//------------------------------// // Tuesday // Story: Love is in Bloom // by StayedGolden //------------------------------// “Anon! Hey Anon!” Your awesome dream is ripped from you in those two words. You were a super cool, famous author with vibrant brown hair, a dazzling smile, and at least a dozen chicks wanting your sweet, sweet bod. But instead of giving it to them, all you can do is struggle to sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. There’s a strange pressure on your legs, keeping you from moving them. Opening your eyes, a blurry shape forms before you. Apple Bloom. Of course. Leaning in closer, she tries again to get your attention: “Anooooooooo-“ Your hand covers her mouth, informing her that yes, I heard you the first time. “Anon,” comes the garbled reply from her covered mouth. “What?” you say, trying to be short, but being unable to deliver upon seeing her excited face. “Anon, wanna go on an adventure?” You tilt your head, not sure if you heard her right. “An adventure?” “Yeah, an adventure! Me and my friends are gonna see if we can find our cutie-marks today!” She’s still not making any sense, you think to yourself, not sure whether you ought to blame her youthful silliness or your being half-asleep. You shift your legs, just enough to make her uncomfortable, and she wobbles off. Her radiant face returns to you after securing her balance, an answer still eagerly anticipated. But this was morning, and you were not an early riser. Turning your body away from her, you swivel your legs out from under the covers and perch on your bed. Shit. You’ve got a pair of boxes just filled to burst with morning wood. And judging by the look of the opening in the front, bursting was imminent. You lurch forward, hoping Bloom doesn’t have to be subjected to this. Keeping your front facing away from her, you turn back to look at her. She’s dropped her inquisitive look, and seems to be focused on something lower. The back side of your boxers, it would appear. You were wearing those gundam shorts she marveled at a bit ago, so maybe she was just looking at that. You kindly ask her to “Leave so I can put on some pants!” to which she breaks her staring contest, and hesitantly walks over to the door. She doesn’t quite leave, instead hanging around. Thinking she’s gone, you turn towards the door and pick up the pants from yesterday, lying there on the floor. It’s only when the door closes not a few moments later that you realize you just showed off a very visible half-mast. Luckily, no one is here to see your cheeks burst into flame. Your horrified look, filled with worry over who might be told and how much trouble you get in, is not witnessed. You grimace, then pull your pants all the way up. Well, whatever happens, happens. You pull down a clean shirt, some socks, and march out the door, ready for any doom that might present itself. Trudging down the stairs, your body still drunk on sleep, you enter the kitchen. Bright light seems to pile on every surface, the multiple windows eager to present the morning sun. You shield your eyes and take a minute to get used to it. The sound of clinking dishes grabs your notice first, followed by the bright glows of red and yellow hair, belonging to the Apple girls. On the table is a pile of pancakes and bacon, with all the necessary sides. By the looks of the little pile, much of it has already been eaten, though it is more than sufficient for your appetite. You wish the Apple girls a good morning as you fill a plate. Applejack turns and offers you a bright smile and returns the greeting. Bloom keeps washing dishes. A sinking feeling fills your stomach, but you push it to the side. Nothing you can do, you think. Nothing you can do. Practically a motto for you at this point. You sit at the table, silently eating the delicious breakfast, when a Bloom returns. Her face perfectly matches the one which woke you up, unchanged by the sight she could not have missed. Her question returns, as though no other questions or concerns needed consideration: “So do you wanna hang out with us?” After this, you figure you ought to stay on her good side. If that meant hanging out with a bunch of hyperactive freshmen… . Eh, you could do it. Whatever she wanted was gonna be the name of the game today. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good!” “Yay!” she shouts, a small leap of joy sending her bouncing upwards “I just know we’re gonna get our Cutie Marks today!” Wait a minute. You thought you’d misheard the first time “What’s a Cutie Mark?” “You mean you don’t know?” Something akin to shock and horror cover her face “Can’t say I do.” You don’t entirely follow what happens next, but it has to do with a specific skill or your purpose in life or whatever, something you find out after you try it and you guess a little picture that you make, which you then gotta put everywhere? It isn’t particularly clear. Apple Bloom points at AJ’s tri-apple hair clip, and tells you how she’s got that symbol everywhere. You do seem to recall seeing that symbol a lot around her You nod and tell her that you’ll “… help you out today.” “Well, not just me, silly,” she laughs, poking your head. “It’s all three of us.” You hear