Getting to the bottom of the matter (a.k.a the wallet)

The woman always stopped by the shop every other day at precisely six in the afternoon. 

In fact, Rarity thought, her eyes trained on her watch’s hands ticking ever so close to six, she should be here any minute now. She—as in, Rarity—probably oughtn’t to be so obvious about it, should she? No, I shouldn’t, she told herself, walking over to the cash register and pretending to look busy counting the bills she’d already counted before. One, two, three, four— 

Ding, ding! chimed the door. 

Rarity smiled at her watch. Six o’clock, it said. On the delightful dot. 

She allowed herself a quick glance, and her smile turned devious at the sight of Her. The mysterious young blue-haired woman who’d become a staple of Rarity’s shop. Rarity had a fair few nicknames for her, mostly depending on the designer’s mood and observations. Some of these nicknames were: 

Librarian Realness, which was coined on the day Mystery Woman’s glasses kept slipping down her nose while she clutched a book as she perused the cardigan sections. 

College Survivor, coined on the rare day Mystery Woman made exceedingly small and awkward conversation only to quickly leave claiming she had a graduate exam she needed to get to. 

And, finally, but not least, Beautiful Heartbreaker, which was Rarity’s favorite nickname and symbolized the two most important details of the woman—that she was beautiful, and also broke Rarity’s heart because she never bloody bought ANYTHING!

NOTHING!

EVER!

“But today…” whispered Rarity, moving away from the register and towards the woman hiding in the sweater-vest section, “today she’ll be contributing to my rent.” 

She found Librarian Realness inspecting the same purple sweater she always inspected—and again, never bought, and also almost ripped when Rarity startled her with a greeting. 

“Why, hello!” Rarity greeted, politely ignoring the woman’s terrified yelp and manhandling of her wares. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where everything is chic, unique, and magnifique!” 

“H-Hello,”  said the woman, pale. 

“Can I help you with anything?” Rarity asked, remembering her tried and true mantra. Helpful, but not pushy. She gestured to the sweater. “Has that caught your attention? It’s real cashmere, I’ll have you know.”

“O-Oh.” The woman patted it twice, mechanically so, like a robot alien of some sort. “…Soft.” 

“Very soft!” Rarity agreed. She then gave the woman a once-over and added, “And I admit I think it would look very fetching on you, Miss.” 

“Twilight,” the woman blurted out, suddenly. 

Rarity blinked and stared. The woman stared back. 

“…Pardon?” 

“That’s my name,” she elaborated, somehow looking very dignified through her stammering. “I thought you asked. Didn’t you ask?” 

“…I didn’t?” Rarity replied, not to be rude, but because this was all very strange, and now she felt rather bad as the wom—errr, Twilight blanched. 

“Oh.” Twilight immediately turned back to the sweaters. “Cashmere, you said? Interesting.”

A few moments of silence followed, Rarity trying to figure out where to go from there. Twilight was certainly a very strange person, but she was technically her most frequent visitor so it would be in her best interest to… take this in stride? Somehow? 

“Well, Twilight,” Rarity said, as carefully as she did cheerfully, the woman immediately whipping around in surprise, “as I said, I didn’t ask for your name, but I’m glad you told me.” She dispensed her Most Charming Smile™. “I should know the name of my most frequent visitor, after all.” 

“What?” Twilight exclaimed, backing up against the soft sweater wall, the horror evident in her soul throwing Rarity off. “No, I’m not.” 

It was at this moment that Rarity’s Customer Service™ alarm rang. She had been too pushy, and her client was terrified, unprepared, and on the defensive, much like her friend Applejack in a five-star restaurant.  

In the back of her head, Rarity knew she should back off.

But she couldn’t for now she understood. 

Rarity’s lips melted into a gentle, kind smile. 

“Miss Twilight…” she said. “It’s all right. I know why you come here so often.” 

Twilight’s voice fell to a harrowed whisper.

“…You do?” 

“Yes,” Rarity replied. “And it’s quite alright, darling. It’s okay to be intimidated.” She raised her hand and delicately put it on Twilight’s shoulder, giggling at the woman’s sharp intake of breath. “You don’t have to be afraid of changing your style. I promise you, darling, the world beyond cardigans and sweater vests exists and it will suit you wonderfully.” 

Twilight’s panic faded. Instantly. Confusion took its place. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, brow furrowed. “What?” 

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Rarity playfully asked. “That’s why you come here all the time, isn’t it?” She stepped back and gestured to Twilight. “You want to change your clothing style, don’t you? But you don’t know where to start!” 

Twilight stared at her.

Rarity stared back. 

“Oh my God,” Twilight whispered. She turned back to the sweaters. Then to Rarity. “I’m sorry, but I have to go immediately.” 

“Go?!” Rarity gasped, watching as Twilight sped away. “Wait, please!” When Twilight did as much, holding the door half-open, Rarity continued: “I’m sorry, truly, I was only trying to help! Your style isn’t that bad at all! Really!” she lied. 

“Thanks,” Twilight replied. “I’m leaving now.” 

“Will you come back?” Rarity asked, contrite. “Come back tomorrow and we can do a personal fitting! Free of charge!” 

“Okay. Sure. Yes. Tomorrow,” Twilight replied. “Goodbye.” 

And with that, she was gone, the door swinging back and forth, its squeaking the only sound for an entire half a minute up until Rarity slammed her foot on the floor. 

“Free of charge?! What was I thinking?! This won’t pay my rent!” 

“So?” Rainbow Dash asked, staring at Twilight across the table. “What happened?” 

“Mmmmmhmmmhmfmfmmm,” Twilight mumbled, her face buried within her crossed arms. 

“English, Twi.” 

Twilight looked up, every word dripping with despair. “She said she’d noticed I went there all the time! And then she said—She said—” Her face buried itself in her arms again. “Mmmmggmmmhh!” 

“She said what?” Rainbow pressed. “Did she figure out you like her?” 

“No,” Twilight whispered, the weight of humanity’s horrors upon her. “She thought I… She thought I’d been too afraid to ask for her help with changing my dressing style.” 

Rainbow leaned back. “…Well, she’s not wrong, you know. You do need help with that. Like, a lot of help.”

“RAINBOW.”