Dogbert’s plan is simple: 1) Assemble a garter, hair clip, and change purse. 2) Tell Canterlot it's the next big thing. 3) Profit! With the fashion elite gone mad, it falls to Rarity to make a stand for good taste. A Dilbert crossover.
Dogbert’s plan is simple: 1) Assemble a garter, hair clip, and change purse. 2) Tell Canterlot it's the next big thing. 3) Profit!
With the fashion world gone mad, it falls to Rarity to make a stand for good taste.
“You sure you don’t want to say hi to Dad?” Dilbert asked.
The little white dog just stared up at the engineer. He stood on two skinny legs and had a body so rounded that he resembled a fuzzy egg.
“He’s been eating ‘all he can eat’ for the past ten years. I wouldn’t want to throw off his concentration,” Dogbert said. “Are you sure you brought enough towelettes this time?”
“Wally said he got a regular tube last year, and he still hasn’t run out,” Dilbert recalled, hiking up the two jumbo canisters under each arm. “Apparently the generic brand is surprisingly reusable.”
Dogbert cleaned his tiny circular spectacles on his fur and resumed staring.
“What? I’m not stupid,” Dilbert protested. “Given Wally’s observed record of poor hygiene, I applied a corrective factor of eleven and rounded up. The last one is a backup.” The knee-high dog continued staring noncommittally. “Gah! I’ll be out at five, ok? Just try not to get lost.”
Dilbert marched off into the buffet, leaving Dogbert alone in the Mall wagging his little tail. After a moment, he strolled off.
The decrepit structure was haunted by the aged drifting from window to window without buying a thing, solitary mothers with their snotty-nosed gremlins, and pierced teens loitering in the nooks and crannies in their black everything. Dogbert passed hole-in-the-wall venues which took the denotation far too seriously. When he got to the chipped public map, he knew better than to search for “you are here.”
“Ah! It’s a big fuzzy egg!” a male voice shrieked from behind.
Dogbert’s ears and eyebrows flew up. He whirled about to find himself confronted by a slim young man with olive-tinted glasses and a soul patch. He had an electronic cigarette between his lips and a whole red bell pepper in his hand.
“For your information, I am a dog,” Dogbert informed him tersely. “We are not ‘fuzzy eggs.’ It’s a common prejudice.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize. Sorry, dude.” The man’s face fell, and he crouched to scratch Dogbert’s ears. “Didn’t mean to whip out my privilege like that.”
“Ooh, fingers! Right there… yes!” Dogbert purred. “You have stayed my wrath, mortal. Pray you do not stir it again!”
“Aw, your ears are so cute,” the man babbled. “Who’s a good doggie?”
Dogbert’s eye twitched just a bit, but he made a show of growling contentedly and sweeping his tail side to side. Then he wiggled his nose. “Egads! What’s that I smell? Could it be… cancer?”
The man hopped back. “Whoa! Cancer?”
“Of course!” Dogbert’s ears flew up all willy-nilly. “Didn’t you read this month’s National Geographic?”
“Well I don’t exactly-”
“Of course you did!” Dogbert insisted. “Everyone did! And therefore you should be well aware this baby’s a sickness radar. Smells cancer a mile away! And I’m getting something right about...”
He wiggled his nose around until he had himself pointed at the bell pepper in his best impression of a foxhound. “Aha! Red-eleventeen-twelve: just as I suspected!”
The man looked puzzled. “Food dyes? But it’s all natural-”
“Nonsense! That’s just what Big Produce wants you to think!” Dogbert shouted. “That thing is leaking cancer like a nuclear reactor!”
“Oh geez! I had no idea!” The blustered guy gasped, dropping the pepper. Dogbert nabbed it.
“Never fear,” he assured him. “I will make sure it’s properly disposed of: it’s a doggie’s sworn duty to protect the innocent, after all. But wait…” He sniffed again. “I’m picking up something… aha!” He pointed himself at the e-cigarette.
“What, you mean this thing?” The man pulled the device from his mouth. “But the pediatrician on TV said-”
“Bah! Quacks: all of them!” Dogbert dismissed him with a wave of his palm. “Didn’t you see that article in the Times? Our unnatural electronic devices are leaking EMR like kryptonite, and it’s all right next to our brains! Don’t you know the only safe path is the green one?” He produced a fuming cigar from nowhere.
“Oh! Now that I think of it, I did hear something like that,” the man decided. “You’re a really cool little dog.” He took a pull on the cigar, and the electronic one dropped from his fingers. Then suddenly he coughed and got the shivers. “Oh geez, but I’ve been exposed for so long, what if I have-”
“Never fear! Dogbert to the rescue!” He produced a hip-flask as explicably as he had produced the cigar. “Alcohol: first ingredient on hand sanitizer. Kills 99.9% of germs! A nightcap a day keeps the cancer away!”
“That’s deep, little dog,” the man marveled, taking a swig. “Thanks a million. You’ve really turned my life around!”
“More than you think.” Dogbert wagged. “Have a nice day.”
“I will. Take care, little dog,” the man called after him.
Dogbert walked around the corner, twirling the e-cigarette between his fingers and wagging his tail smugly. He happened across a trash can and casually tossed the pepper in. Before it reached the bag, however, a hand shot out and snatched it.
“Whoa there, friend,” the Janitor said, taking a deep whiff. “Yep, there’s some good magenta thirty-four in that pepper. Do you mind?”
“Um, sure, not at all,” Dogbert said.