a door slam open, and two high-pitched voices scream in unison: “THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS!!!” As the pretty girl jumped up and rushed to the door in excitement, you breathed a heavy sigh. It was gonna be a long day. Three girls filter in through the door, big smiles on all their faces. First if, of course, your cousin Apple Bloom, wearing her trademark red bow and the sweetest smile. She’s got these tight little shorts on and a light green camisole to match her bow, matching the hot July weather. In the middle is a girl with pink and purple striped hair, filled with curls, and a big blue pair of overalls covering a white and pink striped shirt. Her skin is straight white, like a darn marshmallow, and she’s got these luminescent green eyes. She’s wearing a smile to match Bloom’s. Completing the weird-haired trio is this purple haired chick, cut real short. She’s got purple eyes to match, and a sort of defiant half-sneer, the sort of expression that asks the world to give her all she’s got . Still, you can tell she’s happy too, just by the bounce she’s got in her step. She’s wearing a light brown shirt with green pants, and a small red backpack. Oh, and there was one more thing. They all had little blue badges, with a caped yellow figure poorly sewn on top of it. They stand before you, proudly sticking their meagre chests out. All three of them hold a little smirk, staring off into the mid-distance while looking like a posing superhero squad. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t cute. After a moment, the purple-haired one steps forward, landing squarely inside your personal space bubble. She thrusts her chin forward, staring you directly in the eye: “I’m Scootaloo!” she boasts, as if she were presenting a priceless treasure owned by her exclusively. “I’m guessing you’re the Anon that Apple Bloom won’t shut up about?” You start to nod, before you see Apple Bloom’s cheeks turn as red as her bow. Broken, unsuppressed chuckles tumble from your mouth when Bloom looks at the ground, her arms sticking to her sides, ending in fists. “Ah did not talk about him that much!” she answers Scootaloo petulantly. The white-skinned one tilts her head inquisitively and widens her already large eyes and informs Bloom in the voice of pure innocence: “But he’s all you talked about for the past day.” Scootaloo snorts, and gives her assent: ”You sure were. Really blew up my phones with this guy.” She looks you up and down with the eye of an antique dealer. . You even sure her mouth compress and a small “hmmm” escape during her elongated appraisal. Distinctly uncomfortable, you look to the side and see the unnamed third eying you with a similar lack of shame. Her eyes are focused on you, her eyes boring into yours before they lower slowly, covering your mouth, chest, and… geez, she’s really giving you the eye down there. You cough loudly, hoping to interrupt the girls in their tactless staring. You fail. Turning your gaze to your Bloom, you tilt your head and raise your hands in a what-the-hell stance. She returns by throwing her hands up and shaking her head, apologetic and helpless at the same time. “Well, let’s go!” comes the tomboyish voice of Scootaloo, who promptly turns and heads door-wards. “Wait a second!” you start, halting the three girls. “You didn’t say who you were.” You point at the third, wide-eyed girl. “Oh!” she stammers, before telling you “I’m Sweetie Bell. Rarity’s sister.” Apple Bloom elbows her, and loudly whispers “He don’t know your sister, he just got here.” Sweetie looks surprised, then… relieved? Before you can ask her who her sister is, you’ve got Apple Bloom tugging at your arm and Scootaloo pushing your back, both moving you towards the door. “Come on, get a move-on,” says the pusher. You’d be annoyed if she wasn’t so damn cute. You feel a distinct lack of shame in you titling of Scoots, happy to find a girl to think cute who doesn’t share your genes. Sweetie’s pretty cute too, you demure to yourself. By this time, she’s got your other arm, pulling you along with Bloom. You feel like you’re being railroaded into something by their insistence on you moving without having given any indication of not wanting to go. Not that you really wanted to go; these girls were cute and all, but they were also freshmen girls. Still, you wanted to make sure Bloom didn’t say anything. The door arrives, and you find yourself pushed through, into the bright outdoors. As you march along streams and grassy knolls and so forth, Scootaloo begins tell you about the day ahead “So, we’re here to figure out what we’re gonna do with our lives,” she says without a trace of unhappiness at her cluelessness. You wished you could join her in that. “And so we do everything we can to find that little spark you get you when you do something you know you have to do. Which brings us to today.” She stops in her tracks, and turns to face you. “There’s three things we can do today: roller-skating, nail-painting, or skateboarding.” One of these doesn’t feel like it belongs. . Confusedly, you ask her if nail-painting is something you do for a living. She scoffs “That among other things. Maybe we’re supposed to be manicurists. Maybe