"It's not the clothes that make the pony, darling. One mare's… napkin, as you so elegantly put it, is another's ballroom gown." She struck a pose that belonged on a magazine cover, one foreleg curled and displaying the modest swell of her bicep. If one good thing had come of this outrageous ordeal with Fancy Pants, it was her new athletic figure. She had been meaning slim down for the longest time, and now, thanks to Fancy Pants and his questionable sexual interests, Rarity possessed the body of a track star.