“Thanks.” She noticed the e-cigarette. “You wouldn’t want to trade up, would you?” She nodded at the device.
“I was thinking about it,” Dogbert mentioned.
The Janitor rummaged around in Her cleaning cart. “Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day.” From beneath a pile of trash bags, She produced a Twinkie so delectably soft and fluffy that both averted their eyes in reverence.
“You mean they’re actually food at some point?” Dogbert marveled.
“The production process has only a 2.71% chance of making an actual Twinkie,” She elaborated, waggling the pristine baked good. “And unless you know a guy, they’re all spoken for. But for you… I’ll have that little dohicky you’ve got there.” She took another look at the hallowed golden cake. “And I think you’ll have to throw in your soul.”
“I’ve only got the dohicky, I’m afraid,” Dogbert admitted.
The Janitor snorted, pocketing the Twinkie, but Her eye lingered on the e-cigarette. She gritted her teeth. “Fine. On three, then?”
“One,” said Dogbert.
“Two,” the Janitor supplied.
“Three,” they both finished, tossing their respective goods to each other.
While Dogbert cradled the Twinkie Above All Other Twinkies in his unworthy paws, the Janitor casually shucked the nicotine cartridge out of the e-cigarette, put the tip to Her forehead, and shut Her eyes. When Dogbert looked back, the end was alight with smoking plastic.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” the Janitor grunted, taking a puff.
“Um… same to you, ma’am,” Dogbert said, backing away with his prize.
“You can’t be serious, Miss Rarity: Sapphire Shores said blue is out of style,” the foppish sandy-coated unicorn huffed.
“That was two years ago, Mr. Glitz, and she was talking about navy in particular,” Rarity corrected him through gritted teeth as pearly as her fur. She had no idea how she had put up with an hour of shuffling this… paying customer from rack to rack, but she was beginning to question whether a sale was, in fact, a sale. “This is year ten-oh-three, and if I do say so myself, robin’s egg is very much your color.”
Glitz stepped from one ruffed hoof to the other as he gave the blazer another look. “But it’s just not…”
“Not what? What don’t you like? It matches your coat, it will look lovely amongst this autumn’s lineup, and it’s reasonably priced. What’s. not. to like?” Rarity begged, eye twitching.
“It’s just not me,” Glitz complained.
“If you want a personalized style, I do commissions,” Rarity reminded him for the umpteenth time. She could feel a thousand split ends forming in her meticulously styled purple mane.
“But Topaz found his,” Glitz groaned. “He just had to have it tailored to suit his tastes-”
“Then what can I change? Just tell me and it’s done,” Rarity begged.
“But if you change it, I didn’t find it,” Glitz protested.
Before the fasionista’s ire could ignite, a voice came from knee-level. “Excuse me? Is this the way to the Mad Hatter’s Headwear Emporium? I seem to have taken a wrong turn.” Rarity turned to find Dogbert looking up at the ponies. He checked his glasses and looked again. “A very wrong turn.”
“This is Carousel Boutique, dear,” Rarity informed him stiffly. “Ponyville doesn’t have a dedicated hatter, but I may be able to put something together if you would like.”
“Ponyville? This is the Mall,” Dogbert corrected her. He shuffled over to a display window and looked out into the twilight-lit equine filled streets. His eyebrows flew up. “A very very wrong turn. I’ll just be going. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
With that, he was gone.
“As I was saying…” Rarity turned back to Glitz, but before she could speak, she felt a tap on her leg.
“Sorry to interrupt again, but the door is stuck. Would you mind getting it for me?” Dogbert asked.
“The front door doesn’t have a catch, dear,” Rarity noted.
“No, that door.” Dogbert pointed to an ordinary wood door tucked away behind a few pony mannequins.
“That door has been stuck since I bought the place,” Rarity informed him. “Why don’t you just go out the front door like everypony else?”
“Excuuusseeee me: I’m the customer here,” Glitz moaned.
They both shot him an annoyed glance. He was mortified, not embarrassed.
“But that door leads to – Ponyville, was it?” Dogbert explained. “I need to get back to the Mall. The Mall entrance is jammed.”
“I’m afraid that’s a storage closet,” Rarity said. “And it hasn’t opened in years, so you might want to stop playing games and run along – may I help you?” She whirled back to Glitz, who had been attempting to tap his hoof impatiently, but ended up more along the lines of banging a gavel.
“Yes, I was trying to find me a ‘me’ suit for the Grand Galloping Gala, but you haven’t shown me any yet,” Glitz complained.
Before Rarity could calm her wrath for a response, Dogbert piped up: “Then it’s a good thing this store is serviced by a Dogbert Shopalong Personal Purchase Consultant!” He put on a little bell-boy hat from nowhere in particular. “How may I expedite your shopping experience?”
“Oh, so you’re a professional of some sort?” Glitz asked.
“PhD in Garbatology – we only hire the best.” Dogbert polished his knuckles on his fur.
“Oh, good, a certified expert,” Glitz sighed with relief. “Lead on.”
“Excuse me-” Rarity interjected.
“We’ll call if we need you, Miss.” Dogbert put up a paw. “Now Mr.-”
“Glitz,” Glitz supplied.
“This is my shop,” Rarity fumed.
“And this is my new fashion consultant,” Glitz insisted. “He’ll call if we need you.”
Rarity glared at both of them, but her ire fell more and more on Glitz. With a snort, she stalked off to watch from the register.
“So, Mr. Glitz, what can Dogbert Consulting do for you?” Dogbert asked.
