Chapter 3: Mud, Moonshine, and Memories
Spitfire woke up rested and alert. She rushed to her desk, wanting to get as much time in as possible reviewing her notes before meeting with Mac. She pulled out the first file: Mint Julep’s.
“Okay. The manor was struck precisely...21 days ago. Possible front entrance. Most likely from the front entrance. Victim is Mint Julep, majority landowner in Appleloosa and wealthy investor; off-white mare with green-ish tint coat and dark brown mane. Magenta eyes.”
Spitfire sighed. “Possible motives: Extortion for the statue..maybe, but unlikely.” She tapped her hoof on the table. “Could be revenge for...something, or...” Crap. I don’t know.
Mumbling to herself, she tossed the file aside after ten minutes. She picked up the next file, doing the same. After overlooking, underlooking, and doing everything she could think of to keep her notes clear, Spitfire growled angrily. No one had a clear-cut reason to be robbed. They had no real enemies, no outstanding debts, nothing. The only pony even remotely close to having a rival was Mint Julep. She did own most of the land in Appleloosa, but the residents trusted her enough to not be disgruntled. Spitfire sighed, frustrated.
“Fine” she said, scrambling the papers on her desk. She stood, trotting downstairs and outside the sheriff’s office, and took to the skies. Can’t do anything about it now, she told herself. At least I can get a workout. Spitfire flew in the direction of the Chaff family farm, hoping Macintosh would probably be ready for their meet.
Spitfire sailed over the town square, racing towards Apple Ranch. The ranch came into view quickly; a large farmhouse dominating her vision. Banking around the corn silos, she spotted Big Mac waiting near the pig feeders. She landed in front of him, jolting upright from the reverb of force that suddenly stopped her.
“Sup” she said.
“Howdy, Spitfire. Yer early.”
“How do you know? I don’t see a clock anywhere.” she asked, jokingly annoyed. Big Mac pointed his hoof to the sky, directly at the sun.
“Oh, right.”She chuckled a little. Of course he could tell by the sun, he probably spends every day outside. “So, what’s this “fun” you’re gonna show me?” she asked, winking. “I half excepted you to show up wearing a saddle.”
Mac blushed, laughing a bit. “Ah guess Ah’d better head back an’ grab it then.”
Spitfire returned his blush. “N-Nah, I’m okay.”
“Alright then.” Big Mac walked towards the barn with Spitfire in tow. He opened the barn doors to reveal two carts, each with a large barrel inside them. “Since the irrigation went down after them robberies, we gotta water the seeds manually.”
“Mac, you said this’d be fun. How is pulling a heavy ass cart fun?”
“Whelp, pullin’ ain’t the fun part. Ah figured whipping yer flank up the orchard is the fun part.”
The competitive flame in Spitfire’s stomach started to bubble. “You wanna make this a race, bub?”
“Eeyup. First one to make it to the end to the corn rows wins.” He and Spitfire lined up with the start of a column of apple trees. A skinny dirt path ran in front of them, enough to fit one and a half ponies. Spitfire stood next to him, keeping her head low to the ground.
“You ready?” ask Mac, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.
Spitfire slowly grew a wide grin. “Ya know what, why don’t we make this a bit more interesting?”
Big Mac chuckled. “Ah think Ah sense a bet comin’.”
“If I win, I get one unconditional favor. And I can use it anytime.”
Mac smirked at this. “And what do Ah get if Ah win?”
“The same, but from me. Any favor.” Spitfire smiled, closing her eyes with pride. The favor of a Wonderbolt was a rare thing to have, and valuable at that. Next to the royal family, the Wonderbolts were one of the most respected institutions in Equestria.
“Hmm, any favor, ya say?” Mac rose his right brow.
Spitfire blush a bit, sputtering. “NOT...like that.”
Big Mac laughed. “Ah’m jus’ teasin’. Hell, if’n ya’ll win, I’ll even tell ya ‘bout mah sheriff days, back in tha day.”
Spitfire blinked. “But I didn’t even ask you yet! Um, I mean..” she chuckled nervously. “What makes you think I even want to know?”
“Ah dunno, maybe just cus Mr. Chaff told me. We country folk keep in touch.” He lowered his head as well, pulling his special running goggles down over his eyes.
Spitfire rubbed her neck nervously. “Yeah, probably shoulda just asked you, huh?”
