[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
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Don't worry about that. You look fine. Not like a goat. You're a horse, don't worry.
[ Okay, he doesn't even know what she's supposed to look like. ]
It's just that when you get as old as I am, you can call most people kid.
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[Yeah, this is how she deals.]
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[He didn't understand women. ...Upset when looking too old, upset when they looked too young.]
I'm several hundred years old, so you don't need to worry about me calling you that.
[And. Wait. ..What?] You could make a new one?
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[ At least she's not on the verge of tears anymore. ]
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