“Well, I was thinking maybe something like a mauve or maybe a green to match my eyes, and sometimes Mum says-”
Dogbert smiled and nodded for exactly seven seconds.
“-So what I’m hearing is what you’re seeing lacks scrumptulocity,” he cut in.
“-or perhaps a tropical print: those are always in – scrumptu-what now?” Glitz asked.
“Scrumptulocity: it’s a mix of hoity and blazzle,” Dogbert explained. “All the rage in the underground right now. In fact, it’s kind of like what you’ve got right now.” He examined Glitz’s mismatched hoof-ruffs, perfectly straight-faced.
“Oh! Well… of course, fashion sense does run in the family.” Glitz puffed out his chest.
“Yes, yes, of course it does,” Dogbert agreed. “In fact, your suit is fine. You just need a little… something to draw this ensemble together.”
“What do you suggest?” Glitz lowered his ear.
“Hmmm…” Dogbert lead him around the shop combing through rack after rack. “No… no… too blasé, perfect, needs more plomf, green isn’t your color… aha!” He came up with a frilly garter from a clearance rack in the front of the store.
“A garter?” Glitz raised an eyebrow.
“No! No! No! It is in fact, a kumberbuzzle!” Dogbert insisted. “The distinguished stallion should never leave home without one!”
“It looks like a garter-” Glitz insisted.
Dogbert glanced about him. “Oh! Wait, no, of course it looks like a garter: the other half’s wandered off. The Plebeians always mess up the racks. I don’t know why they’re even allowed in public.” He ransacked the bins until he came up with a little change purse and a hair clip to attach it to the garter. “See the genius? Dainty, yet functional.”
“I’m not sure-”
“Behold!” Dogbert whisked the flustered unicorn over to a mirror and stretched the garter over his head like a sweatband. Under the weight of the purse, it slid to an unkempt slant. “Notice the felicity of the lace and how it clicks with the rochre of your coat, while maintaining just enough synergy to keep the mares in a tizzy. Well, what do you think? Am I right or am I right? I am a professional, after all.”
Glitz just stared at himself blankly for a moment. His head tilted. “You know, I kinda see it now.”
Dogbert wagged. “Of course you do.” He led Glitz to the counter. “And it can all be yours for-” He checked the tags. “-twenty… bits? Bits! Or four easy payments of nine.”
“Four payments?” Rarity deadpanned. “The tags read twenty bits.”
“Special partner pricing,” Dogbert explained. “Dogbert Consulting takes great pride in giving its customers the deal they deserve.”
“Exactly,” Glitz harrumphed, “And I’ll take nothing less.” When he set his chin, the purse bobbed like a tag he had forgotten to clip.
Rarity just sat, staring, as Dogbert wagged, the rest of his demeanor perfectly neutral.
“You’re sure you don’t want the suit we were discussing?” Rarity asked.
“Of course not,” Glitz huffed. “I have found it exudes an insufficient amount of scrumptulocity for my tastes.”
Rarity’s eyes held the ‘kumberbuzzle’ with a ten-foot pole. “I can’t interest you in anything more… conventional? There’s a nice blazer over there that goes well with your eyes-”
“If anything here was showing blazzle or felicity, I might be interested, but alas this is not the case,” Glitz harrumphed.
Fire leapt up in Rarity’s eyes, but it was split evenly between the two. “Three payments of eight, dear: we’re running a sale.”
“Oh, lucky day,” Glitz beamed. “I’ll just take this kumberbuzzle, then. Can I make all the payments now? I have the bits.” He laid out three stacks of gold coins on the counter.
“Lovely,” Rarity said, sweeping the bits into the till. “Thank you for shopping at…” Her eye twitched at the alleged accessory. “Thank you for your business. Have a nice evening.”
“I will!” Glitz called over his shoulder.
“And don’t forget to mention Dogbert Consulting to your friends and relatives: referrals are our bread and butter!” Dogbert called. When the door had shut, he turned to Rarity. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss my commission-”
Rarity’s eyes were flint. “Commission? This is a respectable establishment, Mister Dogbert. It does not employ cons.”
“It’s not a con if the customer wanted his mind made up for him,” Dogbert shrugged. “I just tacked on a little extra as a service fee. He was a lot of work, after all.”
“It does not matter how much work he was: there was a contract of trust which you abused in my shop,” Rarity spat.
“Which you allowed to be abused in your shop,” Dogbert pointed out.
“Only because I did not believe the oaf would fall for such a transparent load of horseapples until it was too late,” Rarity said. “Is it not reasonable to expect a certain amount of sense out of everypony?”
“In my experience, not at all,” Dogbert said. “Now about my commission-”
“You tacked on four bits,” Rarity observed, sweeping them from the till in the blue aura of her horn. “I charge a one bit fee for use of my premises without prior permission or familiarity whatsoever.” Clink. “One for the unauthorized filling of a special order.” Clink. “And two in lost goodwill.” Clink. Clink. “That leaves you nothing! Good day, sir!”
“What about the show?” Dogbert asked.
Rarity glared at him tightlipped, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Fine, one bit for the show.” She tossed a bit over the counter. “Now we’re closed. Get out.”
“I would, but the door is jammed,” Dogbert reminded her.
“The door leads nowhere. You couldn’t have come in that way,” Rarity asserted.
“Could you at least have a look at it?” Dogbert asked.
Rarity heaved a huge sigh. “Fine,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.