“Well, now you got a chance ta find out” said Big Mac, raising his lips in a cocky grin. “Even if it is slim to none.”
Spitfire matched his attitude. “Ohhh! You’re so gonna eat those words!” she said smiling.
“One...” Mac spoke.
Spitfire shut her eyes, mentally preparing for the run. It was just a friendly competition, but she still wanted to win. She wasn’t gonna let a farmhand beat the captain of the Wonderbolts, especially in a race.
“Two...”
Spitfire waited for the three, but it didn’t come. She instead heard the sound of hoofbeats pass her. Her eyes shot open to a red blur running by.
“Hey!” she shouted, jumping into a run. Mac was already a good distance ahead, looking back with a cheeky grin.
Son of a... Spitfire couldn’t help but get a little angry at him. Dirty cheater! Galloping hard, she took a hard right onto the path leading to the budding corn rows. The top of the barrel in her cart sloshed, throwing off her balance. She ran behind Mac, nipping at his heels. Gritting her teeth, she started to overtake him, when another right came. Mac cut swiftly, leaving Spitfire behind again.
“Is that the best ya’ll can do?” Big Mac called over his shoulder.
OH. IT. IS. ON! Spitfire pushed hard against the ground, dashing forward at terminal velocity. The fire in her heart burned deeply, steeling her forward. Her throat burned, sweat starting to wet her brow, but Spitfire wasn’t going down without a fight. She caught up to Mac quickly, the drum of water rattling back and forth. The next left turn gave the advantage to her, and she started to push ahead of Big Macintosh. He wasn’t letting up either, though.
Damn, he just won’t quit. She turned her head quickly to check her competitor’s progress. Mac was close, galloping and smiling, hard. He didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked like he had just woke up.
How the...? Spitfire marveled at the stamina of her companion. She was sweating from the extra weight and extensive trek, and she was a professional athlete. Albeit an athlete with her wings, but still an athlete. How this farm stallion was able to keep up was beyond her.
She was running at top speed, trying to keep her cart in front of Mac. It wasn’t working. Big Mac pulled to her left, and started to make a move to pass. I just can’t let that happen, Spitfire thought.
She jumped forward, turning her cart slightly during the elevation. She tipped the water barrel, creating a thick trail of mud in Mac’s foreseeable future. As Spitfire landed, she turned to watch the madness.
“Nah, wait...!” Mac dug his hooves into the ground, which did little to slow his speed. His forelegs stuck just before the start of the mud, though his back legs did not. He pendulum’d over himself, landing face first in the viscous mud. The weight of his cart pushed Big Mac forward, trudging him through the mess.
“ACK! Mac croaked, unfortunately having his mouth open for the whole event.
“See ya at the end” joked Spitfire as she blazed down the path.
Mac eventually met Spitfire at the end, covered in a mixture of sand, water, mud, and disgust. He marched up to Spitfire scowling. “So Ah bet ya’ll thought that was real funny, huh?” he said, bits of dirt flinging out of his maw.
Spitfire shrunk under the gaze of the stallion. She wasn’t easily intimidated, not be a long shot, but she did feel a tad bit of guilt for what she’d done. We probably needed that water, and I wasted it. “Um, yeah, it kinda was.”
Mac furrowed his brow, staring a hole into Spitfire’s eyes. He took a deep breath, lifting his chest up. Spitfire knew this look. He was about to shout at her, something the drill sergeants used to do back at base to recruits. She braced herself, she probably deserved whatever he was gonna say.
That’s when she heard a deep, bellowing laugh emanate from Big Mac. He laughed hard, more bits of mud flying off his coat and mane. His orange mane bounced with the rhythm of his jubilation, and eventually, Spitfire joined him.
“Ah suppose yer right ‘bout that” he joked. “C’mon, let’s get this done so we can head back.”
Spitfire nodded, the two of them starting to work.
Big Mac and Spitfire dragged themselves back to the farm house, tired from a hard day’s work. Manual irrigation was a boring and menial task, but banter between the two kept each other at least interested. They talked about anything, Spitfire mostly about places she’d been, or ponies she’d met. Big Mac talked a lot about his family.
“An‘ then, AJ ended up gettin‘ flipped upside over, an‘ no one but Twilight ‘round ta give her a hoof.” Mac and Spitfire laughed together, though Big Mac knew his sister wouldn’t appreciate the joke on her behalf. Reaching the farm house, the wonderbolt turned to her companion.
