SteelEagle

He closed his eyes in ecstacy, satin always doing the trick when he first felt it. It was such luxury and feel, a nice, smooth, almost weighless against him. That was one thing he loved about unicorns; they didn't need to actually get up and push something against you in order to get it on, meaning all you felt was the fabric in all of its glory. It made a sizable difference.

"I'll have to take your measurements to start with, then I can begin sketching out the design. Then..."

He nodded along until she trailed off, eyes opening and tracking hers for a moment as they pierced through the room towards her workbench, which was more than active, dresses-to-be stacked in an almost comical fashion.

"When do you think you want it by?"

He nodded along with the unspoken thought process.

"Well, you seem to have a lot of orders to complete and I am here in Ponyville for a while. I wouldn't want to bother you, Miss Rarity, so how about three days?" He asked politely, while slowly cantering towards her measuring pedestal. It was truth, he would hate to be a bother when the entire scenario was based on his casual stroll through her shop. He knew how frazzled these designers could be and how delicate their personalities were. No reason to be the cause of a nervous breakdown.

Show her anything even halfway decent from the show. If she doesn't realize that it isn't like old MLP, then the game is over because it is literally that easy.

QFT.

I understand this sentiment about people needing to take into consideration the thoughts and feelings of the handicapped in this matter. I do. And, shockingly enough, those I know who fit here and are also fans of the show weren't offended. Obviously this is just a personal flavoring and not an exhaustive survey, but combined with what I've heard from others, and it seems to be that even within that specialized community, there was little outrage. Most of it came from where such complaints normally arise: People who see themselves as white knights of justice who must always look out for the little man and strike down anything they consider even remotely offensive in the name of another, regardless of that little man's(or woman's) actual opinion, because they are honorable knights who just know better.

"It isn't that I don't respect business, Miss Rarity. I just find business details sooooooooooooooooooooooooo boring. You make your dresses, advertise them, and are connected to them. My parents don't farm oranges, they tell other ponies to do so. But I do understand your message, Miss Rarity." He said, dropping the point. He understood her view, but all his parents did was sit in meetings, count numbers, and tell other people how awesome they were. Important? yes, but it was dying due to lack of creative influence.

Then his mind raced to the real issue at hand. He gave it some thought as he touched his hoof to his chin. There were many choices in the world of fashion, so many excellent fabrics to choose from. Trailing his hand across the floor, eyes swift behind closed lids. Then he clapped his hooves together in excitement and started cantering about gaily.

"Ooooh, you know what would be quite fetching? Honey gold satin, in spring casual fashion, something like what Sapphire Shores wore at the red carpet recently." He said, strutting proudly as the mental image of himself in something so fine flowed forth from his mind, stopping just before Rarity.

He continued looking through the dresses, his head popping out from one as he gave her a smile.

"Well, that is true. When Manehattan calls, you better answer or else you may not get where you want to go. My mother and father always tell me that, but still, I find business to be so boring. But then again, they compute numbers and attend social functions to discuss the numbers they just put together, you make dresses. I very much prefer your way of going about it, honestly." He said before diving back down. The dresses were much larger than the small pony, though swimming through them was a lot more fun than apple bucking.

"Aha!" He squeaked before falling out of the pile. He straightened himself out before he walked up to Rarity.

"So, Miss Rarity, let's see if you can make me something." He said with a rather devilishly excited grin, tail sweeping up behind him.

"Rarity..." he muttered, going over all the names he had accumulated over his short lifetime of following fashion. It rung a bell...

"Rarities...by Rarity? Aha! So it IS you! Why, I own some of your old line, though as you know the large boutiques tried to make your designs for all ages. The result was stitching that was not up to par with what I see here, though your abilities still shone through." He said, trotting over towards many of the dresses on the racks. All boutiques had to have prêt-à-porter designs in order to make a daily profit, but what he was really looking at was styling. That could be improved upon when it was being hand-stitched in true haute couture, but the base designs were always the jumping off points for someone's quality.

"I'm happy to hear you and Applejack are close. She mentioned a dress-maker friend of hers, though we were too busy 'bucking' apples and I couldn't catch the name, Miss Rarity." He said somewhat loudly due to the distance, and the fact he was now somewhat comically pawing through the dresses.