They marched over to the ordinary white wood door in question. Rarity jiggled the handle in her magic. It rattled, but despite the lack of a keyhole, it did not open. “See? Jammed- wait.” As her horn went closer, her brow creased. “That’s odd. I’ve never noticed it having any particularly magical properties.” She raised an eyebrow. “Especially not such... sketchy magical properties.”
“So it looks like I’m not getting home tonight,” Dogbert observed. “Is there an inn around?”
Rarity sized him up. “If you truly have no place to stay, I insist you stay here,” she decided. “I can smell trouble all over you, and you are most certainly not going to swindle anypony else. Tomorrow, a friend of mine can examine this door and find a way to get you home.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Dogbert said. “I hear dog dander is a known carcinogen and-”
“Oh, right… of course,” Rarity said with a step forward. “My veterinarian friend sees those cases all the time. She’ll set you right: just four days and four nights with two capsaicin enemas each. Cleans your mouth right out.”
Dogbert blinked. “No, ma’am, that won’t be necessary.”
“But you’re showing all the symptoms, poor dear,” Rarity cooed. “I’d be a terrible pony if I just let you wallow in them.” Her eyes were steel.
“Actually, I might have taken that study out of context,” Dogbert backpedaled. “Yep, most certainly out of context.”
“Then we have an understanding, Mister Dogbert?” Rarity looked him right in the eye. He nodded. “Very well, I am afraid my room is the only quarters available, but with some extra blankets, I’m sure we can make you reasonably comfortable on the floor. You are not to bother Opal: she is allowed to enforce this rule herself and tends to do so whether she is allowed or not…”
She led Dogbert upstairs to get him set up for the night.
The next evening was going very well, if Glitz did say so himself. Here he was in the marble halls of Canterlot Castle with the only ounce of scrumptulecence in the whole Gala bobbing inches above his dashing smile.
“Yes, isn’t it simply brimming with blazzle?” he yammered to an orange unicorn in a blue pearl-set gown. “It takes a true Gem family knack to find style like this.”
The filly tilted her head. “I can’t say I’m seeing it.”
Glitz immediately lost interest in her and walked on.
“Oh! What a… novel piece of headgear you’ve got there.” An aquamarine unicorn in a polished staff uniform commented in passing. She was floating some treys back to the kitchen.
“Oh, so you’ve got an eye for fashion too?” Glitz asked, coming up alongside her. “Excellent, I do enjoy the company of ponies of good taste.”
“Um, as do I,” she agreed hesitantly, edging away. “Now if you'll excuse me, I-"
"Oh, do stay a moment, I insist," Glitz said, throwing a hoof over her shoulder. "Clearly tasteful ponies such as ourselves should have at least a little to say to each other."
“Taste?” An irate ivory unicorn in a stiffly starched tuxedo and monocle strutted over. “You expect me to believe you have any taste at all with that disaster on your head?” he tutted.
“Disaster?” Glitz snorted, forgetting the mare entirely. “My good sir, how could a Gem have anything but the best of taste?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that in Dressage Monthly,” ivory scoffed. “If the great Reign and Tack haven’t found it, it can’t be a thing. Am I wrong, miss?” He stepped in front of aquamarine.
"Um, excuse me, gentlecolts," she mumbled, ears down. "I really need to refill the-"
“Pah, Reign and Tack don’t even know what scrumptulocity is.” Glitz rolled his eyes.
“Do you?” came the challenge.
“It’s a mixture of… hollandaise and blazonry,” Glitz insisted. “Everypony knows that.”
“Um, gentlecolts, there's no need to cause a scene,” aquamarine begged, half-heartedly trying to step between them.
Ivory stamped his hoof. “Reign and Tack are not behind the times. You’re just making that up so you don’t feel stupid for wearing mares’ lingerie as headgear.”
A faint blush came to Glitz’s cheeks, and he fumbled for a response. “Well, why are you so dead set on making a scene? Does Tack hold your reigns?”
The small crowd that had gathered fell quiet, the silence broken only by the odd “oh my” muffled by a hoof.
“W-well, I don’t even need Reign and Tack to tell me that you're wearing a wardrobe malfunction of massive proportions,” ivory insisted. “Ask anypony you want: I’m sure they’ll agree.”
“Do you think so?” Glitz asked aquamarine.
"I, uh," she glanced about nervously, first at the two irate stallions to either side, then to the floppy change purse. There really were quite a few eyes on her. Far more than were in the job description. At last, she spotted salvation not too far off in the form of two alicorns: one white with a golden crown, while the other was dark blue and crowned in ebony.
“I'm not really the pony to ask," she said, "but I can find you a proper judge if you really want to know."
"Well, then, lead on," Glitz insisted.
Aquamarine led the group over to the alicorns. “Um, excuse me, your majesties?” She curtsied.
“-the entire homeland security fund, Celestia? On one pastry?” Luna was muttering through clenched teeth.
“You’ll understand when you see it, Luna,” Celestia insisted sheepishly. “I’ll even give you half, ok?”
Aquamarine cleared her throat. “Um, your majesties?”
They both suddenly straightened up and put on gentle, serene, smiles that were not strained at all. Not even a bit.
“Forgive us, my little ponies – we were just discussing some... business,” Celestia explained.
“What aid may we provide?” Luna asked.
“Your people need your wise and discerning eyes to settle a dispute over fashion,” Glitz explained.
Celestia’s eyes widened the slightest bit. Luna tilted her head. Aquamarine high-tailed it back to the kitchens.