you are.” You don’t try to disguise your horror at the idea of spending an afternoon painting nails and getting your own painted goodness knows what color. “Why don’t we pass on that one,” you tell her. She breathes out a sigh of relief you didn’t know she was holding. “Good,” she breathes, before explaining the other options. “Now, I know a really cool place to skateboard, but we can only roller skate at the arena. It’s kids-skate-free day, so there’s gonna be a lot of little kids there.” Again, horror graces your face, leading her to assume your choice of skateboarding. “Skateboarding it is,” she cries triumphantly, pumping her fist in the air. The other girls look at her with suspicion and you do realize there was a hint of deviousness in her explanations. As you’re led further, you think on it, and realize that she pretty obviously framed the options so skateboarding would be picked. It doesn’t bother you, however. She was pretty clearly a tomboy, and neither nail-painting nor spending the day with kids could be expected to lie within her preferences. A cute girl wanting to skateboard wasn’t so bad, you think to yourself. . You lead the troupe, walking directly in front of everyone as the lot of you walk off the trail and into a thicker part of the nearby forest. Dense leaves brush against you, and the two other girls are clinging to your back, keeping safe from the obstructive branches. Once the trees and foliage begin to thin out, they move up and in, almost clinging to your sides. You can notice their close proximity to you, enjoying the grip of delicate hands of pretty girls on the sleeve of your flannel. They huddle close to you, like scared girlfriends in haunted houses. You savor the feeling, then try to cease immediately when you remember that one of these beautiful girls is your cousin. You would have succeeded, if Bloom hadn’t been whacked by a branch Scoots had accidently pulled forward, causing her to bury herself deep in your shirt with a hurt squeak. Scootaloo draws your attention from the girls by stopping at a ridge.. She turns back, sporting an impish smirk.. As you step out next to her, you see the deep incline of the hill beneath you, riddled with trees and rocks. Oh no. Scoots gives you a wicked grin, and points to an area down the slope “That’s where we’re gonna go” You can do this. You’re a big cool guy. Not to mention there’s three cute girls watching. You look from side to side, both Sweetie and Bloom looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. Looking to see if you’re manly enough. The two girls holding onto your arms convinces you to go through with it. Not that Scoots wasn’t deeply involved in this as well. Her defiant smile can’t be resisted: you can’t resist the challenge. But you don’t have be stupid just because you’re stupid. You step forward, leaving the two girls behind you. Matching her cocky smirk, you ask her “Why don’t you show me how it’s done? It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a skateboard.” A small sliver of fear flashes across her face, breaking the façade for only a moment. “Sure,” she replies, her show of confidence almost convincing you entirely. She places the skateboard on the ground, her tiny shoe resting on top of it. The wind blows softly, rustling her hair as she gazes downwards, planning her descent. Then, without a word, she kicks the ground and brings that foot onto the board. The two other girls gasp, and grab onto your arms once more. You hardly notice the painful squeezing in your own absorption in Scootaloo’s descent. She flies down the hill, gaining speed. She dodges a tree, then another by swiveling her hips to swerve around them. The hill, grassy as ever, doesn’t serve to accelerate her too quickly, slowing down as the decline evens out, she skids to a stop, hopping off the board as it lightly bumps into a nearby tree. The three of you exhale, having held your breath since the start. You start forward, going down to meet her. The two girls at your side, remembering your purpose down here, sprint ahead. But the hill was bumpier than it appeared, and both have respective difficulties. Sweetie Belle falls, her knee hitting the ground. She brings herself up afterward, dusting herself off, and whining about the dirt stains. Apple Bloom may have been fine if she were looking where she was going. But her eyes were on Sweetie, and she trips on a rock in her path. Apple Bloom’s tumble is worse, falling into a nearby tree “Apple Bloom!” you shout automatically, your whole body tensing up. You run after her immediately, terrified for her. Leaping over rocks and vines, you barely keep yourself up as you make your way to her. Arriving at her, you collect her into her arms, your scared eyes meeting hers “Are you ok? Are you ok?” you ask more times than you need to. She looks at you, a small bruise on her face “Yeah, Anon, I’m fine,” she answers with a small smile “I’ve had worse. Regularly.” Your eyes move down to her light cloth shirt, which now sported a gaping hole in the center. Enough to see a frilly bra underneath it. It isn’t clear how long you were looking, but it was definitely longer than you should’ve. Following your own eye, she realizes