The gentle taps on the door rang clearly throughout the hallway.

Celestia stood before the grand entrance, hoof still raised and poised for another strike, waiting for a response from within.

Luna always did take her time acknowledging visitors.

In the silence she gazed at the intricate, inlaid patterns on the pair of doors; they drew one’s eye upwards to a grand arch resting above, giving any visitor the sense they were a foal looking up to a tall and imperious pony. Celestia smiled sadly at the thought.

“Come in sister,” Luna called. Her voice was strong and authoritative in tone—very professional. It yielded a sense of Luna’s commanding presence, something Celestia had watched fluctuate over the years as she swayed back and forth, uncertain in her image.

Celestia pushed open the doors and trotted through the brief, dark tunnel that spilled out into the spacious foyer of Luna’s chambers. Built mostly for public use, its wide and polished dark floors and vaulted ceiling at once impressed upon visitors their majesty and yet allowed room to breathe. Arches open to the night air lined the back, and instead of a large fireplace, as in Celestia’s own main chamber room, torches held atop tall, gothic stands dotted the space. There was no rug, but rather a few chaise lounges, pillows, and even a love seat. Luna sat behind a wide, dark wood desk beneath the central—and tallest—archway, her back to the open night. Despite the light in the room, stars could be seen twinkling in the dark spaces between the arch gaps, with Luna’s mane flowing idly in the middle of it all.

“A lucky guess that it was me at the door, sister?”

Luna didn’t even look up from the scroll she was reviewing. “Hardly. It would have to be another in a long string of lucky guesses, wouldn’t it? And that defies the idea of luck and its rather unreliable nature.”

Celestia could just make out a sly smile on her sisters lips. Smiles were what she wanted.

“True. You always seem to know it’s me.”

“And you always knock in the same manner. Three perfect, evenly paced taps.”

Celestia gave a pleased chuckle, but caught her sister rolling her eyes even as she looked downward. Swallowing, she asked, “And how does everypony else knock?”

At this Luna finally looked up and gave a laugh. “Exactly the opposite. If it’s one of the palace servants, say a scribe, they always start out strong enough, but then, as if they fear being too bold, they switch to a light tap, which they then strengthen again, perhaps thinking they will look too cowardly or weak in my presence.” Luna swirled her hoof the air. “You know I do try to cultivate courage in the presence of a princess. It’s a rather fumbling melody altogether, but you come to appreciate it.”

“Well, I must say, I’ve never quite found the time to observe how others knock on my doors,” Celestia quipped with a slight chuckle. Luna’s face remained stoic and unpleased.

“Perhaps you simply aren’t observant enough.”

Celestia winced and frowned, which she quickly replaced with a smile. “Just teasing, Luna.”

“Ah.” Luna shrugged and returned her attention to the scroll in her hooves. Silence reigned, and Celestia couldn’t help but notice the two of them were still separated by the entirety of the foyer. After a few moments, she started walking towards a plush looking pillow, placed about halfway to her sister, and sat down. Luna didn’t look up.

“Is there something I can help you with, sister?”

Celestia rolled her shoulders as her gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Luna’s figure. “Well…no. Should there be?”

“I don’t catch your meaning.” Luna pulled a quill out with her magic and dipped it in a stubby bottle of ink.

“I just came to talk, Luna.”

“Oh? To chat?”

“Yes.”

“About what?” Luna actually sounded genuinely interested—well, genuine for her, but the fact she kept her eyes on her work and didn’t spare Celestia a single glance was dismaying. She had a very impersonal sort of manner hovering about her.

“Well…” Celestia paused to think. Luna scribbled away. “Ah! There’s a new maid of mine, named Golden Bell, who dusts the main chamber in my quarters.” Celestia gestured about Luna’s room with a hoof. “Earlier today I returned for a brief respite…”

From there she launched into a detailed account of what had transpired. She had found the Zebrican vase she keeps atop the fireplace mantle, which she had decided to admire as she often did with her decorations, held together with a rather poorly done glue job. From there it was a search to discover who had done this—though she could’ve guessed.

Luna gave all the pretense of interest, giving the occasional “Oh?” and “You don’t say” and “Mm Hm”. Celestia progressively grew more animated, drawing particular attention to how she had gone about procuring an honest confession from Golden Bell, and how afterwards she had calmly assured her servant of her continued service. It was around this point in the tale that Luna seemed suddenly disinterested, returning her eyes and hooves to the scrolls on her desk.