“Oh! Um, I just remembered the diplomat from… Saddle Arabia requested an audience regarding the sand-air exchange rates,” Celestia said. “And look at the time. I fear I must leave this matter in your capable hooves, little sister.”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “I do not recall being informed of any audiences tonight.”
“It was a last minute appointment. Very boring. I thought you would have rather spent the time getting to know your subjects more fully,” Celestia explained. “I will not be long.”
Celestia’s horn flared, and she vanished in a rush of gold and flame, leaving Luna stranded with her subjects.
She continued staring skeptically at the former position of her sister until she realized with a little jump that there was still a crowd expecting her attention. “Oh! Um, good ponies of Equestria, how might your Princess be of service?”
“We have but a simple question, your highness,” ivory spoke up. “Is the garment this stallion wears on his head in any way pleasing to the eye?”
“Well, while I must admit I am not quite up to date on the current trends in fashion, know that your Princess will always do her best for her subjects,” Luna said, a graceful but eager smile coming to her face.
She looked over Glitz, blinked, and looked again. The corners of her mouth curled up, then curled more when she saw the naive, almost brazen, confidence with which Glitz wore the dainty lace which had just slipped over his eye. She bit her lip for a good minute before she managed to compose herself to deliver the verdict:
“I do indeed find it pleasing. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Her horn flared, and she too was gone, though if one with the talent had cocked an ear towards the moon and listened closely, they may have just been able to catch the gales of Royal Canterlot snorts, hoof-stamping, and guffaws chortling from the surface.
“Excuse me, did I just hear Princess Luna complementing that fine headgear Mr. Glitz is sporting tonight?” came a voice from the crowd.
“Indeed you did,” Glitz puffed out his chest. “And rightly so, for it is the most scrumptulecent headgear in all of Equestria!” He paused to flick the dangling purse from his face. “Anypony can see that.”
“Oh! Oh! Wherever did you find it?”
“What inspired this daring fashion experiment?”
“Do you think it’s the next big thing?”
“Why it was nothing, really,” Glitz scuffed a hoof on the floor as ponies began to gather. “I was just doing some shopping at Ponyville’s Carousel Boutique when a hit of… felicity caught the corner of my eye…”
“You’re certain this price tag is accurate?” Dogbert asked for the umpteenth time, turning the label over with a bandaged paw.
Rarity’s eye twitched. “For the last time, Mister Dogbert: my prices are materials plus labor rounded off. That is the fair price, and this is a fair boutique. Now, Twilight, what's the verdict?”
She turned to the purple unicorn at the counter, who was shuffling through her notes.
“Well, Rarity, I don’t quite know what to make of it,” Twilight admitted. “From what I gather, the inside of the boutique door got in some kind of disagreement with the outside, so it ran off with a… hooligan, I guess.” She took another long look at her notes and shook her head.
“But nines are cheaper than zeros. Everyone knows this,” Dogbert griped to Rarity. “Don’t you care about customer satisfaction?”
“My customers come here to walk out looking gorgeous, not to fall for smoke and mirrors,” Rarity huffed from the corner of her mouth. “So, Twilight, how long will it take to sort out all this… furniture drama?”
“Well, last night I consulted Spare Oom’s All in One Armchair Psychology for Amateurs, and the best I can promise is a week or so,” Twilight reported. “I need to take it slow: I’ve never had the opportunity to work with interfurnishing relationships before.”
“Interfurnishing relations?” Dogbert adjusted his glasses.
“Yep!” Twilight said, eyes brightening. “My library has a whole shelf on the subject. I can bring you a few volumes if you’re interested. It’s a fascinating topic.” Her tail flicked in excitement. An unhealthy amount of excitement.
“That… won’t be necessary,” Dogbert said, completely neutral.
“So, you’ve got this whole thing under control, then?” Rarity asked.
“Of course!” Twilight said. “Just let me get my references, and I’ll get right on it!”
FOOMPH!
Twilight vanished in a flash of magic.
“Nerd,” Dogbert snorted.
“Mister Dogbert, you will not discuss my friends in that manner,” Rarity insisted evenly. Then a corner of her mouth betrayed a smirk. “And besides, she’s adorable when she’s curious.”
“Fair enough,” Dogbert shrugged. “So that means I’m stuck here for a week.”
“It seems so, yes,” Rarity said. Then her eyes narrowed. “And what are you doing with that marker?”
“Nothing!” Dogbert spun around with his back to the clothing rack he had been inspecting.
“I’m sure it is,” Rarity huffed, scooting the little dog out of the way with her magic. Her eye twitched when she saw the price on a sundress had been discounted from ninety bits even to 89.75. “For the last time, Mister Dogbert, this is my shop where I charge my prices.” She drew up another tag for ninety bits.
“But it’s all so wrong,” Dogbert griped. “Look at this: the boring stuff is in the back, the big ticket items are out front, the price tags all end in zero, and there’s not even a thing on sale!”
“I already told you: this is an honest boutique, which thrives on the honest satisfaction its style gives to its customers,” Rarity said, her nose in the air. “It’s been two days, why can’t you focus on something else?”
“Because there’s nothing to do here,” Dogbert whined.
“You could go on a walk without lobbying Diamond Tiara to invest her entire college fund in pine cones,” Rarity suggested.
“Nothing fun to do here,” Dogbert whined.
“Well if you really need something to do, you can go get the mail,” Rarity suggested.
Dogbert flopped on his back. “Nothing to do. Bored. Bored. Bored-”
“Fine, and there might be a few bits in it for you.” Rarity rolled her eyes.
