Merry Lonely Christmas (Anon & Rarity)

>Hearthswarming.
>You give a heavy sigh and watch from the balcony as the ponies hurry about their usual wintry tasks, preparing for their annual celebration.
>Normally you’d be right down in the mess with them, but you don’t have much you feel like celebrating this year.
>Several months ago, you were torn from Earth and landed in Equestria.
>In that time you’ve managed to adjust fairly quickly, admirable considering your situation, but the holiday just felt as though it was lacking.
>Things hadn’t been ideal back on Earth, but they were familiar at least.
>You had friends and family that you could spend the season with.
>Not here.
>Of course you have friends; the ponies have made sure of that.
>But a bitter melancholy has settled in over the past few weeks, and all you really want at this point is to be alone.
>It had taken some doing, but even Pinkie Pie realized that you needed some time to grieve over what you no longer had.
>So they backed off and gave you your space.
>They still waved and spoke with you, patiently waiting for you to come out of your funk.
>Some days you wondered if that would ever happen.
>And so, you sat on the balcony, letting your legs hang over the edge as you watched the activities below with a detached disinterest.
>At once, the reverie is broken by a familiar voice calling out to you.
>You twist your head and see Rarity wave her hoof in your direction.
>She wears a pleasant, if somewhat tired, smile on her lips
>“Yoo-hoo!  Darling, can’t you hear me?  I’ve called you at least three times.”
>You mutter a greeting and a halfhearted apology as you twist your body so that you can face her.



>Cocking her head to the side, the marshmallow mare tuts a few times with her tongue.
>“My, my, such poor manners.  Come downstairs so we can have a proper conversation.”
>Despite your protests, the classy clothier eventually does wear you down.
>Within five minutes you’re on the street, plodding along beside the trotting mare.
>She gives a few kind words of greetings to various ponies that pass, and you even manage to work up a few grunts, even an occasional ‘how do you do’, much to Rarity’s delight.
>The cold air bites at your neck and you shudder as the two of you make your way to a park and grab a seat on a bench.
>Several moments of silence follow, and just as you’re beginning to consider leaving, Rarity speaks.
>“You’ve been rather distant lately, Dear.”
>Another apology, and you throw in a shrug for good measure, but as you try to defend yourself further, Rarity shakes her head.
>“No, there is no need for you to explain yourself.  I can’t imagine what it must be like, being forcibly removed from everything familiar and dropped into a strange new world.  You’ve done a marvelous job coping with the changes, but it’s clear you’re still hurting.”
>Silence settles in again as the two of you consider her words.
>And then she continues.
>“I know you’ve been working with Twilight, trying to find a way home.  I know that she told you that even with her considerable expertise, it may be months or even years until she finds the means to send you back.”
>You grunt, reluctantly adding that it may not be possible at all.
>Rarity gives a slow nod and purses her lips.
>“Yes, that too.”



>Another few moments of quiet, punctuated only by the whispering crunch of hooves in snow as a pony passes nearby.
>“But I’ve also been talking to Twilight about some of the customs you have back on Earth.  I found one to be particularly interesting.”
>The sugar white mare nudges you gently with her hoof and when you turn to face her, she’s holding up a red and white scarf with a gentle glow from her horn.
>“While it’s not traditional Hearthswarming practice to give gifts, I thought that something familiar might help you feel a little more at home.  Happy Cross Moose, Anonymous.”
>She bites her lip when you don’t immediately take it, red coloring her cheeks as her eyes flit about.
>“W-well, I realize it’s not much but I would be grateful if you’d try it on before you make any decisions.”
>Snapping back to reality, you apologize and thank her for the gift before setting it about your shoulders.
>The fabric is smooth against the bare skin of your neck, yet the chill is warded off immediately.
>Rarity chuckles, one hoof going up to toy with her mane as she sees you give an impressed nod with her gift.
>“Well, I’m glad that you like it.”
>At once, concern seizes you.
>You weren’t expecting to receive anything, and you have nothing to give in return.
>It’s your turn to blush as you stammer an apology for not being able to give her a gift, but the white mare simply waves her hoof.
>“Pish-posh, I told you that ponies don’t celebrate your Moose holiday, so there’s no need to feel bad.  It was my pleasure to share my gift with you.”
>That’s really sweet of her.
>But you still feel bad, and tell her as much.



>Rarity looks thoughtful for a moment and then offers a small smile.
>“Very well; I’ve decided what you can give me.”
>Uh oh.
>As you brace for some outrageous demand, the magnanimous mare tosses her mane to the side.
>“Lift up your arm.”
>Not being in any position to refuse, you do so.
>There’s a gentle creak from the wood as Rarity presses her body against your side.
>She looks thoughtful for a moment before her horn glows again, the scarf around your neck loosening ever so slightly before it wraps around her neck as well.
>With an expectant smile, she meets your eyes again.
>“Now lower it.”
>Again, you do as she asks.
>Sighing, Rarity snuggles her cheek into your chest and turns her eyes skyward.
>“Now, if you would be so kind, stay with me a while and watch the stars come out.”
>That’s it?
>At your question, the mare puffs out her cheeks and scowls.
>“You are making this gift-giving situation very difficult, Darling.  If you must give me something else, then a smile will do just fine.”
>Squirming again to get comfortable, Rarity smiles and looks upwards.
>“An evening with a dear friend is a precious gift as well, you know.”
>Well, she’s made herself pretty clear.
>With that, you set aside your feelings of inadequacy and settle in to a small half hug with the mare, the two of you sharing your warmth as singular points of light begin to burst into existence with the setting of the sun.
>It may not be Christmas with your family.
>But you’re not alone.
>And that’s something.