"I am here on a...vacation, of sorts. My name is Valen Orange and I am staying with my cousin, Applejack, for the duration- do you know her? Very kind, though her line of work makes my bones weary. As for you- Your designs speak for themselves, madame. Your reputation doesn't need to be questioned, Miss...?" He asked, poking his snout out from a dress and approaching her to offer her his hand in a polite hoofshake, smile wide and endearing. It was hard being this proper for too long, though. Made him feel like plastic.

He could tell from what little he had seen that there was definitely something very familiar about her work, though he could only match it with a few prêt-à-porter designs he had seen in some select shops in Manehattan. Alas, he had failed to bring any of them along, otherwise he would have ran home and brought them back to compare.

"Your mane is lovely, by the way." He complimented her, always having a sincere love for curls. Try as he might, whenever he curled his, they always fought back.

The mare who introduced herself surely could not have been from this place. She simply bled elegance and luxury and was stunning herself to boot. He had rarely been overwhelmed so subtly by somepony, as if she was made to put one's head askew. He instantly looked down and pawed at the ground in shyness, blushing slightly. His eyes scanned the shop's side for a few seconds, more than a little afraid to say anything. It was like an oasis in the storm of country life, and while he had nothing against that lifestyle, silk and satin held more charm when comfortable.

Than he remembered he was from Manehattan, and he was made of sterner stuff than this. He looked back at the owner of the shop and gave a short bow with his head.

"Oh, please forgive me, madame. I am new and i had thought that I wouldn't find a shop like this here, it reminds me of Manehattan's fashion district." He said humbly, being as polite as he could, manners accounting for large portions of one's self-confidence and the image that was sent out. His eyes gave a smile and he walked pensively in, and finally took into account the actual clothing.

It was haute couture; fitted, made by hand, made and tailored for a specific customer. And it was of such quality. He couldn't piece it together in a coherent fashion, but this was easily top of the line.

"Oh my, this...it reminds me of the Chambre syndicale de la haute couture. Are you sure you aren't from Canterlot or Manehattan?!" He asked excitedly, studying the fine dresses swiftly. The fabric was sublime, the stitching flawless, the styling both extravegent when it needed to be and subtle where the body's boldness was best left to fend for itself. With few exceptions, the work was flawless, and his eyes told the tale.

Valen had gotten settled into his new town- well, at least for a few months- well enough. He had accounted for culture shock even before he arrived, assuming that he would be floored and left scared. There were many stories about small country towns, and some of them were more akin to horror tales than any sort of factual information exchanges. Then again, his friends were all big fibbers and were probably just trying to scare him before he left to the small town. But still, culture shock was a real thing.

The food was different, the way of speech was different, the way they interacted...it was too loose and free. He constantly was caught off-guard by how they blurted out whatever was on their mind to their friends, who seemed to be every pony they ever met. They constantly seemed to stop and chat and deviated from their schedules. Physical labor also seemed to be the order of the day and while that was something one could find anywhere, it was something Valen hadn't truly expected to be involved in all that often.

He wasn't very good at any part of farm work. He didn't have the physical ability nor skills required. Applebloom trotted past him with buckets of apples while he had to take his time, dropping apples and picking them up as he went along. He couldn't buck; what took Applejack one kick took him almost half an hour, and even then, that was only a handful of apples. Big Mac couldn't help him try to pull the plow, and Granny Smith couldn't teach him any of her recipes. He was all around hopeless, though he tried his darnedest.

So when he had a day off, an honest one when this portion of the harvest was done, he most assuredly took it. He had little time to truly explore the town due to the sheer timing of his arrival and work schedule. This was a shame, a true shame! He had never been here and found what little he had seen a little unnerving. There was a lack of class, pizazz, a sense of style and focus. The town had plenty of charm and a certain sense of peace that had an allure, but his sense of Manehattan fashion was being driven to the dust in this farming community.

"Carousel Boutique, now open for business!"