“I gently laid my wing over her shoulders to help comfort her—how she trembled! Ponies always do the first time I show affection and acceptance like that. But it always helps them feel better in the end. And so—”

“And so,” Luna cut in, punctuating her interruption with a loud ‘dot’ of her quill, “long story short, you found out who broke the vase and got the culprit to apologize?”

Celestia jolted as if somepony had just stopped her mid-spellcasting by knocking her horn. It took a few seconds to find her voice. “Er—yes, technically…as you said, long story short. But, as I was saying—”

“Because I hate to be rude sister, but as I’m sure you can see,” she waved her hoof across her cluttered desk, “I have quite a lot to do. Your story is very interesting, but you always waltz into my room and talk up a storm at the most inconvenient times. It can be rather…annoying.”

Celestia didn’t attempt to hide her frown. “Sorry…I just wanted to talk with you.”

Luna’s posture became slightly irritated at that. “Yes, well, what you usually do is talk to me, Celestia. The moment you wish to talk with me, I will be more than happy to set aside whatever is at hoof and participate.”

Celestia felt her blood surge with indignation, and she opened her mouth to give a rebuttle, but Luna cut her off.

“Please sister,” she pleaded, her eyes towards heaven, “can we argue this another time? I’m very busy.”

Celestia stared quietly at Luna for a few seconds, her face blank. Luna’s eyes shifted about the room, her hooves fiddling with the edge of a scroll. She swallowed, and then met Celestia’s gaze.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” Celestia said, her tone very even. Carefully, she rose from the pillow, her movements measured and graceful. With the utmost dignity, her chin raised slightly, she turned and trotted out of the room.

When she was gone, Luna exhaled loudly and slumped in her seat.

---

Twenty minutes later Celestia was relaxing on a soft wool rug before the roaring flames in her fireplace. Contemplatively she sipped a glass of warm milk.

There was something bothering Luna, she reflected, something she was not letting on. That much was certain. Clearly, her issue with Celestia “talking up a storm” was simply a front. Luna never was very expressive of her true feelings, choosing to hide them more often than open herself up and share them.

“Oh Luna, why can’t you be honest with me and trust me?”

Whatever it was that was needling her little sister, it wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t the first time she had been short with her when stopping in her quarters to talk. More often than not Luna seemed as if she was always waiting for her to leave, a mixed air of impatience and disinterest about her. Over the course of the last several months it had been steadily growing.

Really, she should have noticed it sooner; she should have picked up on it before Luna had to hit her over the head with the realization.

“Talk with me, not to me,” she repeated in an irritated mumble, “what a ridiculous thing to say, honestly.”

Yes, she should have seen it before now. Luna was right about one thing: she was not observant enough, not where it truly counted.

Foolish foolish foolish…

Well, she settled, she would simply have to give more attention to her sister. She would see her again tomorrow night, and move on from there.

Pleased with the idea, she took a deep drink of her milk. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was only nine thirty. With spending time with Luna no longer an option, what to do? Gazing into the crackling flames, she sifted through her options, finally coming to it with a sudden grin.

She would inquire to Mayor Mare of Ponyville about Twilight. It was time for her to do so again, after all. As her horn lit to snatch some blank parchment from a nearby desk, a complicated feeling arose with the realization that she seemed to pay closer attention to how her once-upon-a-time-student was doing than Luna.

What nonsense.

Dabbing a quill on the tip of her tongue, she set to writing…

---

Orange, morning sunlight streamed through the dainty kitchen window in the Boutique, catching Rarity’s unkempt mane.

With bags beneath her eyes—she had slept very little last night, and fitfully at that—she took uneven sips of her tea. The sound almost seemed to echo about the empty room.

She was always aware of its emptiness in the mornings—of the lack of another soul in the entire place. Her day would start off with the feeling as thick as honey as she ate her breakfast—if she ate—and drank her tea, waning throughout the day. By her midafternoon snack it was evaporated completely. But the next morning it never failed to return, creeping back on spindly legs.

Just then Opalescence strutted into the kitchen, stretching for a moment by her food bowl. Rarity smiled.

Well…it was never totally empty.

With a yawn she twisted her neck until it cracked loudly. Sitting up straight, she plucked up the mirror she always kept on her table—like the ones she had on her mantle, the coffee table by her sofa, next to the downstairs bathroom sink, in five separate drawers about the house, as well as a few closets, and by her sewing machine—and regarded herself woefully.

“Dear, all this labor is showing on you. But there’s simply nothing to be done but persist until it is finished—and do that I shall!”

Standing with an air of determination, she took her cup to the sink. First things first, she had to fix herself up for a trip to the market place. It was going to be another harrowing day on the seam line, but Coco Pommel needed her help.