“As you command, your worshipfulness,” Dogbert ko-towed and headed for the door. Rarity looked after him a moment, then returned to the back room, shaking her head.
A too-quiet twenty minutes later, the doorbell jingled.
“Miss Rarity, mail’s here!” a stallion’s voice called out.
“Just a moment!” Rarity called back.
She returned to the front to find a tan pony with a scruffy brown mane and a pair of saddlebags on his back, both stuffed with letters. She noticed Dogbert beside him and shot him a sour look.
“I thought I told you to get the mail, not to get somepony to get the mail,” Rarity scoffed.
“In my defense, there was a bit more than one dog’s worth of mail,” Dogbert shrugged. “And Mr. Time Turner is of the opinion that, for a lady, the mail must be right on time.”
“Well, not in so many words,” Turner blushed. Dogbert wagged. “But there was quite a bit here for the little guy, and I thought I’d lend a helping hoof.”
“What could possibly provoke all this correspondence?” Rarity wondered, helping Turner unload his bags on the counter. Then her hoof went to her mouth. “Mail orders?”
“Ahem,” Dogbert held out a not-so-discrete paw.
“Honestly,” Rarity scoffed. She took four bits from the till, and gave three to Turner and one to Dogbert.
“Hey!” Dogbert protested.
“Honest pay for honest work, dear,” Rarity chided.
“You really don’t have to, ma’am: I was more than happy to help,” Turner blushed, brushing the floating bits away. “It was nothing, really.”
“Oh, go on, then.” Rarity held the bits out to him. “There’s more where that came from, especially for a thoughtful stallion such as yourself.”
“Hehe, I’d… ahem.” Turner straightened himself up, still blushing, and batted the bits back. “I really should be getting back to the post office. Have to keep the mail punctual, after all.”
“Oh, of course, of course, do take care.” Rarity showed him out then pranced back to the counter, dropping the bits back into the till.
“Honest pay my-”
“Oh hush,” Rarity snorted. “The chase is its own reward. Now what are all these orders about?”
She lit her horn and a letter floated over for her examination. Rarity got three lines in before her eye twitched, and she had to set it aside.
“What?” Dogbert asked.
“Nothing,” Rarity insisted, tearing into another letter. It soon joined the first followed by two more. “Mister Dogbert, could you be a dear and fetch the chaise lounge from the back room?”
“Um…” he raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry: it’s more portable than it looks,” Rarity assured him.
Dogbert stared. “O…kay.” He vanished into the back.
By the time he returned, Rarity’s composure was porcelain. With a quick glance behind to ensure the red couch was positioned in a satisfactory manner, she reared up, put a fore-hoof across her brow and swooned.
“Canterlot has gone mad!” she shrieked. “This is unprecedented! Absurd! Insane! How can ponies with such good taste demand such… trash?” She flung the letters into the air to shower down around her.
Dogbert casually snatched a letter out of the air:
“Dear Ms. Rarity, the spider silk ballroom gown you made me for the Grand Galloping Gala was a smashing success. I wish to commission an additional three similar designs for Spring, Fall, and Winter wear. Please contact me with your preferred appointment date. Yours Truly, Sapphire Shores.”
Rarity cracked an eye. “No, no, pick a different one.”
Dogbert stared at her, but turned his attention to the floor. He noted the contents of several letters, but passed them up in favor of:
“Dear Ms. Rarity, It is my pleasure to inform you that my husband had a wonderful time at the Gala last night thanks to your cunning craftsmareship. As I told you before, with so many layers expected of a gentlepony nowadays he always overheats, but your simple yet elegant design gave him the breathing room he needed to enjoy himself for the first time in years. You’re a life saver! With gratitude, Rosy Blush.”
“No! How am I supposed to wallow in misery with cherry-picked letters like that?” Rarity griped. “Pick literally any other one. The first one you see.”
Dogbert looked down and did indeed snatch the first letter he saw:
“To the gem-butt it may concern: the diamond-studded, goldsilk bumpkin sack my lackey conned off you last week made a smashing contribution to the Grand Galloping Gala in the only way it could – by playing moth-bait in my basement! If you want any of your trash to be worn at the most prestigious event of the year, you’d better go back to stick-school and get half a brain cell to rub together! Smell ya later – Smart Stitch.”
“Pphht,” Rarity snorted in satisfaction. “I put the kitchen sink of gaudiness she ordered on a flubbed rag from the back room and charged her double. Then I went to the spa.” She blinked. “Honestly, Mister Dogbert.”
She lit her horn and a host of letters lifted from the floor for her to read and flick aside one by one: “Dear Ms. Rarity, I wish to purchase four kumberbuzzles immediately. – Ms. Rarity, I would like to commission a kumberbuzzle – Are your kumberbuzzles in stock? – Do kumberbuzzles come in mauve? – I want the most scrumptulecent kumberbuzzle you have. – Would you mind tailoring my sundress to bring out its scrumptulocity? I hear that’s in now.” Her eye twitched. “This is an absolute nightmare!”
“What? You don’t like money?” Dogbert asked.
Rarity’s eye twitched again. “There will be no sales. Not after I have… disabused these clients of certain notions concerning the current state of fashion. And if they cannot be disabused, then I, well, it would not be right to charge them.” She stuck up her nose.
“Well if there’s a possibility that you’ll be filling these orders, and a percentage commission is off the table, we’ll have to renegotiate the licensing terms,” Dogbert pondered.
