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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Gossamer
Silk and gossamer were nothing alike. Anypony who knew the the silkworm's singular flawless thread could never be satisfied with that ratty spider mishmesh. Those who thought otherwise were simply not Rarity.
The fashionista conducted a riot of colorful cloth all over her workroom. The swarm of earthy blues and greens flitted about two ponequins as needles and thread sewed them into two dresses. A box by the door was marked to the Peachbottom residence with gratitude for their business.
Trim the hemming. Green ribbon for the straw hats. A few red apple accents for one, a rooster clasp for the other. Just the bodices left. A roll of silk floated to her cutting table. She drew out a measure and chalked it down, but when she pulled a second, the roll was bare.
No bother. Rarity reached out for more green silk but felt nothing save empty spools. It took a second for the failure of her meticulous inventory to register. She peered into all the cabinets just to make sure.
It so happened that her inventory was exactly as meticulous as she thought. There was one bolt of green left, but no silkworm had woven it. She flipped through her records: Lunday - 10 LG. silk. But no silk could be so uncouth. She could feel the... and the weave had this...
It just was, and everything was ruined forever.
The clock struck three, bringing Rarity back to two not-bodices. She dumped the gossamer on the chalking table and rummaged through the rest of her silks. But the week was nearly done and so too were her supplies. For a moment she humored a wool or cotton, but dull and sleek simply did not mix.
At last, she slumped at the table. To either side was a paper pattern: one a rooster, the other an apple. She brushed them aside, but could not bring herself to lay out the peculiar textile.
Her eye drifted to the rooster. Or perhaps she could.
She put the rooster atop the gossamer and rummaged through the shipping box. The order said nothing about particular fabrics, but at the top: Carousel Boutique: Our Best for Yours.
The rooster glowed and slid aside as she returned. Her eye fell to the apple. Applejack was not exactly particular. Rarity found herself arranging the pattern this way and that. The poor mare was counting on her to make just right what she could hardly see: from the accessories to the fabr-
The apple drifted to the table. She needed a long deep breath. Then another.
She trotted to the ponequins. That seam was too obvious. How could she have used a cross-stitch there? She fussed, unfussed, and refussed until the two dresses were exactly as she had found them.
The clock chimed the afternoon away.
Rarity sat again at her chalking table. The outlines were perfect: she had checked. Thrice. Every last tracemark was shaved from the patterns. She even sharpened the chalk. Now her hoof drifted from silk to gossamer. Were they really that different?
They were to her.
A bell tingled downstairs. "Hey Rarity, you around!?" Applejack called.
Rarity sat bolt upright. "A-a moment, please!"
"Well, we're in a bit of a hurry, if ya don't mind."
"Yes, yes, of course." Rarity shut her eyes, mixed the fabrics, and grabbed.
Whatever it was, it was certainly not one strand. She started to mix again before she realized what she was doing. The silk and rooster flew off the table, and she traced apples until the chalk warmed. Measure twice, cut once. Something with a lot of needles. The next thing she remembered was the apple bodice around the ponequin's neck.
The door creaked open. "Uh, Rares?"
Rarity whirled about. "I'materriblefriendit'sawfulpleaseforg-h-h-h-hivemeeeeee!"
Applejack found herself patting her friend's back as Rarity slumped over her shoulder. She looked at the dress sidelong. "So it's just as good as the rest of your fabulous fashions that Canterlot can't get enough of."
"B-but-"
"Anything need fixin'?"
"It's just that- well... you see..." All the words dribbled out of her mouth. "It's... nothing." She looked to the floor. "As usual."
"Darn toot'n." Applejack gave the ponequin a buck, sending the ensemble airborne. She stepped under and came out dressed, hat and all. "Perfect fit as usual. Thanks a million, Rares. Now if you'll excuse me-"
Rarity's eyes clung to the gossamer all the way out the door.
Nothing at all.
The fashionista conducted a riot of colorful cloth all over her workroom. The swarm of earthy blues and greens flitted about two ponequins as needles and thread sewed them into two dresses. A box by the door was marked to the Peachbottom residence with gratitude for their business.
Trim the hemming. Green ribbon for the straw hats. A few red apple accents for one, a rooster clasp for the other. Just the bodices left. A roll of silk floated to her cutting table. She drew out a measure and chalked it down, but when she pulled a second, the roll was bare.
No bother. Rarity reached out for more green silk but felt nothing save empty spools. It took a second for the failure of her meticulous inventory to register. She peered into all the cabinets just to make sure.
It so happened that her inventory was exactly as meticulous as she thought. There was one bolt of green left, but no silkworm had woven it. She flipped through her records: Lunday - 10 LG. silk. But no silk could be so uncouth. She could feel the... and the weave had this...
It just was, and everything was ruined forever.
The clock struck three, bringing Rarity back to two not-bodices. She dumped the gossamer on the chalking table and rummaged through the rest of her silks. But the week was nearly done and so too were her supplies. For a moment she humored a wool or cotton, but dull and sleek simply did not mix.
At last, she slumped at the table. To either side was a paper pattern: one a rooster, the other an apple. She brushed them aside, but could not bring herself to lay out the peculiar textile.
Her eye drifted to the rooster. Or perhaps she could.
She put the rooster atop the gossamer and rummaged through the shipping box. The order said nothing about particular fabrics, but at the top: Carousel Boutique: Our Best for Yours.
The rooster glowed and slid aside as she returned. Her eye fell to the apple. Applejack was not exactly particular. Rarity found herself arranging the pattern this way and that. The poor mare was counting on her to make just right what she could hardly see: from the accessories to the fabr-
The apple drifted to the table. She needed a long deep breath. Then another.
She trotted to the ponequins. That seam was too obvious. How could she have used a cross-stitch there? She fussed, unfussed, and refussed until the two dresses were exactly as she had found them.
The clock chimed the afternoon away.
Rarity sat again at her chalking table. The outlines were perfect: she had checked. Thrice. Every last tracemark was shaved from the patterns. She even sharpened the chalk. Now her hoof drifted from silk to gossamer. Were they really that different?
They were to her.
A bell tingled downstairs. "Hey Rarity, you around!?" Applejack called.
Rarity sat bolt upright. "A-a moment, please!"
"Well, we're in a bit of a hurry, if ya don't mind."
"Yes, yes, of course." Rarity shut her eyes, mixed the fabrics, and grabbed.
Whatever it was, it was certainly not one strand. She started to mix again before she realized what she was doing. The silk and rooster flew off the table, and she traced apples until the chalk warmed. Measure twice, cut once. Something with a lot of needles. The next thing she remembered was the apple bodice around the ponequin's neck.
The door creaked open. "Uh, Rares?"
Rarity whirled about. "I'materriblefriendit'sawfulpleaseforg-h-h-h-hivemeeeeee!"
Applejack found herself patting her friend's back as Rarity slumped over her shoulder. She looked at the dress sidelong. "So it's just as good as the rest of your fabulous fashions that Canterlot can't get enough of."
"B-but-"
"Anything need fixin'?"
"It's just that- well... you see..." All the words dribbled out of her mouth. "It's... nothing." She looked to the floor. "As usual."
"Darn toot'n." Applejack gave the ponequin a buck, sending the ensemble airborne. She stepped under and came out dressed, hat and all. "Perfect fit as usual. Thanks a million, Rares. Now if you'll excuse me-"
Rarity's eyes clung to the gossamer all the way out the door.
Nothing at all.