She trotted up to her room to straighten her mane out and do her best to erase the heavy bags below her eyes.

---

Stowed away in a dusty office with brownish walls, stuffed into the back of the Town Hall building, Mayor Mare sat at her persistently cluttered desk, staring at a letter in an irritated, weary fashion.

It was from Her Royal Majesty Princess Celestia, and it inquired, ever so curiously, as to the state of her old student.

Again.

The mayor sighed, looking upwards to heaven. She had received a similar letter every week since Twilight had, at the princess’s own request, taken up a position in Town Hall, aiding her in the daily, governmental affairs of Ponyville. It was, so to say, to ease her into her duties as a freshly made princess. The Mayor could hardly argue with it; it was a sound decision, after all. Ponyville was small and private—a tepid pond compared to the raging rapids of the Canterlot political arena. Not that the princess ever hinted Twilight would serve her fellow ponies in the capitol city, but it was hardly to be doubted. Twilight was bound for great things, whether she wanted them or not. The princesses of the day and night held their wings firmly over her, the princess of love held her by the shoulders, her princely brother by the hooves, and the powers of harmony that be…well, she didn’t know whether they held her gently by the horn, or by a noose about her neck. Whatever it be, Twilight herself held five impossibly strong-braided cords, the other ends of which were soundly clenched in the mouths of her five friends. Where she was swept off to the others would undoubtedly follow, be it the mountain summit or over the precipice’s edge.

The Mayor had, of course, replied with all the fervor deserving the mighty sun regent asking of her precious little pony. Her answering letters had started out as fully detailed, in depth reports on Twilight’s habits, practices, work ethic, attitude, levels of adjustment, and never-failing insight.

Over the course of the weeks and months, however, her responses had dwindled and dwindled, until she had managed to compress the entirety of Twilight’s progress into a single sentence, which she had been sending the princess for the last six weeks.

“Diligent as usual, as inquisitive as ever, she continues to be a great source of aid to both me and Ponyville in general.”

While the Mayor would never admit this, she had considered suggesting she write only when the state of things had altered in some way, for better or worse. But she had never quite found the courage to do so. And yet, neither had the princess suggested anything different than what they had slid into doing, over and over again, to point of almost producing a formality.

Princess Celestia, she was learning, was a mare in love with habits of formality.

The Mayor Mare uncorked her slim bottle of ink and, spreading a clean parchment out between her hooves, went to dip in her quill. Before she could make a single scratch, she heard somepony enter out in the hall; the distinct sound of tired, dragging hooves. Hooves which stubbornly resisted adapting to an early morning lifestyle.

Setting the quill down, she patiently waited for her door to open.

After a few moments, it did. In walked Twilight, yawning with her mouth wide open.

“Good morning, Mayor.”

“Good morning, Princess,” she answered in a cheerful tone, watching as Twilight stretched her wings.

An Alicorn, working in my Town Hall!

“Drowning in paperwork already, I see,” Twilight remarked with a gesture toward her desk. Mounds of leaflets, unfurled scrolls, and parchments rose to towering heights on all sides, the Mayor valiantly defending against the encroachment with a single circle of clean space the size of a dinner plate.

“When am I not, Twilight?” She thought for a moment, and then added with a touch of slyness, “Though perhaps I should say we.”

Twilight groaned and pulled at one side of her face with a hoof, stretching her eyelid down until it revealed its pink underside. At this, the Mayor noticed just how bloodshot her eyes were, and how deep and worn in the bags beneath them.

“Don’t remind me!”

The Mayor Mare smiled in a motherly fashion. “Now now, you know our sacred position: paperwork is the curse of all those who make a real difference in life.”

“I think Rainbow Dash would have something to say about that.”

“Not if she continues at her rate and becomes a Chief Weather Pony. Now you best go and get started. At the rate you plow through paperwork, my dear, you’ll be done before your thirtieth birthday.”

She had expected this to solicit a laugh from Twilight, or at the very least a cynical huff. Rather, she looked as if she’d been stung by a viper, and her eyes became glassy as she stared at some dull terror off in the far-flung distance, which the Mayor couldn’t see. Her body seemed altogether to slump at once, and she turned silently and walked out the door, her twitching tail betraying an agitated nervousness. The Mayor stared after her with concern.

She heard Twilight reach her little office—a renovated closet really—the loud thump of her saddlebags hitting the floor, following by muffled words and the distinct sound of shuffling parchment. Lots and lots of parchment.