“Hey Mac,” Spitfire said, “That actually was kinda fun.”
“Told ya” he retorted. As they returned their carts to the barn, Spitfire was surprised on how much fun she’d actually had. Hell, she was beaming. She unlatched her harness and trotted next to Mac, a bounce in her step.
“So...” she began, “Well, I did win the bet.”
“Seems so” said Mac.
“So that means you gotta tell me about you being sheriff, and I get one favor, and it can be anything...”
“That was the deal.” Mac was really starting to regret agreeing to this.
“I think...I think I’m gonna hold on to this.” Spitfire grinned mischievously.
“Great” Mac moaned. “C’mon, let’s wash up before we head out.”
“Head out?”
Mac wiped off a bit of the mud he still had on his coat. “Eeyup. Ya’ll thought Ah was jus‘ gonna start spewin‘ mah guts?”
Spitfire laughed. “Yeah...I guess not.” She followed him into the house. “So where are we going?”
“Figured we’d go down to The Salt-Lick.”
Spitfire was lost. “What’s that?”
Mac grinned. “Only the most reputable establishment this side o‘ Canterlot.”
“Out to dinner, huh? You sure know how to treat a mare.”
Mac chuckled. “I try.”
“Hell” she giggled teasingly “I get a few drinks in me, you might just get to use that saddle.”
Mac’s face reddened noticeable, which was a feat considering his coat. “Hehe...um, Spitfire, about...”
“Don’t worry, Mac” she mused. “ I’ll be gentle.”
Mac shook his head. “Spitfire, the Salt-Lick ain’t...”
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes” Spitfire said seductively, fluttering her eyes and dropping Mac’s jaw. She trotted away giggling. Free dinner and a story? Sometimes, being this awesome is too damn easy.
Big Mac stood outside The Salt-Lick, shifting his weight back and forth. Ah never shoulda agreed to this. He looked to his left, a slender yellow mare next to him. His eyes trailed down her form. With her uniform off, he noticed how fit Spitfire actually was, no doubt to the copious amount of training she undertook. Her two-toned, sunburst orange mane hung loosely to the side, trapped under a set of flying goggles. Mac could see they were old, and had been repaired a few times over. Wow, he thought, a blush gracing his face, she’s somethin’ else... He mentally chastised himself. Mac, focus!
“Hey” Spitfire waved her hoof in front of of Mac’s face. “Anyone home?”
Big Mac shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” He lead her inside, it’s heavy double doors swinging behind them. Spitfire’s mood leapt from content to jovial at what beheld her. A long, ash-gray bar sat along the back and right side wall. The walls behind it held mirrors, pictures of ponies past, and a literal ton of different flavors, brands, and types of booze.
“Now THIS is my kinda place!” Spitfire cheered. “Oh man! It’s like one of those old tyme saloons in those John Mayne movies.”
“That’s cause it is a saloon” said Mac.
He walked her over to a booth near the back. It was very old; a wooden thing with worn grooves dug into various sections. Spitfire could read a few names scratched into the surface, though there were plenty more that weren’t legible.
“So Mac, what’re we drinking?” Spitfire asked.
“Well, well, well! Look what we have here...” A voluptuous voice said at the end of their table. Spitfire turned her attention to the mare beside her. She was a green-tinted unicorn, with a long blonde mane and a dinner plate cutie mark on her flank. “Big Macintosh. It’s been a long time, sweetie.” The mare fluttered her eyes, smiling coyly at him.
“Eeyup.”
“Where have ya been? You said you’d call me...” The unicorn leaned over, placing her elbows on the table and lying her head in her hooves. Her lusty gaze over Big Mac hadn’t faltered in the slightest.
“No, you said I’d call you” argued Mac, a little disgruntled. “Spitfire, this is China Shine. miss Shine, we like a couple drinks.” He glared at China.
“Okay, honey. Anything for you...” she cooed.
“I’ll take an apple sarsaparilla.” Big Mac kept as stoic and plain-faced as possible, directing his eyes away from China Shine.
Spitfire chuckled. “A soda? Really Mac? You gotta loosen up a bit.” She turned to China Shine. “Gimme a....Manehattan Iced Tea.” The waitress only replied with a h’rumph. She watched China trot away, wondering what she did to receive the gruff response.
“Yo Mac, what was that all about?”