“Excuse me?” Rarity scoffed. “You cobbled that design together in my shop out of my merchandise, and then sold it in the name of my establishment. Licensing? I should be licensing you.”
“Actually, according to the Equestrian Intellectual Endeavor Recognition Act subchapter Zi heading h, section moon, subsection sun, sub-subsection nine and three quarters and a half again, it is the designer of the device in question who is recognized as the rights holder regardless of distribution,” Dogbert informed her.
“What makes you so sure of that?” Rarity asked.
Dogbert shrugged. “If you act interested and ignorant, it turns out most nerds actually want to do your homework.”
Rarity glowered. “Mister Dogbert, I resent your insinuation that my friend is a gullible-”
FOOMPH!
Twilight exploded into existence on the other side of the counter. Several quills were tucked into the band of the hot pink kumberbuzzle on her head.
Rarity and Dogbert stared for two entirely different reasons.
“Uh, don’t mind me: I’ll just be in the corner having a heart to heart with the door about its childhood.” Twilight flashed a toothy grin. “Spare Oom was quite clear that that is where all the problems start.” She trotted towards the closet.
Rarity’s head tracked the unicorn in disbelief. “Twilight… dear. Why is that on your head?”
“What? The kumberbuzzle? Dogbert gave it to me,” Twilight said over her shoulder.
“N-no, I mean… why are you wearing it?” Rarity asked.
“Well, it’s just that quills and saddlebags don’t actually mix very well,” Twilight explained, unpacking her things. “My quills always either fall to the bottom and get crushed, or I have to keep them in a case of some kind, but then I have to bother with it every time I want one. Dogbert suggested this practical solution, see? The quills go in the band, and then there’s even room left for an inkwell in the little purse. He’s a clever little guy if I do say so myself.”
“But… but…” Rarity’s eyes swam in and out of focus. “Are you aware of how, um, you know – how it makes you look?”
“Well yea, I wouldn’t be caught dead with it in Canterlot, but I’m not exactly out to impress when I’m doing field research, am I?” Twilight said.
“I… I suppose,” Rarity admitted, averting her gaze. “Um, Twilight, would you mind putting one of the racks in front of your little study zone? It would give you a little more… privacy.”
Twilight’s ears flopped about in confusion as she studied her friend. “Um, ok.”
She went off towards the storage closet. Rarity’s eye twitched with every bob of the purse.
“Two satisfied customers,” Dogbert said. “At this rate, we’ll corner the whole market in no time.”
“One was the sale of a repurposed item,” Rarity noted. “The other was self-inflicted. There will be no more.”
“Then I suppose I should inform these potential customers that this boutique is no longer a licensed kumberbuzzle dealer,” Dogbert decided. “And I’ll have to find another vendor too. That’s annoying, but not unexpected.”
“But you’ve nothing to license,” Rarity pointed out. “Nopony is going to pay you for public knowledge.”
“On the contrary,” Dogbert handed Rarity a notarized document.
“I-” Rarity blinked, looked away, looked back, and blinked again. Then she scowled. “I know for a fact that this is forged. You were in my sight the whole time from inception to sale. Sale with no prior design patent. Public knowledge.”
“Au contraire, you’d be surprised what gets lost in the back room of the patent office,” Dogbert said, his tail wagging.
Dingaling!
Two cream colored unicorns sporting striped blue and white carnival vests and straw hats strode into the boutique. “Excuse me,” said one, stroking his red mustache, “are these the premises of Dogbert Industries?”
“This is Carousel Boutique,” Rarity said, her eyes narrowing at the pair, “and I believe you were just leaving.”
“Dear me, Flam, how can a stallion have such a problem with the mares?” The clean-shaven one elbowed his partner, then sauntered right up to the counter, a winning smile on his face. “Now ma’am, what seems to be the problem? I don’t believe we’ve met before-”
“You tried to convince my friends and neighbors to run my good friend Applejack’s farm out of business, so you could sell us rocks-and-dirt cider,” Rarity deadpanned, an edge in her voice. She took a step forward. His hind-hoof crept back a step. “I believe you were leaving the premises, and then running full tilt until you’ve cleared the general area. Screaming like foals is optional, but it may improve my mood.”
“Heh heh, well, Flim, old boy, looks like you’re not so hot yourself,” Flam gloated, curling his mustache. “But in all seriousness, I was under the impression that this establishment was the very one mentioned in that ad. You’re sure you’ve never heard of Dogbert Industries?”
“I believe it’s me you want to talk to,” Dogbert stepped between them, now sporting a little black top hat. “Dogbert: CEO of Dogbert Industries.” He extended a paw.
“Ah, excellent, Flim here,” the clean shaven unicorn stepped around beside Dogbert and took his paw.
“Flam,” said the mustached unicorn, extending a hoof from the other side.
“Flim-Flam Fashion Lines, LLC,” they both said in unison.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Dogbert said.
“Now, you mentioned in the ad you needed sales partners for this new doohickey of yours,” Flam said.
“Yes, the one all of Canterlot is buzzing about,” Flim mentioned.
“Something like that,” Dogbert said.
“May we see the merchandise?” Flim asked.
“Of course,” Dogbert said, but then he turned to Rarity. “That is if we all don’t have to leave the premises.”
Rarity opened her mouth, but the something occurred to her, and she shut it again. Her eyes skewed up. “Very well,” she sighed. “You may conduct your business in the kitchen – I am still open for business, after all.”
“Excellent,” said Flam. “Lead on.”