what you’re looking at. “Eep!” she cries, covering her shirt with both hands, a blush filling her cheeks. You step back, your own face burning up. You mumble an apology and excuse yourself while Sweetie Belle arrives on the scene. Scootaloo had been jogging up the hill, but you flash her a thumbs up, letting her know her friend is okay. She looks concerned, then keeps on coming. She arrives to the panicking Apple Bloom insisting that the lot of you go home immediately. Sweetie Bell agrees, and begins looking around “Which way is the fastest way home?” Scootaloo looks down the hill, then gives you the impish grin from before “Down the hill’s the fastest way. So you can still show us how cool you are.” Man, what the hell. “Don’t you think that’s a little unnecessary, given the circumstances?” “What circumstances? Her shirt got torn, and we have to get home. This doesn’t impede that.” At this, she takes a step towards you, her foot landing solidly between your own. Her face tilts up, inches from yours “Unless you’re too much of a wimp.” There’s something else in her voice, something other than the bitchiness on the outside. Not that you can fully notice it; the girl whose chest is nearly pressed against yours, her minty breath too clear for comfort, is kind of distracting you. You take a step back, muster your confidence, and try to match her cockiness “Yeah, sure, I’ll do it.” You turn over to the other girls, who had been staring at you. Bloom’s got her hand clutching her shirt, and has gotten up. Both pairs of eyes move from you to Scoots and back, mouths barely ajar. You look back to Scoots, who’s still looking at you with those devilish eyes that you’ve been seeing all night. With a sigh, you give up on figuring out what exactly these girls are doing, and start down the hill, towards the lone skateboard. Scoots had made it to a flat clearing, but the hill wasn’t finished yet. The second portion looked even longer, with more trees and rocks than you appreciated. But you were Anon, and you were going full man-mode. The soft feet of your watchers behind you, you step confidently onto the skateboard. You went skiing a long time ago, and you knew that the longer you looked downhill, the less likely you were to actually go. And so you scan quickly for the best path, kick off, and start down. The first thing you notice is that your shoes are not right for this. They aren’t slipping off, per se, but they do not have the grip you know you need. But you’re going faster and faster, and jumping off fails to be an option. You bend down, placing your right hand on the side of the board, trying to keep your center of gravity close to the board. You hold on tightly, and swerve to miss a tree rocketed towards you. Another tree looms in the near future, and you tilt slightly, swishing past that. Rocks and more trees appear, and you safely navigate them all. At this point, you’re making wide swerves, trying to balance out the vertical motion with some side-to-side motion, in order to prevent a constant acceleration. It seems to be working so far, with your maximum speed being slightly unimpressive, but probably keeping you from flying out of control. But one tree comes out where you need it to not, and you’re forced to disrupt your motion, swerving right earlier. It would have been fine, had you not ran into a rocky outcrop. The rumbling under your skateboard disrupts your concentrated efforts, and you find the board wobbling violently underneath you. A thick rock, jutting out at the bottom, touches your front right wheel, and that’s all it takes to send you flying. Only natural that you would fall too, given how it seems to be the norm for today. Your body, airborne for almost three beautiful, terrifying seconds, finally returns to its rightful place in a soft crunch. Sticks break beneath you, a dust cloud arises from your landing area. Groaning in pain, you try to sit up, only for a shock of abdominal pain to implore your cessation. You acquiesce, folding into the fetal position while gritting your teeth. To top it off, the shrieks of high school girls pierce your ears in unison, and grow in size as the footsteps herald their you-ward sprint. The trio of girls arrive at your side, kneeling down. They place their hands on you, worried shrieks frenetically questioning your health. You suck in your breath, and roll over, your chest facing the sky and your legs half bent. Your right arm is trapped underneath your body, unable to be moved. You begin to say you’re fine, but a coursing pain compels you to quit. Unable to maintain the façade of being cool, you try to avoid being a huge wuss, choking the whines and moans threatening to exit your blood-speckled lips. You raise a hand, inviting them to help you up. Apple Bloom grips it immediately, the other two fishing out your right arm with a little help from you. Arms pointed towards the hills in the distance, the three girls pull with all their might, standing you up on abused legs. A pained groaning forces its way out as your arms are positioned on freshman shoulders, heads of purple and pink touching your chest. You notice the caress of your left hand, alternatively squeezing it and rubbing it. Before