Big Macintosh sighed, looking down at the table. “Ah have....well, had a certain reputation ‘round these parts. Somethin‘ Ah’m not too proud of, and would like to put behind me.”
Well, if that isn’t cryptic... Spitfire laughed inwardly. “There’s no time like the present, Mac. Start talkin’, big guy.”
Macintosh sighed. He knew there was no way of getting out of this. But opening up to anypony was hard for the stallion, even more so with someone this new to him. He looked up, staring into Spitfire’s eyes. She was smirking, raising her left brow at him. But past that, he saw a glimmer of something familiar. Big Mac saw that Spitfire, no matter how bored or annoyed she was, at least had the potential to be trustworthy. He didn’t know how he knew what he did; maybe because of her actual reason for being here, maybe it was something else entirely, but Mac felt it.
Big Mac inwardly groaned, loosing his jaw for the exercise he was going to give it. “In mah youth, Ah wasn’t the brightest stallion...”
Many years ago, inside a more well kept version of The Salt-Lick...
“Damn, girl! Watch yerself.”
A young, large, red furred stallion laughed as a small yellow earth pony danced on a long, stable bar. She shook her flank with great enthusiasm, bumping and bouncing along with the classic vaudevillian music playing in the saloon. She dipped low near the stallion, his eyes peeking up greedily at her. Even through his crimson coat, one could tell he was blushing deeply. The stallion averted his gaze for a second, checking to see his drink was securely in his hoof. Satisfied, he threw the amber fluid down his gullet, finishing it in one gulp.
“Hey now, Sheriff. Don’t ya think ya had enough?” A charcoal stallion said from behind the bar. He wore a striped vest around his chest, and was cleaning a mug with one of the many rags in his vest pocket.
“Aww Squeaky Clean, Ah’m jus‘ havin‘...*hich*...a little fun.” The stallion chortled. His eyes glazed ever so slightly, he brought his attention back to the dancing mare. “Now, where were we?” The yellow mare giggled, bending down and brushing her tail across his chin.
“MACINTOSH! YOU GIT YER WRETCHED, TWICE DEAD FLANK OUT HERE!”
The voice rang through the town square, followed by a deadly silence. The music inside the bar stopped; the mare stopped dancing; nearly everything in the town just stopped. The red stallion frowned, pushing himself off the stool he’d been sitting on. He trotted over to the coat rack near the door. A long, dusty brown coat hung on it, a bandolier next to it. The stallion first applied the bandolier, the holster on it sitting below the right side of his ribcage. He threw the duster over it, his front hooves sliding effortlessly into it.
“Squeaky, get mah hat” said the large stallion gruffly. The bartender retrieved it, tossing it to the sheriff. He caught it in his mouth, flipping the brown stetson onto his head. It sat just behind his ears, pushing his orange mane forward a little.
A steel apparatus also sat on one of the wooden pegs, which he attached to his right foreleg. It wrapped around it, sitting just above the solid part of his hoof. A small lever stuck out from the contraption, pointing inward towards the body of the pony. He tested it, gently twitching the muscles near the lever. It snapped up against him. Alright, he thought. Workin‘ fine.
“Damn it...” sighed Sheriff Macintosh, defender of Appleloosa. “Looks like the fun is over.”
He walked through the double doors of The Salt-Lick, kicking up dust as he hit the road. Three large earth ponies stood before him, though their attention was on a smaller, midnight blue pegasus. She had a dark purple mane that was windswept but long, curling by the tips. Two stripes ran through her mane; one navy blue and the other black.
“Decided to show up, huh Mac?” she asked demurely.
“Course. Can’t let mah deputy go it alone...” Macintosh scowled at the group, coming to a stop next to the pegasus mare. “So, Skyshade. Which one ya’ll want first?”
“Mac, no. Hell no. We don’t need another fight...” she leaned close to him. “You drunk again?” she hissed venomously.
Mac scowled in offense. “No....well, not very.”
“Shit, Mac!” Skyshade cursed under her breath. The outlaws stayed close together, shifting their gaze between Skyshade and Big Mac. The stallion in the center took a step forward. He wore a tight gray vest over his dusty yellow fur. He had a coffee-brown mane and tail that were spiky and unkempt. His piercing blue eyes shot ahead, eyebrows low and angry. His cutie mark was shaped like a bull’s head, it’s red hue in dark contrast to his fur.