He heard the word Boutique, face swiveling in place as his ears perked up. Boutique? Ah, it exists in such a town?! Amazing! Curiosity overtook him and he turned to the business and trotted with a rather simple smile on his face. He had always loved these places. Depending on where you went, you could get a nice spa massage, get fitted for clothes(with Valen's parents usually looking biting their lips with small amounts of trepidation), get a well-done makeover, generally a whole lot of extremely fashionable happenings. It usually cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it. Colts like him had a tough time expressing themselves; boutiques were the rare places where they found no trouble in expression.

He entered the Boutique, eyes studying his surroundings as if a hungry cat at a milk bowl.

After boss posts I will

Length isn't as important as quality and the effort we see that goes into a post. One paragraph can be fine if it is a really good quality paragraph that contains everything I need to respond to, and does so in a high-quality fashion.

Pegasus ponies were a tragic lot, all things told. They were gifted with stunning wings which gave them the greatest gift that anyone could ask for, the ability to fly into that great sky above. It allowed for them to traverse a near endless horizon. Their abilities with the weather and, truth be told, superior physical being were attributes gifted to them by their wings. But, the curse was that they did so alone, only graced by a handful of other life forms. The sky was a lonely place, and ponies were naturally social creatures. So it only made sense to fly towards the ground.

But then again, as she was laid up in the hospital, Pathfinder figured that there were many solid reasons why Pegasi normally didn't careen into the ground often. First, they were raised not to, which had the practical effect of not getting them injured and the symbolic effect of not making them appear idiotic as a species. Secondly, they tended to look at where they were going as they neared the ground. The Earth ponies looked both ways when they pulled those silly carriages, Unicorns looked where they were using their magic, and Pegasi kept a close watch where they were flying. Normally. Usually.

But then again, how often had Pegasi been reading at the same time?

Pathfinder had been returning from a meet-up of the Fan Club Presidents in Canterlot. She had amazed and befuddled them with her amazing stories of adventures and daring deeds, as well as her recitation of her fan fiction. They had been scheduled to go for only a few hours, but she had been able to make it an overnight party due to her force of will and forty-five chapter long story. A few had tried to leave to get food, turn off stoves, and otherwise get stuff done, but it was a time for enjoyment and she would have none of it!

But, despite all the fun they were having, that buzz-kill Fandom blurted out that the author had sent him a snippet of the next novel. Pathfinder didn't consider herself rude, but she was overwhelmed with the desire to protect safeguard cherish do what Daring Do would do, and take the very first snippet. In her glee, she flew out of the window and was soon over Canterlot, reading the work feverishly.

The window had been at an odd angle, pointed down. So enamored was she with her gift, so caught up in the thrill, that she had paid no heed to the ground. It paid her all the attention it could as she slammed into it, skidded along the ground, did some flips, and eventually twisted her way at high speeds into a pillar. As poor a decision as that was, it wouldn't have resulted in a trip to the hospital save for the fact she had careened into the pillar at a side angle, jamming her right wing against the pillar as her body pushed against it until it had broken. Bad.

She hated hospitals.

Not because she thought they were unneeded, oh no. They were vital and the ponies who worked their magic, figuratively and literally, were truly marvellous. But the cost at the end of the day always seemed to be a few thousand bits more than she had on herself. Of course, in Equestria, one was never denied care- but it was also true she had mountains of debt in at least two hospitals. Well, make that three- between all the magic and work required to repair her wing and a hospital stay estimated at a week was more than a handful of bits.

It could have been worse. Pathfinder was certainly a talkative, sociable mare and her roommate was quiet. He always seemed to be in thought and patient, which was something she herself wasn't. She was a mare of action as the two spoke, it was clear that his mind was more soothing and analytical. He was a botanist with a love of travel, something which very quickly bonded them. While he did not have the same travel log as her, it was nice to meet another pegasus who used wings for purposes other than looking cool. He seemed nice, and the visitors he had helped, his sister and uncle. Anypony with a good relationship with family was probably solid.Of course, his interests were anathema to her. Studying flowers and stuff didn't hold the same power as being out on an adventure, and her story was more entertaining than being poisoned by some flower. They got along as well as two ponies in a hospital could, but she didn't have plans on continuing their friendship past the trip.

But nothing could bring her down!