“Oh, by the way,” the young princess called, “just to reaffirm you previous statement yesterday: it’s fine if I leave after F.C. today, to work on some important research back at the library?”

F.C. stood for Friendship Court—a term the Mayor had proudly coined herself, after turning down Twilight’s “Counsel and Ruling on Varying Relationship Incursions.” Twilight had, in her defiance against the name Rainbow Dash had apparently laughed herself to sleep on, abbreviated it to F.C.. It was perhaps the most princess-like of her new responsibilities, one she did not take lightly. In fact, judging by its effect on her, the Mayor had since day one feared it was too much on the poor dear. But she fought her fears over it again and again until she had reasoned herself into a corner, hoping Twilight’s limbs would eventually get used to the burden and spring back, straight and strong.

They never did.

Neither did the Mayor’s hope dwindle entirely. And in lieu of that hope, she had forsaken ever bringing this point up to Princess Celestia in her weekly reports.

“Yes, of course Twilight. I don’t change my mind that quickly,” she said with a gruff laugh.

“Thank you so much again,” came the reply from down the hall, its tone weary. “I’ve just had so little time to work on any studies into magic, and…and I think it’s really bothering me. A healthy dip back into the world of Dynamic Third Order Starswirlian Mechanics should do me some good.”

The Mayor shook her head. “Of course,” she called back flatly.

A pause, and then, “Where…where do we keep the extra ink wells again?”

At this the Mayor’s face scrunched up in serious concern. “Where we always keep them, Twilight.”

There was silence. Getting the feeling Twilight thought that was only the first clause of her response, she added, “In the cupboard down the hall.”

“Oh, yes that’s right. Thank you.”

The Mayor thought deeply for a few minutes, after which she set herself to answering Princess Celestia. To her usual reply, she added one line.

“A bit distracted lately.”

---

Rarity trotted briskly about the market place, her saddlebags already weighing heavily. Most stands and shops were just opening—the very reason she was out so early. She had her own Boutique to open to customers as well, after all. Pausing in the middle of the clearing, which wasn’t yet crowded with many ponies, she nosed around her bags, mentally checking her list.

“Got the peaches, the celery, the cheese—that imported, smoked buffalo cheese from Appleloosa—a jar of milk…some new scissors, a bottle of Pinot Noir…that Ponesian thread I needed…a ball of yarn for precious Opal…”

All that was left was to visit Chiffon’s Fabric Shop for some linens and cotton and jute fabrics. Walking up she noticed the “closed” sign still hanging in the window. Rarity clucked her tongue. Would that Chiffon hurry her little cottony tail up? Rarity had masterpieces planned, and they had to be shipped no later than next Tuesday!

With nothing better to do, she closed her eyes for a moment as she breathed through her nose, planting her senses into her Inspiration-Search mode. She might as well look around for some new ideas—put herself to good use. Idling did an artist no good. Breathing evenly, she placed her four hooves together beneath her, a position which was difficult to balance in. She pulled back the reins on her mind, cutting off erratic thoughts, repeating over and over again, “See the world like a little filly see the world like a little filly see the world like a little filly…”

With a calm, slow exhale, she opened her eyes—

To see Fluttershy standing in front of her.

“Hi, Rarity.”

Rarity gave a sharp jolt, the wheels in her mind jumping tracks. “Er—hi, Fluttershy dear.” She gave a pleasant laugh to cover her ruffled state.

Fluttershy smiled demurely. “I didn’t catch you in the middle of an Inspiration Search, did I?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. She had forgotten Fluttershy knew she did that, and more so, that she knew what it looked like. But that would mean…

Carefully, she worded her answer. “Why yes, actually, I was,” she said in a flippant manner, and then, more slowly, “you noticed?” And interrupted me anyway.

A tremble rumbled through Fluttershy. “Um, well, yes, but not before I said hi.” She plastered a thin smile on her lips. Rarity saw it for what it was: a silent apology. The form of repentance the two of them had, over the years, come to tacitly agree upon—when it came to little, personal faux-pas such as these. Following suite, Rarity let her annoyance slide away, returning her silent forgiveness: a sincere, friendly smile. Fluttershy’s thin lips blossomed into a radiant grin of appreciation.

“So, darling, what are you out and about for this morning?”

“I have to buy some more feed. I’ve had an awful large influx of new animals in the past week, and I’ve run out of all kinds of fruits, nuts, oats and seeds.” She gestured with a graceful hoof to her wagon parked by a bush, already full of multiple sacks.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she said, sitting on her haunches. “It’s very strange, and all the animals acted as if they were running away from something—something terrifying!”

Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“I think they all came from the edge of the Everfree; most won’t even leave my house.”

“My goodness, do you know what might be the cause of it?”

Fluttershy trembled, but spoke with the authority she commanded her life’s calling. “No. I don’t. Only some of them are hurt—most just look for shelter, and of course I have to give it. Only one came to me really sick. A poor little rat.”

“You don’t sa—a rat?!” Rarity recoiled. “Oh darling don’t tell me you take care of those horrid things, do you?”

Fluttershy seemed unphased at the idea. “Of course! They’re just as special as any other animal. Did you know they can eat through a—”

Rarity held up a hoof in disgust. “Please, dear Fluttershy, save that information for yourself. The less I know about those creatures the better.”

“…Okay.”

Rarity shivered, and set her gaze about the market place in hopes of flushing her mind clean. Fluttershy continued.

“Anyway, the poor little thing came to me yesterday, and he was so weak he could barely stand. He has the most awful convulsions, and I can’t seem to get them to stop.”

“Uh-huh.” Rarity felt her stomach lurch, and she sought desperately for something to take her mind off the sickly image of a seizuring rat.

“I had to put him in a pen outside, as all the other animals go nearly mad if they get anywhere near him. And then—”

Suddenly Rarity spotted a mare across the market clearing, laying out the most beautiful ribbon—satin, if Rarity was guessing right. She was struck with an idea. Eyes shining, she placed a quick hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder, saying, “Hold that thought Flutterhsy—I’ll be right back!”

She ran off to the stand. Fluttershy shrank in on herself, a sad smile on her features. A few minutes later Rarity returned, holding a glossy, blood red ribbon in her magic.

“Ooo, this will go wonderfully with my costume for King Summerset, the evil tyrant of Unicornia.”

“Who?”

“Oh, for the Bridleway play Kings of Unicornia, about a dreadful leader who rules the ancient city, holding his family in vice like grip, while Butterfly, the beautiful unicorn princess tries desperately to escape. In a failed attempt, she meets a handsome stallion before being dragged back, who later tries to rescue her. He’s horribly maimed, but manages to start a revolution that overthrows the tyrant king and saves his family, wherein he becomes the new king, with Butterfly as his queen.”

Rarity sighed as she looked off in the distance, pressing the ribbon into her chest.

“What about it?” Fluttershy asked with an uncharacteristic flatness.

“Oh. Well, I’m designing the costumes. Or rather, helping to design them. Coco Pommel—you remember her, right?—she got the job after doing some brilliant work with Bridleway’s previous show, but the poor mare’s mother just passed away.”

“What…?” Fluttershy covered her mouth with both hooves. “The poor thing!”

“I know I know, it’s unthinkable—I feel so bad for her.” Rarity dug a hoof into the dirt. “She wrote to me asking, if it was at all possible, if I could help make some of her designs—of which she only had drawn up half. She knew nopony else in the industry she could turn to for help. And she has to contact all her family and arrange the funeral and everything; they lived together in the city, her and her mother, all by themselves. Apparently she traveled from Fillydelphia to look after Coco and keep her from being lonely.”

“Oh no…”

“Of course I offered to just design the other half of the costumes as well as make them. Well, more ordered than offered. In fact, I tried to take the whole darned job off her hooves, but she wouldn’t let me. I think she needs something stable to keep her mind focused on, as impossible as that sounds. I just received her letter last week, and I need to ship out all the costumes next Tuesday.”

“So soon? But why?”

Rarity shrugged. “Show schedules are always rushed, and with what happened she just hit a brick wall. It was out of desperation that she wrote to me—she was ready to throw in the saddle, and she would have lost her job, and any chance of a career in Manehatten. Really, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Rarity…” Fluttershy gave her a concerned look.

“Oh hush. I can do it and you know it. In any event, it’s better than having a convulsing rat on her hooves.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “Well, I admire you for helping her Rarity; I hope in your aide she sees the expression of all of our sympathies. We, we should all get together and send her something. I wish we could go there right now and help, but I certainly can’t.”

“So do I.”

“I wish you luck, Rarity.”

Her friend smiled deeply. “Thank you Fluttershy. A-and, good luck to you too…with your rat.”

Fluttershy chuckled. “Thanks. I have feeling I’m going to need it.”

They shared a brief hug, and then parted way, Fluttershy heading off to her wagon and Rarity trotting back towards the fabric shop.

---

Author’s Note:

This story has many problems.

Also, it had a narrative, I swear. I just haven’t gotten to fully brining it out yet. Go fig.

One question I’d love to know the answer to: Was is boring?