“HEY!” the stallion shouted, bringing the law’s attention back to himself. “Now listen here, Sheriff!” he spat, “Ya’ll done fucked up now!”
Mac snorted. “Um...kay? Who’re you again?”
The yellow back-pedaled slightly. “Wha-!? You son-of-a-bitch!” The stallion hissed. “Ya think yew can mess with Raging Bull an’ get away with it!?”
“Um, yeah?”
The hissing turned into a full-scale roar. “Ya’ll can’t jus’ destroy mah speakeasy an’ walk away!”
Skyshade shot Mac a glance. “You d-destroyed a...when?”
Mac avoided Sky’s eyes. “Ah didn’t mean to” he said ashamed. “Ya know how tequila hits me.”
“Yer gonna pay for it, too!” Raging Bull shouted. His lackeys began to circle the two. Although they only outnumbered them three to two, it was still an advantage they would want to take care of.
“Hey now, we can settle this peacefully...no need for violence.” Skyshade was doing her best to rectify the situation. Appleloosa was a quickly growing settlement, but that wouldn’t last if their reputation didn’t hold up. Sheriff Macintosh was a good pony. He had a strong morale standing and wasn’t afraid to put himself in danger for the safety of others.
When he was sober.
Macintosh’s greatest flaw was his love of firewater. There were few nights when he didn’t indulge as least a little. A drunk Mac usually involved some form of mischief and a late night visit for Skyshade. Luckily, nothing he’d done caused any harm, but Sky had a feeling that it was just a matter of time before something really bad happened.
Big Mac was having no part of the peace negotiations. “Ah reckon we’re past that, Sky” He snorted. “Did ya’ll think you can waltz in here, threaten mah deputy, mah home, an’ no have any repercussions fer it? Ya’ll think yer gonna walk away, don’tcha?”
Raging Bull steeled his conviction, his two lackeys standing at opposite sides of the lawponies. “Yes Ah did, and Ah still intend to.”
“Well, Ah guess that’s that” Mac sighed. He scooted closer to Sky, so only she could hear him. “On the count of three...” Mac spoke, his loose tongue slightly slurring his words.
“On the count of three....what?” growled Skyshade.
“One” the red stallion drawled.
“You didn’t explain anything!” she whispered.
“Two..” The wind picked up, kicking the dust around town at a lightning fast pace. The showdown had drawn attention from some of the townsfolk, though none were brave enough (or foolhardy enough) to step outside. The air around the ponies grew stale even as it blew up plumbs of dust. It seemed like the desert knew to except at least one new inhabitant. Raging Bull’s tail flicked ever so gently, flinching under the deadly tension he was experiencing. That was enough to give Mac his cue.
“Three!”
Mac dove right, launching through Skyshade and bringing her with him. At the same time, he kicked a pile of sand to his left, luckily catching the stallion standing there in the eye. The stallion shrieked, surprised by the dirty tactic and in quite a lot of pain. He reached for his gun, his tail whipping downward to grasp the weapon sloppily.
Mac continued to dive, his sideways motion trapping Skyshade from flying away. To him, everything seemed to move much slower than normal; due to adrenaline or liquor, he couldn’t tell. He watched the sands hit his attacker’s face, little clots of ground rock and debris ricocheting off his muzzle and cheeks. The stallion’s tail swished gracefully, flowing like a river. It felt like he was viewing one of those neighponese action flicks. Mac’s vision cleared, he was somehow able to pick out incredibly small details in his attacker’s face. He and Skyshade were nearly completely sideways by now, and he focused on the stallion in front of him.
Mac drew his revolver, tracking the end of the barrel on Raging Bull’s skull. Bull had also drawn, but his technique was flawed and slow. Certainly not enough to outshoot Macintosh.
A single blast cried out in the chaos, an enormous CRACK! launching forth from Mac’s gun. The white smoke from Mac’s barrel obscured his view, but the gut-wrenching splatter he heard confirmed his hit.
Suddenly, another two cracks echoed above him; the one from his left he immediately felt speed past his ear. The other having come from the right. Reflexively, he grabbed at his face, but felt no pain or blood. Macintosh laid his body over his deputy, making sure she wouldn’t be hurt due to his antics. He was a drunk, but who say’s a drunk can’t also be a gentlecolt.
“Mac...get off...you’re...crushing...me...” Skyshade gasped.
