Chapter Text
“So, shouldn't I file that?”
Rarity rolled her eyes at Twilight's unabashedly dumb question, because yes. One should always file a good theater outfit picture in the ‘Good for Theatre Outfits’ future file folder!
But she took a big breath, a look once over, and turned to her head to say, “Yes! That will most certainly be used in our spring play…we just have to figure out what and when.”
She gave a pointed smile and turned her heel back into the storage closet, dramatically throwing various pieces of clothing around. All from previous years of their exceedingly successful drama club shows, they didn't deserve to be thrown around this way.
“Right, what and when…” Rarity hears Twilight muttering beside her as she quickly shoves the papers in her hand back into a filing box. She swiftly pulls a chair from a nearby desk and sits almost obediently as if the laptop she pulled onto her lap had commanded her to before opening it.
“Rairty!” She says frantically, pushing up her thick glasses, but the girl was locked into all the pretty, beautiful, shiny costumes that needed to be put away with grace.
They deserved to, being the Theater club president and costume designer was hard enough, but she knew she could do anything.
Rarity liked control. She liked schedules, clean rehearsal blocks, organized costume racks, and most of all certainty. She wasn't going anywhere, that was certain.
“Rarity, what you said totally reminded me of this email from Principal Celestia…” Rarity paused mid–dramatic cape flourish, emerging from the closet already wearing something entirely different.
“She'd better be thanking us for our everlasting fashion sense to the student body.” She leans over the Preppy girl's shoulder after hearing a few clicks until the email fills up the screen.
Twilight's eyes scanned through the email, calculating a million miles per second, and spun the laptop around like she was revealing a crime scene. “It’s a performance review,” she concluded.
“Oh, good,” Rarity said dryly. “I love being graded on my artistic merit by people who think beige is adventurous.”
Twilight combed her hair and sat up a little straighter than before. Um, actually, “It’s not about color palettes. It’s about numbers.”
Rarity stiffened slightly, “We prefer the term audience appreciation metrics.” She said, sounding a little too nerdy, but at this point, Twilight can go kick a stage light for the amount of information she takes forever to get to.
“Point is, it says,” Twilight continued carefully, “that clubs not meeting participation and fundraising minimums may be subject to-”
“Don’t,” Rarity warned.
“-dissolution.”
Rarity gasped as Twilight had just slapped her. She turned away and stomped her foot, pushing all the frustration she built up through it.
“Dissolution?” She clutched the nearest sequined blazer to her chest. “We are a club, not a sugar cube.”
Twilight winced. “Rarity…”
“How many members did they say we have?”
Twilight glanced down. “…Eight.”
Rarity blinked slowly. “We have more wigs than that,” which she was semi-proud of. It’s good to be prepared. Twilight gave a sympathetic smile, “I know.”
“Oh, this is dreadful,” She took off her three fancy hats and fluffy purple scarf, this was no time for dress up. “How are we underperforming? We did A Midsummer Night’s Dream with three functional fog machines!”
“The problem isn’t quality. It’s turnout. Ticket sales have been low.”
The great Canterlot High Theater Club, reduced to eight. “How low, Twi?”
Twilight hesitated. “Twenty-three percent?” She looked up, scratching her head as if she wasn't the club's secretary and treasurer; surely she would have noticed. Rarity inhaled sharply through her nose. “That is not a decline,” she said flatly. “That is a betrayal.” Twilight closed the laptop gently. “They’re giving us until the end of the semester.”
Rarity tossed the blazer dramatically onto a rack. “Of course they are. Nothing motivates like a ticking clock and institutional pressure.” Her eyes fell on the uncompleted pile of clothes sitting on the floor; it felt so far away now, a testament to their upcoming spring play.
Twilight tilted her head. “So… what’s the plan?” Rarity could just keep staring at the heap pile; it was still so full of vibrancy and life, and there were so many more clothes to add. She was going to save this lovely pile of life.
“Well, clearly we need something bold. Something romantic. Something the student body physically cannot ignore.”
“Like a dragon?”
“Less scales. More longing. Also, that’s Spike's job, he’s the puppeteer.” Twilight considered that. “So… a musical?”
Rarity stopped. Slowly turned, feeling a tug at the corner of her lips, “Darling Twily,” she said breathlessly like a mad scientist in a 50’s movie discovering the main component for their experiment.
“Yes?”
“When have I ever done anything halfway?” Twilight smiled nervously, “Never.”
“Exactly! I completely agree,” Rarity said as she strolled toward the auditorium doors and pushed them open with theatrical flair. “We need something classic but with a modern twist, something interesting.”
“Oh!” Twilight exclaimed. “Like Moulin Rouge—”
“No music,” Rarity interrupted breathlessly, completely disregarding the suggestion. “We need a lead character that people actually care about.” Perhaps if they found their lead, they could match the show perfectly to what the audience truly desires. That would definitely impress them, and everything would be okay.