you can consider the cause, you gasp as you put your weight on your protesting legs. Your weight comes back to the young girls, and you submit yourself to the cute crutches demanding you do so. And so it is for the rest of the journey down the hill and to the house: two concerned girls holding you up and glancing worriedly up at you, and the unseen third petting and squeezing your hand. Bloom foregoes her attendance of your hand as she leaps ahead to ready the house’s door. The previous spurts of agony now blunted, you wonder at the regret you feel at your lonely left hand. You’re led in, turned towards a tall stool, and helped onto it. The kitchen counter before it provides sweet rest, and your legs dangle in the air, rejoicing at the absence of the Earth’s unkind touch. Your head is still somewhat blurry from the pain, but you hear something about treatments, and your escorts fly from you. Apple Bloom is the first to return, having only moved to the kitchen cabinet to retrieve some pills and a glass of water. You can see the worry in her face as she sits next to you, and turns your cut face towards her. She assumes your folded arms aren’t functional, and feeds you the pills, followed by pressing the edge of the glass of water to your lips and turning upwards. The water comes too quickly, and more than a little spills out of your mouth and onto your chin and hands. Making sure to swallow the pills first, you burst out laughing, followed by your anguished chest demanding that you stop. You didn’t think her face could look any more fearful, but she manages to top it when she sees her feeding failure. Determined to help, she sets her face tight in determination, telling you and your attempt to push her glass away that no, no, she’s got this. Her deep concentration leads her to discover the blood smattered about your lips and jaw, the few open cuts having been ignored in favor of finding medicine. Sweetie Belle enters the room with some gauze, and is immediately instructed to get a wet rag. She obeys, handing them both to Scootaloo, who had just entered through the same door holding a bottle, presumably peroxide or alcohol. Apple Bloom grabs the rag out of Scoot’s hands, and begins delicately swabbing your lips. You look at her in confusion when you notice her staring at them, her movements becoming slower and robotic. The rag is slowly pushed out of the way, leaving her fingers tenderly brushing your lips. She licks her lips, and shakes her head, turning away from you, her fingers not stopping. Your lips part slightly, unbeknownst to you. Soft fingers moving about press into the new opening, the inner curve of your lips now being given the same magical treatment. You’re caught to in sensations, the caress capturing you completely. A small cough interrupts your reverie, and you notice an impatient-looking Scootaloo with another rag. Sweetie Belle tugs at her collar in what looks like embarrassment, and Bloom’s hand flees from your lips. Taking a deep breath, you purse your lips and look towards Scoots. She looks annoyed at you, before stepping forward and taking your right arm without gentleness. You cry out in pain, bringing a somber look to her eyes before they grow hard again. As she begins cleaning your arm, she informs you that you shouldn’t have been skateboarding so stupidly, you idiot. You’d retort, but her scrubbing is less than rough, and you don’t want to incur further wrath. Apple Bloom begins washing off the dirt and blood on your other arm, though it is far less present there. Her eyes are directed down, the large red bow almost tickling your nose when you lean down to search for her face. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo reach your upper arms at the same time, and notice that the source of the blood comes from within the shirt, as well as the presence of dirt within such. They look at each other anxiously, then to your shirt, then back at each other. With a gentle prodding of Sweetie Belle, demanding that they take the darn shirt off already, they work with Anon to peel the soiled garment off him. Sweetie Belle faints as the red smear gradually reveals itself, a couch thankfully beside her. Apple Bloom looks shocked, but stable, as does Scootaloo. They set to work, before realizing that their rags are too dirty to keep helping. Scoots claims the cleaning procedure to be impossible with the tools at hand, which Bloom reluctantly agrees. Scootaloo then perks up, a smile forcing itself across her face, while she fails to look innocent and nonchalant. She has an idea, and the two cousins lean forward. “What if Anon just took a shower?” "Yeah, I'll go get on that." You struggle over to the shower, helped by your cousin and her friend, when halfway through washing yourself- “Anon, it’s dinner time!” Ugh. You are, just, not even interested in that right now. You answer her with a negative: “I’m not hungry, can I skip out on this one?” She opens your door a bit, and leans her head in. “Did you eat already or something?” You curse internally. You didn’t expect her to prod. Quickly, you try to come up with an answer to sate her: “I’m just feeling kind of sick.” She nods, an ambiguous expression crossing her face. Then