie Belle noticed for the first time too her high cheek bones which imparted an unfamiliar sense of maturity to her face.

"I call it—my sister, the young artist!"

Rarity stepped back. She let Sweetie Belle examine herself in the mirror and waited for her as she hung her head and began to cry. She swiveled around to face Rarity, rubbing her reddened face, but avoiding eye contact.

"It's very practical, you see," Rarity said softly, trotting over to her. "Nothing to get in the way of your eyes and hooves. And yet… You look so fetching! Isn't that nice?"

Sweetie Belle nodded.

"What do you think?" Rarity asked after a pause. "I bet Mom and Dad will be blown away."

"I don't want them to see it," said Sweetie Belle.

"Well why not?" Rarity asked, caressing her. "Do you not like it?"

"Can I be honest with you, Rarity?"

"What are sisters for?" she replied, sitting back on her haunches.

"Sometimes their 'support' just makes me feel farther away."

"What do you mean, 'farther away'?" asked Rarity.

"It's like when Starlight plays little 'games' to try and relate to me. I think she feels like she's really making a connection with me when she does that, but she's not. Sometimes I think it would be easier if she just didn't like me and put on a pleasant face when she had to deal with me—that way, at least, I wouldn't have this guilt. It makes me feel like she doesn't know me, even though she thinks she does, and telling her that would be like stabbing her. Same with Mom and Dad. It's not their fault, but I hate it."

Rarity nodded. "Are you sure they would feel that way if you told them about it?"

"I'm afraid to test it," Sweetie Belle replied.

"I understand." Rarity was quiet. "And what about us? Do I make you feel 'farther away'?"

"It's all good," Sweetie Belle answered skittishly. "I mean, you should think about getting back to Manehattan… I'm sorry for being snippy out there with Starlight and Mom. But I really did mean it when I said I hope you have a safe train ride back. I don't want to make you late."

Rarity fixed her gaze. "I'll catch the next one."

Sweetie Belle turned and labored over to the vanity and said in a pinched tone, "If you really want to know, yes, you do."

They were silent together. Then, concentrating on her reflection, Sweetie Belle continued, "When you left there was a vacuum in my life. I was used to having someone who I could share everything with, and to whom I could go with anything that I needed to talk about. But things have changed. You've been away. And I've felt this pull, and I've been trying to make sense of it. And I've come to realize that I can't follow its direction without turning my back on you."

Rarity watched her in puzzlement. "Really, Sweetie Belle, you have such a strange way of speaking."

"It hurt me when you said that one's family is just like anyone else, that one needs to network with them. It hurt because you're right, that's exactly how it is, that's exactly what I do to you, that's exactly what Mom and Dad want to do to me by sending me away, and that's exactly how it is with us. We all just 'get along', just like at school. I know none of you wanted to be there at the performance last night, and there's a part of me that's mad at you for pretending and wants revenge for every fake compliment."

She paused and took a breath. "But there's another part of me that's overwhelmed by Rolling Oats and its musty promises and the prospect of leaving this all behind, every last waffle, because I miss you terribly, not just because you live somewhere else but because you don't have the answers anymore and I have to go on without you. I have to end it. And another part of me wants to scream that you don't have to network with me, that I'm right here and we're just playing a long game of hide and seek."

Golden afternoon light made a soft glow on the floor between Rarity and Sweetie Belle through the rickety window on the western side of the house which faced the pines. In the silence Rarity found herself wondering again about what was beyond those trees, as she had from and early memory, looking up through the glass as she waited to get out of bed on a lazy day; it seemed to her that the dark tree line towered over the world, and was the only feature of the room which hadn't lapsed with time.

Sweetie Belle began to sniffle again. Rarity came over to her and pulled her in by the shoulders; Sweetie Belle pressed herself tightly against her sister's chest and felt the boniness of her presence, her delicate shoulders and heartbeat.

They let go. Rarity gave her a kiss and they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Then Rarity said, "Listen, Sweetie Belle. Go out into the world. Chase those musty promises. Fall in love. Make a fool of yourself. Make big mistakes—you hear me? Live your life and everything that goes with it. Break hearts. Get your own heart broken. Live on a dime, if you have to. That's the only advice I can give you. You don't have to do anything to be in my network—I just love you, okay?"

Sweetie Belle let out a laugh in a wave of relief and exhaustion. She went to say something but stopped and allowed the silence to come in again. Even the chattering birds outside did not disturb it; rather, their song seemed to coalesce around it, the way beads of sweat form on a glass pitcher filled with fresh, cold water.