“Sorry” he chuckled, rolling off her and onto his stomach. Panting on the ground, Mac looked at his work, grimacing. The two stallions on either side of him were, at the very least, injured badly. In the confusion, they each fired ahead of themselves, but Mac figured they actually hit each other. The one to his right was wheezing deeply, a large spot of red painted across the front of his chest. He didn’t stand much of a chance out here; Appleloosa didn’t have much of a hospital, and dealing with a wound that deep was hard enough as it is.
Glancing to his left, Mac didn’t have to guess at the state of Bull’s other assistant. Staring back at Mac was a pair cold, dead purple eyes, a thin streak of blood flowing out of the corners. The sand Mac had kicked on him was wet from spit and his life stream, clinging around his muzzle as a stamp of his final actions. Sheriff Macintosh looked away; what was done was done, and he’d do it again if need be, but that didn’t make it easier.
He pushed himself up, shrugging the dust off his shoulders. Mac walked over to the stallion near death. He took a deep, pained breath and pushed it out just as hard. Holding his weapon still, Mac looked down the barrel and into the eyes of the other pony. The pony looked up, meeting the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
The stallion wheezed. “Do it, you bastar-”
The crack of gunpowder rang out, reverberating into Mac’s ears. Macintosh released his lungs, shaking a little from involuntarily holding his breath. Mercy kills were always the hardest for him; the proximity, the sound. But mostly, Mac couldn’t stand the look in the eyes opposing him. He took another few deep breaths and walked over to where Skyshade lay, trying to forget the actions he just so recently performed.
He offered his hoof to Skyshade, who pushed it away, choosing to stand on her own. “Damn it, Mac! The last thing this town needs is more bodies...”
“Hey, at least we’re keepin’ Old Mort in business.” Mac waved to an older-looking stallion with a peppered mane and colt. The stallion had slowly creeped out from his shop, waving back.
“Another three boxes, eh?” he called from his porch.
Mac nodded his head, turning back to Skyshade with a smile. One she did not return. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” she shouted.
“...Eeyup.”
“Worse, you could’ve gotten ME killed!”
Mac laughed. “Now that’s the real tragedy.”
Skyshade raised her hoof and slapped him across the face, causing Macintosh to flinch slightly. “Ow! What was that fer?” Mac pouted.
“That was for gettin’ me shot at, being toasted on the job, and generally ruining my day!” Skyshade spat, flaring her nostrils and wings angrily. Mac recoiled a little, the adrenaline in his body slowly overcoming the light alcohol haze. Shade’s anger faded quickly though, her scowl twisting into a devious smirk. She leapt forward, kissing him hard on the lips, not really caring about finesse or technique. Mac’s eyes shot open, clearly not excepting, or ready for this.
She pulled back just as quickly, chuckling to herself as she trotted away down the street. Mac stood still, trying to process what the hell just happened. Coming back to his sense, he quickly caught up to his partner, a dumbstruck look strewn on his face.
“An‘ what was that fer?”
“That?” Skyshade said, trotting happily ahead, “...I don’t know what that was for.”
“Do ya think we should clean them up?” asked Mac, nodded at the bodies behind him.
His partner hummed, then shook her head. “Nahh, Mort needs the exercise.”
Big Mac finished his third sarsaparilla, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly though he was still kinda nervous. He’d just admitted to killing a pony, although justified, to a mare who he’d just met, and who was in the military. Mac doubted she would call him out on it, but still...
“So, ya heard mah story. Ah told ya ah wasn’t that bright” he anxiously laughed.
Spitfire stared into her own mug, her...fifth? Sixth? She couldn’t really remember. Damn, this backwoods stuff is strong, she thought. She looked up, smiling to Mac’s surprise. “That is quite the tale” she chuckled, “...sheriff Macintosh.” She finished off her drink sloppily. “So where’s this Skyshade? I wanna meet this girl, sounds like you two had a thing.”
Mac smirked. “Why, you jealous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself” Spitfire chuckled.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, Sky’s...she moved on. An’ no, we didn’t. It was...complicated.” The smile on Mac’s face faded, his eyes glimmering in the low lightning of the bar.
“Oh.” Spitfire shifted awkwardly. She saw sadness in his eyes, the pain of loss evident. Being in that kind of position was weird enough, but she pushed him into it. “Umm, wanna talk about it?”