she looks at you with concern, and steps into your room, closing the door behind her. Stepping over to the trunk in front of your bed, then sitting down on it, she stares into you. “Yeah, I heard you got into a bit of trouble today.” A look of horror flashes across your face before you return to a normal expression. Did she see? How much does she know? You blow air out through the side of your mouth, trying to play it cool: “Yeah, I took a bit of a dive.” She laughs softly at this: “I heard it was a bit worse than that.” “I got a bit cut up here and there, but it wasn’t too bad. Even put –“You cut yourself off, realizing that you hadn’t gotten to put any peroxide on your cuts. She eyes you patiently, finally asking you “put what?” “Peroxide. On my cuts,” you bluff, looking off to the side, then back to her, hoping she bought it. She maintains a neutral expression, not giving anything anyway, except for the fact that she was searching you. The only question was, what was she looking for? She continuous looking at you, the traces of concern growing more apparent. You look at her, then away, your focus flying around the room, continually returning to her, then escaping once more. Suddenly, she puts her hand on yours, drawing and anchoring your sight onto the touch. “Anon, I heard what happened today.” Your hand tears itself away from her, your head snapping away, facing the wall opposite her This was it. Time to get kicked out of here. You were finally starting to relax, so naturally it was gonna be torn away from you. Of course, you think angrily to itself. Not like it could be any other way! Your hand reaches to your forehead, brushing your back, as you hiss: “Fuck.” Another nervous brush, and you turn back to her, mouth pursed tightly, waiting for the executioner’s sentence. Instead, she’s looking at you curiously. You widen your eyes and open your hands in a “well, go on” gesture. She continues to look perplexed, looking off in thought, then returning to you: “Anon, do you think I’m mad?” “Yeah, I do.” “What would I be mad about?” You can’t help but scoff. You’ve been in enough trouble to know not to admit anything. Instead, you just look at her, raising your brows. “Wait.” You look down, then around the room, trying to understand the lack of rejection. Then, back to her: “So you’re not mad at me?” “Of course I’m not mad at you, Anon. Can’t figure out why you’d think I’d be.” You fall back onto the bed, still not grasping the situation at hand. This is way too positive to be real. You hear Applejack sigh, then feel her hand touch your shoulder. She says, in a very gentle voice: “Look, Anon, I can’t help but notice-“ “AYYYYYJAAAAAAYY! AAAAANOOOOOON!” comes the boom of a heavy, deep voice. Was that Big Mac? Can he actually speak that loudly? The interruption clearly irritates AJ, and she hops off the bed, opening the closed door, and shouts back “JUST START WITHOUT US! WE’LL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!” With an exasperated sigh, she sits back down on your bed. She looks at you with that tender gaze, and opens her mouth to speak, when “OOOKK!” AJ stares into for a minute, fuming. Then she presses to fingers to her forehead, breathing out deeply. Calmed down, she looks back to you. “Anon, I can’t help but notice that you’re distancing yourself from the rest of us. And the more I think about it, the more I think that it ain’t because we just met.” You sit up and stare at her with a look of cautious suspicion, not knowing where this is going, but willing to indulge your pessimistic outlook. “I see you getting along with Apple Bloom just fine, and you’ve seemed pretty happy a couple of times, before you closed yourself off. I mean, stop me if I’m wrong, but I can’t help but think you’re trying to distance yourself from us.” You hold your hand up, stopping her. “Why are you telling me this?” She smiles quietly to herself, then responds: “I guess we haven’t been around each other much, but one thing you’ll find out as you get to know me better is this: I can’t help but be honest. I see a problem, and I can’t help Anyway, I don’t know how much of all that is true; like I said, we haven’t been around each other long. But if it is, I just want you to know that you belong here.” Your head, having been staring at the ground, whips up to her in surprise, almost shock. She nods her head, answering your unspoken question: “You’re kin to us, Anon. And we’d like to be the same to you.” You take on an almost helpless look, completely unprepared for this outpouring of care. Once more, your hand brushes your hair back, as you struggle for words to say. You have none. She continues holding your hand, patiently waiting for your reply. A thought comes into your mind: “I thought you were mad at me or something?” “What? When?” “I dunno, you seemed kind of pissed when I swore, and when me and Apple Bloom were hanging out yesterday.” you add: “I guess you just seemed kind of cold?” Your answers and questions were coming out of your mouth the moment they came into your head. It probably wasn’t the most diplomatic approach, but you were kind of out of it right now. She scoffs, good-naturedly: “In the first place, Anon, Ah’m not a big fan