11th Dress

Nov 26, 2011 13:06

[If anyone was ever wondering how Rarity would deal with suddenly being forced to live in a hellish post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland, the answer is 'not well.'  She's just lying there in the middle of what used to be Hastings Boulevard with the tattered remains of the fluffy pink robe she wears to bed every night just barely hanging off her form, completely shell-shocked and in the middle of a complete breakdown.]

This... this can't be!  My sewing studio... my precious fabric and gemstones!  My designs!  They're all gone!  Gone forever!

[Rarity dramatically lifts a hoof to her forehead, rolling around on her back and sobbing hysterically.]

How could this happen?  This is the worst day ever!

[Punctuating each word with what is probably still a rather over-dramatic thrash of her body, even under these circumstances, Rarity eventually ceases all movement and just continues to lie there in the street.]

I don't want to live in a world where fashion is dead.  Oh, sweet nothingness... come and claim me!  Steal away my sight, that I may no longer be forced to look upon this colorless landscape!

[And now she's mock-fainting.  A loud sigh escapes her lips as her eyes close.  Anyone who's even bothering to pay the slightest bit of attention should realize she's not dead, and is just being a huge drama queen.  But there she lies, all the same.]

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