She still had her snippet, which she read out loud and recited before she slept almost as if it were a prayer before squealing with delight and kicking her hooves. And during the day, she would retrieve from her saddlebag beside her bed one of the sixteen books in the series as well as ream after ream of parchment for her fanfiction and letter writing needs. Did she need anything else for the week? She thought not, and informed her kind roommate of this when he ordered a set of books from somepony close- she admitted she hadn't heard him, as her ears had been listening intently to the goings on in the room next to theirs where she could swear that some sort of pig-pony was being kept- to entertain himself.

And so the situation persisted cordially and occasionally loudly as the mid-afternoon on the third day rolled on in boring fashion.

Bramble Rose is the boss, so Rose can tell you much more than I. I do believe Rarity is in the second group and has specific co-designers and models.

I'll do a quick Rarity search in ze forums, see what I can gobble up.

I found nothing for Rarity in 2012 that hasn't already been replied to or discussed, actually. Ponywalk seeks the big push.

I know she is in the Ponywalk, for starters.

I have a badge I wear to work. I leave it on a lot of the time.

Works for me.

While I'm completely okay with your interpretation of what happened, I was more thinking that I ran around you, spinning while doing so, rather than literally spinning you around.

I'm okay with spinning you around though. It's funnier that way.

Also, is there going to be a posting order or is it just going to be a sort of "wait a few posts until you post again" type thing?

Which is exactly what happened. I was gonna spin no matter what you did because you moved just THAT FAST.

I see no hard need for a post order per se, but a rule: No more than two posts per pony unless everyone has posted. That way the story doesn't advance too far past certain characters, but at the same time, we don't end up picking our feet waiting for posts.

'Key, well, the bodyguard/escort has been knocked out by bits flying at comical speed due to Valen being spinned in place. So he is now trailing bits as he closes in on the scene of the accident. Provides good enough reason for the street urchins to follow and trail him.

I operate on the three paragraph rule. I try to write three paragraphs- not always full paragraphs, but three separate entities within a post that are of a different flavor. Thoughts about what happened, some other thoughts, response, dialogue, so generally four.

I don't care about length; I care about effort. Someone can jam out a page long post of poor quality, or they can write a single paragraph of greatness.

Good game. Like most good Brony games, way too short.

It is likely a mixture. On one hand, they are starting to realize that as long as it is reasonable, Pony will work well anywhere! At the same time, they want to attract viewers for some of their other shows and want to give them the 'primetime' saturday spot.

And if Ponies happen to gain some more viewership? Well, that's awesome too.

what timezone is this? it used to air at 10:00 am right? which was 9:00 am for me

so now it airs at noon? mm, now I'm more likely to be busy during ponies I get up at 6:00 and we never go out before 10:00, so watching ponies has never been a problem for me.

EST, so if you live in Central I can see how it would be a problem if you have that schedule.

Starting March 3rd:

6:00AM G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero

6:30AM Transformers – Generation 1

7:00AM Transformers Prime

7:30AM The Super Hero Squad Show

8:00AM The Super Hero Squad Show

8:30AM Batman (1960s)

9:00AM Dan Vs.

9:30AM Batman: The Animated Series

10:00AM Transformers Rescue Bots (New Episodes)

10:30AM Transformers Rescue Bots

11:00AM The Aquabats! Super Show! (New Episodes)

11:30AM The Twisted Whiskers Show

12:00PM Strawberry Shortcake’s Berry Bitty Adventures (New Episodes)

12:30PM Strawberry Shortcake’s Berry Bitty Adventures

1:00PM My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (New Episodes)

1:30PM My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

2:00PM Pound Puppies

2:30PM Pound Puppies

3:00PM Family Game Night

Thoughts on this change?

For me, it is grand. It was on at 7:00 AM for me, which presented one of three scenarios. I was either working and had to have my lunch pre-planned, I had to cut short my Friday nights, or I had to rush and not have time to really enjoy the episode BEFORE work.

Truth, the second scenario was the most common. Now, I can conceivably be off of work and home by the time the episode airs, use my Friday night well, or take a somewhat 'normal' lunch at work. Saturdays are my least stressful work day, obviously. It also allows for my niece to have breakfast before she comes over on Saturday.