“We have leads,” Twilight protested, scrambling to follow, figuratively and literally, as she propped her elbows on the windowsill next to Rarity, who was now casting a dramatic gaze against the wind.
“We have talented, underappreciated introverts,” Rarity corrected. “We need star power.” Her eyes reached the hallway windows overlooking the greenhouse courtyard, just two levels below them. Someone she knows well enough to put some zip into this showbang.
Rarity drifted her attention to someplace familiar, and for a moment, her show changed to another. One that has long been overseen, one of her favorite shows, capturing the sunlight spilling over rows of plants, the greenery tangled up in rich soil, students laughing with someone who nearly tripped over a watering hose.
And in the center of it all, Applejack. Hat tipped back, sleeves rolled up, exposing sunlit skin that sparkled as if the sky was her own personal spotlight. She was effortlessly commanding attention while holding a crate of tomatoes. Twilight followed Rarity’s gaze, “…No.”
Rarity’s lips curved. “Yes,” she barely even noticed before stopping herself mid-sigh, and faced Twilight a little straighter than usual.
“She grows zucchini, she commands a crowd, she owns three plaid shirts—” Twilight wondered how the drama president even knew all this, but pushed the thought away as quickly as it popped up. “—She has a presence!” Rarity held up her fingers like she was presenting evidence to her best friend's eyes, showing all the reasons that were listed as defense.
Twilight blinked. “You want Applejack. On stage.”
“I want Applejack,” Rarity said, her voice smooth yet laced with an unexpected intensity, “under a spotlight.” Twilight squinted at her. “You do know acting involves feelings, right?”
Rarity lifted her chin, defiance gleaming in her eyes. “I am well aware.”
“And dialogue.”
“Yes.”
“Humph.” Twilight huffed, both amused and exasperated.
Rarity went still for half a second before asserting, “We are not there yet.” Twilight’s eyebrows rose. “Yet?”
Rarity cleared her throat, her tone brisk but her gaze betraying something deeper. “The point is, Applejack is popular. Respected. Half the school would buy a ticket just to see what she’s doing off a tractor.”
“She doesn’t even own a tractor.”
“It’s a metaphor, Darling,” Rarity replied, rolling her eyes, but her mind seemed elsewhere, lost in thoughts of the girl whose laughter danced in the air like gold. Gold pairs perfectly with diamond.
Twilight studied her carefully, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly. “You’re sure this is about ticket sales.” Rarity placed a hand over her heart, feigning shock. “Twilight Sparkle, I am a professional.”
“You color-code your bobby pins! I just don't know-”
“And what of it?” Rarity’s lips broke into a smile, though it flickered as she considered the girl she admired so fiercely. Twilight sighed. “You’re really going to ask her.” She said more as a matter of fact. She’s learned over the years that once Rarity has a plan, there’s no going back.
Rarity straightened her shoulders, a spark igniting in her eyes. “Oh no,” she said, already heading for the club door with a sense of purpose. “I’m going to convince her." Twilight hurried while shoving her hand into her bag to find the classroom key. “Rarity, she hates public speaking!”
“She hates unprepared public speaking,” Rarity corrected. Confidence flowed through her, though beneath it lay a quiet yearning that whispered of more than just a show. “That is entirely different.”
“And what if she says no? What then?” Twilight shouts down the hallway as she locks up the classroom door with a click and catches up to Rarity's swift speed walk out.
Rarity smirked, but the glint in her eyes softened, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability. “She won’t!” she called back. Twilight at the showgirl's side now gave her a pointed, lopsided look that Rarity knew said, ‘And how do you know that, Missy?’
So she paused at the hallway doors, remembering how the afternoon sun illuminated Applejack’s laughter like a beacon. That sound settled somewhere deep in her chest. She couldn’t miss this chance. It was for the club after all.
“Because,” Rarity said, her voice infused with a hint of longing, “Applejack has terrible taste in saying no to me.”
Twilight only slightly rolled her eyes, but they grew soft in trust, and she giggled. “That sounds dangerously confident. You better not scare her away.”
Rarity flipped her hair over her shoulder, masking a fleeting softness in her gaze. “I don’t do anything dangerously,” she said, pushing the door open, letting the wind brush through the purple swirls of her hair. Her heart was beating faster as she stepped toward the warmth of that laughter. “Only dramatically.”
She stepped into the courtyard sunlight, already smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blouse, and made her way to the side of the next school building where the Horticulture club took place. It was propped up as another layer above the ground, separating the main floor and the specialized grass one, with only a few stone steps leading up into the sacred land.
Watching the scene she had seen above, play down below, Applejack was still there helping other students pick their vegetables into their own baskets. Rarity inched closer to the steps, suddenly feeling the sun beaming down on her, heating her face, and for the first time since the idea struck her, Rarity felt nervous.