Mac sighed. “Maybe another time.” The two sat in an uncomfortable silence. The sounds of friends and good times ricocheted around the bar, but the feelings didn’t penetrate the two. Spitfire motioned for more drinks, and thankfully for her the waitress was fast. Spitfire grabbed her drink, getting something a little harder this time. “So...”
“Eeyup?”
“So...what was that about a “dancer”? I assume it had something to do with this former reputation of yours.”
Big Mac giggled. “Yeah, well...Ah did say Ah was young...and stupid.”
“I can drink to that” Spitfire said, raising her mug and downing most of the now clear liquid. She coughed, this was certainly strong. “To being young and stupid.”
Mac nodded, tipping his bottle forward before taking another drink. Big Mac and Spitfire idly chatted, mostly about nothing. The boisterous attitude of the bar did help the two open up a little. Mac’s family came up, which led to stories of his sister’s (and their friends). Spitfire found their hijinks pretty hilarious, especially one instance involving a certain romantic holiday, spilling some of her drink from laughter. Mac just found them troublesome.
The night wore on, and eventually last call came around. Mac slid out of the booth, sober as a bird. Spitfire...well, she also slid out, although fell out was probably more accurate. She caught herself on her front hooves just before smacking her head into the floor.
“...I’m okay” she said. Her drunken chuckles were giving her away, not that she would be inconspicuous without them. Big Mac helped her up, leading her to the door.
“Why don‘ we take you home?”
“Mmmmkay.”
Mac grunted as he pushed open the heavy bar doors. Wind whipped past the two at a furious rate, nearly knocking over one of the tables at the entrance. The two braced against the brewing storm and Mac trotted forward first, turning his head away. Spitfire matched his movements in a slightly less refined way. They walked close to the edge of the road, hoping the buildings would shield them. They didn’t. The low-hanging roofs actually worked against them, acting like a wind tunnel and funneling the air pressure directing into the ponies.
After a good amount of struggling, Mac arrived at the sheriff’s department a bit ahead of Spitfire. She stumbled next to him, when a sudden burst of air hit her on the right side. She lost her footing and fell into Big Mac, having to use him as support. Her head rested against his side, right by his heart. Spitfire could feel it beating rapidly through his ribs.
“Hey Mac,” she slurred, absentmindedly rubbed her head up and down. “ You..r-really gotta l-lay off the caff...caffin...sugar. Gonna have a heart attack.” Spitfire opened the front door, waving goodbye over her shoulder.
Mac stood on the deck of the building for a while before heading back towards Braeburn’s. He wiped his brow, having broken a light sweat. Calm down, Mac. She didn’t mean nothin by that. Ah shouldn’t bother worryin’ bout it. But he knew that would be somewhat of a problem. Big Mac always had a weakness for the opposite sex; luckily the farm took up most of his time and focus. If not, he’d most likely would’ve gotten into much more trouble around Ponyville. Not only that, but there was something about this particular mare. Something that reminded him of an old, close friend.
Mac trudged through the windstorm until he reached a plot of land just next to Braeburn’s ranch. It was normally scheduled, because of the apple trees. But the recent droughts had seen to that, drying up and killing a good portion of Braeburn’s product. Mac walked up to a small oak sapling, it’s fruits not having come in yet. Mac praised the princesses this one hadn’t dried up yet. He sat down, staring a hole in it’s base.
“Hey.” Mac swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “Ah...Ah know Ah haven’t visited much o‘ late.”
The wind slowed a bit, and Mac felt the very beginnings of rain dust his coat. The news of good weather did nothing to brighten his disposition. He kept his eyes trained on the tree base, most precisely on a small rock placed next to the base.
“The rains are coming tonight. Been a while since the last one was this heavy.”
The breeze picked back up and rain lightly, but steadily, poured over him. The water began to pool in a few places, the sandy ground not used to absorbing so much so quickly. Big Macintosh’s mane and coat were a bit damp, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Ah went on a date tonight. Well, not really, but...sorta. You woulda like’d her, she’s...a lot like you.” Mac inched closer to the stone, bent down and kissed the rock. “Ah’ll make sure ta check in again soon, ‘kay Shade?”
He turned from the rock and slowly walked to the house. Skyshade’s headstone was diminutive in appearance, but only because the oak was her actual tombstone. It had been an old Apple family tradition to bury loved ones under an oak tree, the significance being that oaks always stood firm and tall. Walking inside the ranch home, Macintosh turned and looked up, thanked Celestia again for the rain; it was really good at covering up tears.