Same as ze forum: SteelEagle.

Valen listened intently to the words of the elder Apple for many reasons. One, he had asked a question and it was impolite to not hear an answer to a question you had asked. Secondly, she was an elder and while he readily admitted to a great deal of personal faults, being disrespectful was not something he wanted to be known as. And third, her answer was very interesting- who would have guessed that not only was there a time when large, strong Earth ponies were the best option for train travel, but that there were still areas where it was used?! How silly, incredible, and quaint! He listened to her story as they made the short jaunt over to the farm.

Once there, he was struck mute by the sheer size of it for so long. How many ponies must work this orchard? Thirty? Forty? Easily at least twenty! The trees seemed to roll on in endless waves of red, green, and yellow apples. Farm equipment was strategically laid out, though to his naked eye it may as well have been controlled chaos. The more he looked, the larger it got. He felt a sense of awe that perhaps a farm pony felt when he or she visited Manehattan for the first time. Counting the trees was too difficult- he didn't know if he could even count that high, let alone try to formulate the will to do so. The barn and living quarters seemed like small, miniscule buildings in a sea of green.

The air was so different, too. It was clean, which he expected, but not clear like he had been told. It had a smell to it, and a mixture as well. Apples for sure, fresh pine and trees, and the unsettling but acknowledged odor of sweat. It mixed together and created an aroma that was sweet and subtle, tinged by a small sense of desperation. It was like one of the perfumes his mom sometimes wore, very subtle and slight yet all the more powerful for it. He wondered if the farm ponies knew the smell as unusual or if they had grown accustomed to it, and gave thought to the possibility that there were smells in his home that he was ignorant to as well.

What he wasn't ignorant on was how freakin' strong Applejack must be. That suitcase was no lightweight, yet she had tossed it on her back like it was nothing at all. It was almost disquieting in a sense: If a mare who looked no worse for the wear was this strong, that must have meant she did a lot of really hard physical labor on a consistent basis. He was pretty sure he was expected to do some heavy physical labor as well, which was bad enough, but when you added it to the fact that he thought that the suitcase was going to be a factor of some concern...well, he wasn't sure how he'd fare! But he consoled himself that it was better to labor in air tinted with sweetness than toiling away in some Manehattan office building.

He had been trying to distract himself from how intimidating the farm was. It looked like simply too much of...everything! Luckily, another pony caught the attention of the Apple family distracting them from Valen's nervous gaze. She looked a little dazed and a nearby apple tree's leaves shook slowly as if recovering from an impact. Did that silly mare collide with the tree?

Applejack- AJ- dropped his suitcase and cantered over to the mare in question. Valen reared up in shock, his face stretched out in a comically silent scream for a second. He galloped over to inspect it cautiously. He jostled it- okay, he hadn't heard any loose pieces of glass. He breathed a sigh of relief and fell on his rump, a pleasantly exhausted smile on his face.

""Gerty!? Is that you!? Well, heh. What a surprise! You've made your annual trip to take some fancy drawings at our apples again, ain't ya?"

AJ started to help pick up pieces of paper which were uncommonly pillowing out from the site of the impact. He spotted one trying to board the last gust out of the farm, and clamped down on it with his hoof as quickly as he could. Success was his; he stopped it from escaping! He grabbed it by the mouth and started trotting towards the mare.

"Well bless my soul if it isn't Gerty Greetings! Ain't seen ya in a long spell! How are ya gittin' along? Gerty, you know Valen, right? He's traveled a fer piece to visit with us too!"

Valen came up right behind Granny as she finished, his offering to this Greetings character being a single piece of now-dirty paper. But what had Granny Smith meant by Gerty knowing Valen? Was this a relative? Was he supposed to know her, or her him? It didn't exactly play heavily on his mind as he knew that the way these ponyfolk talked could sometimes provoke confusion in his head, and so he dutifully laid the paper on the ground and offered his hoof out for a shake.

"The name is Valen Orange, like Valencia Orange! Nice to meet, ma'am!" He said, eyes closed to accommodate his wide smile. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, the farm would suddenly become smaller and look less intimidating. He opened them as his smile grew less foolish- nope, it was still intimidating.