of swearing; most of us here aren’t. And Ah thought you were insulting our family, which is kind of a big deal to me. But Apple Bloom told me that it was all joking later, so it’s fine by me. And in the second place,” she turns her head up in thought, before finishing: “Ah was just trying to get a feel for you, ah guess. Ah certainly didn’t mean to be unwelcoming or nothing. Sorry if I came across as cold. Ah really didn’t mean to.” You think about it for a minute. Maybe you were being a little hasty in assuming she didn’t like you. Throughout her speeches, she’d been sneaking glances at the door, the turns becoming more frequent as time passed. Not enough to convince you she wanted to leave, though naturally the thought entered your mind, but enough to show you her concern for missing dinner. You feel a bit guilty about keeping her here, and attempt to make it right. “Sorry, I made you miss dinner,” your timid voice croaks. She responds with an odd laugh, combining amusement with exasperation. “Anon, why do you keep thinking Ah’m gonna be mad at you or something? Ah chose to be here; it ain’t like you forced me to do nothing.” After a moment, you ask “You really mean that?” She turns a jovial smirk towards you, “Honey, my friends call me Honest Applejack. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Unsure of how to respond to her outreach, you gratefully squeeze her hand, trusting that to convey your feelings. Well, at least one of them. Your chest was filled with excitement, remnants of fear, a weary exhaustion, and gratefulness, the last being the only one you could identify out of the mess of emotions. She squeezed back. You had no idea what was going on with you, and why you were acting this way. You didn’t know if you wanted to know why. How could such a stressful two days still be so nice? In your confusion, you feel the pulling of your hand. “Come on, Anon, let’s go eat.” A small part of you rebels at the invitation: “Uh… is Apple Bloom there?” She frowns, then informs you. “Nah, she should be up in her room by now.” Then, after a pause: “Are you afraid of seeing her or something?” You respond with an apologetic half-smile: “I’m just worried things are gonna be awkward.” “Anon, they’re only gonna be awkward if you make them.” Turning towards her little sister’s room, she gives the same exasperated chuckle as before: “Ah swear, that girl keeps her head in the clouds so much…” You feel somewhat better, though not entirely. Still, good enough to go downstairs, not overcome with social dread. You scoff at yourself, wondering how on earth you got to be such a huge wuss. Goodness knows you weren’t like this back at home, or at the various clubs you went to with your friends. Together, you and AJ enter the kitchen, occupied by a lone Granny Smith. She turns towards the both of you, a chastisement on her face. “Now, since you two missed supper, yer gonna be cleaning up afterwards.” Eh. “Sure, Granny, sounds good,” comes Applejack’s quiet answer, lacking a trace of surprise. Didn’t seem too bad to you. “Yer plates are still out there, ‘long with the food.” “Thanks Granny,” you say, forcing yourself to speak up. At this point, you’re pretty exhausted from everything that happened today. You wander into the dining room, taking in all the fresh smells of the food you barely look at. Muscle memory drops some food across your plate after you fall into your seat. AJ takes her place at the end of the table, diagonal to your seat, as close as can be without sitting at your side. You notice her face light up as she looks at the… steak? Oh wow, steak, how did you miss that? Your attention comes back to your plate, which you had filled with leftover stuffing and some weird pudding thing. With you being in AJ’s line of sight, you know you can’t get away with sneaking it back into the trays and replacing it with steak. Instead, you go for the audacity. You loudly whistle, while looking around you in a mockery of an attempt to look innocent and not suspicious. You hold up your plate and scrape the untouched contents back into the bowls, before picking up a big piece of steak and putting it onto your plate. Seeing AJ’s incredulous stare in your peripherals, you turn towards her, maintaining the overdone pretense of innocence, and say: “Oh hey, Applejack. What’s up?” She starts to frown, but doesn’t quite make it before she bursts out laughing. Apparently, you’re in the clear. You can’t help but join her in laughter, if only because hers is so contagious. She stops laughing, and assumes a serious face, looking like she’s gonna scold you. Her impending word is interrupted by giggling, and this time she gives up. “So, tell me about yourself,” comes a sudden order, causing you to grunt questioningly. “Hmm?” “Well, you just got here, we’ve only heard a couple stories about you and your side of the family –cept my trip to them all those years ago- and I’ve been too busy to really hang out with you. Be a real shame if you were to go without us ever having a real chance to talk.” You think of reminding her that there’s still like, four and a half days before you have to go, but stop yourself. Instead, you indulge her, telling stories of your life. That