The group trotted behind the counter, through the back room, to a modest kitchen done up in blue with a single table in the middle.
“There wouldn’t happen to be any refreshments about, m’dear?” asked Flim.
A paper cup bonked him on the nose.
“There’s a pump over there,” Rarity huffed, motioning to the sink.
“Ah, um, yes, thank you.” Flim put his cup aside hesitantly. They all seated themselves around the table. “You were saying, Mister Dogbert?”
“Dogbert Industries’ world renowned design division presents: the kumberbuzzle.” Dogbert produced a tie-dyed lace band with a brown bobble clasp attaching it to a putrid yellow change purse covered in an avant-garde scattering of buttons.
“Interesting,” Flam remarked. “I believe I heard it was headgear of some kind?”
“Indeed it is,” Dogbert said. “Would you model for us, Rarity?”
“Me!?” Rarity stumbled back a few steps.
“Well if you don’t want to be a partner, I don’t see why you’re still here.” Dogbert wagged.
Rarity looked from Dogbert to the abomination in his paws. One hoof instinctively went for the door, but as soon as the kumberbuzzle left her sight, her neck tensed. Finally, she flicked her horn at the windows and cabinets, removing every reflection from every piece of glass in the room and blackening the windows for good measure.
“Very… well.” She laid out her neck for the axe.
Dogbert stretched the garter around her horn and ear. Rarity’s countenance was porcelain.
“Hmm, I see,” Flam said, taking it in from all sides. “Simple design. Assembled from whatever’s on hoof, I take it?”
“Dogbert Industries is 100% committed to reducing consumer waste,” Dogbert said.
“Yes, yes, the green angle, very promising,” Flim said. “How are the margins?”
“One to one, if you know where to look,” Dogbert said. “Of course, this is all assuming you know some professional hobos.”
“That can be arranged,” Flam said.
“Now hold on,” Rarity said. “You’re saying the well-to-do are going to buy these ridiculous items made entirely out of dumpster debris?”
“I completely resent your misrepresentations, ma’am,” Dogbert huffed. “Dogbert Industries starts with only the finest garments before distressing them to perfection. It’s novel, it’s antique, it’s the best of both worlds!”
“And you really think they’ll believe that?” Rarity asked.
“Of course: everyone’s saying it,” Dogbert said.
“Or will be, at least,” Flam said, with a wink at Flim.
“You can’t be serious,” Rarity snorted.
“Then what are those order forms all about?” Dogbert observed, snatching a stack of letters taller than him from the counter. “They’re even asking for scrumptulocity by name already.”
“No! Those are- a mistake!” Rarity turned to Dogbert, clawing at the letters with her magic. “A terrible, terrible-”
“Oh! You’ve already got pre-orders? Let’s see, then,” Flam said, his green magic displacing her blue to float them over. “Hmm, Topaz Glint, Noble Oak – oh! – and even Lady Fleur Di Lis herself! That seals the deal, then!” Flam decided.
“No! Those are not your pre-orders. They are my customers. Customers who asked for the services of their trusted fashionista,” Rarity protested, snatching the letters back.
“Customers who are expressing an interest in a service you refuse to provide,” Dogbert pointed out.
Rarity turned on him. “They are interested in my service of bringing out their inner beauty. A process which in no way involves your product.”
“Well the customer seems to think differently,” Dogbert waved the letters in her face. “And the customer is always right in my book. Shouldn’t we expect everypony to have the sense to know what they want?”
“Well I… I…” Rarity fumbled for words.
“Well, brother of mine, my profit senses are tingling all over,” Flim cut in. “How much were you thinking, Dogbert, old boy?”
“Seeing as it is my idea, and it comes with my expertise, I was thinking somewhere around forty-sixty,” Dogbert proposed.
“We were thinking closer to seventy-thirty,” Flam countered. “There’s two of us, after all, and it’s a lot of work to find the absolute lowest bidder, you know.”
“I can go to fifty, but that’s as low as I go,” Dogbert said. “It’s not like I can’t find other partners, after all, and Canterlot is already desperate for that special scrumptulocity only found with my product.” Rarity discretely floated over a glass of water, and jumped at the reflection of the abomination latched onto her forehead. “With the right connections, we could be on the heads of every soul in Canterlot within days, just look at this chart-”
“Fifty!”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to a hyperventilating Rarity.
“Well, I hear an offer of a fifty-fifty merger,” Dogbert observed, adjusting his glasses. “Going once?”
“Wait, you can’t be serious,” Flam protested. “I thought she wanted out-”
“Twice?” Dogbert prodded.
“We’ll match!” Flam blurted.
“Fifty-plus-one!” Rarity shrieked over him, cold sweat beginning to show through her coat.
“Sold! To both of you,” Dogbert declared.
“WHAT!?” squawked all involved.
“I never said I was selling an exclusive license.” Dogbert’s tail wagged.
“It’s against the rules of fair play, leading us on like that,” Flam huffed.
“Caveat emporium,” Dogbert said. “And I wouldn’t call a fifty percent cut unfair, either. Unless you don’t like money…”
“Well, let’s not be hasty,” Flim said. Flam nodded.
“It will be fine,” Rarity assented, more to herself. “So long as there are allowances for tailoring in the contract, I’m sure it will be…” She realized she was shaking and studied herself. “I’ll make it work.”
“There might be something like that in there, sure.” Dogbert produced two contracts. “Now, if you could just sign right here, and here, and – you really don’t have to read that – and here…”