one guy who hits on you whenever he gets drunk; that time a hobo brandished a piece of glass, sending you and your girl speeding across town in terror, that time when you changed the homework assignments in the teacher’s notebook when there was a sub, more than halving the work your class had to do. She seems almost entranced by your life, the rebellion and danger so much greater than that in hers, which simultaneously scared and intrigued her. After you finish a story about some friends of yours stealing your principal’s tire (they didn’t have enough time to get the other three) she stops you, waving her hand in the air. “Stop, stop.” “What? I wasn’t even involved in that one. I mean, I was invited…” “No, no, it’s not that. “Ah mean, these stories are great, and Ah definitely wanna hear more, but I wanna know what your life’s like.” “Yeah, and I’m telling you. Rough.” “No, Ah mean like, what school do you go to? What’s your daily schedule like?” Her interest evident in her eyes, you have no problem telling her. So you detail the names of the places you frequent, and your schedule: “I got school til 3, and I usually hang with friends for a couple hours. Then it’s home and homework, video games, and bed. Pretty boring, really.” “You ever do anything with your parents?” she asks, the question almost feeling rehearsed. “Uh, not really, why?” “Well, Ah stayed with them for about a week, not too many years ago. Think you were off on vacation or something.” What? You don’t remember hearing about this. You tilt your head, and tell her so. “Your parents never told you?” she picks at her food, “Or did you forget? Ah guess it wasn’t that big a deal.” Quickly, you cover: “No, AJ, I definitely would have remembered something like this. I mean, they did mention some visitor while I was gone, but… wait, that was you?” “Summer, 2012?” “Yeah! I mean, I think so…” You pull for the memory, but all you have is a vague idea of it. Her visage grows slightly downcast, and she tells you “Ya know, you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m not gonna be hurt if you don’t remember.” “No, it’s not that! I just…” you pause, before deciding to finish the admission, “my parents and I don’t really talk. Like, ever?” Her expression quickly turns to shock and pity: “Really?” “Yeah… like, they’re around, I guess. But they stay in their rooms, I stay in mine. They’ve got their own stuff going on, and they don’t really want me… interfering, I guess. Not that I don’t feel the same way,” you add sharply. “We just do our own thing, and really only talk when I need a signature, or they need a family picture or whatever.” Her hand is drawn over to yours once more, but this time you aren’t really interested in the connection. It’s fine. There’s not a problem here. In fact, since there isn’t a problem, you might as well change the subject. “Why don’t we talk about something else?” you offer, insistence clear in your voice. She seems hesitant, still holding that concern you don’t need. “We’ve been talking about me the whole time, why not you? Tell me about what your life is like,” you ask, authentically interested. A choked grimace streaks across her face, followed by a moment of disappointment and defeat and then she moves on. She tells you all about her life here at the farm, and you listen eagerly, fascinated by a life so alien to you, and happy to get off the subject of your parents. She’s got a monstrous amount of chores in addition to school, but somehow finishes both, ending up with a working farm and pretty decent grades. You find yourself admiring the girl before you; after all, you doubt you’d be able to do all that. There’s a theme, almost a chorus, within her stories: she’s always supporting people. Getting her sister out of trouble, helping people communicate with the socially stunted Big Mac, assisting Granny with her daily life, and that’s not counting what she does for her friends. “Geez,” you mutter, unaware of saying it aloud. “What?” she asks innocently, the mountain on her shoulders apparently beyond her notice. “Just seems like you do a lot for everybody around you,” You hint at the weight, trying to find out exactly how aware she is of it. “Ah just give people a hand, now and then,” she responds, with the conviction of a drug addict saying he can quit any time, and probably the same reasons. You wonder what would happen if she were to face the truth. You make a mental note of asking the other Apples what’s going on here, maybe get more perspectives, or get them to help her out more. Because, my goodness, the stories keep on coming. Long finished with dinner, AJ halts in yet another tale of a friend needing bailing out. “Land sakes, it’s already dark out! Come on, Anon, we better start working these dishes.” The two of you get up, and set yourself to the work with unparalleled speed. AJ naturally works quickly, and you really don’t want to make her shoulder one more load, via a trash helper, so you match her the best you can. In just twenty five minutes, the food’s in Tupperware, the dishes cleaned or in the running dishwasher, and your hands dried, right as Bloom hops into the room announcing prayers. She glances at you and flushes a bit, but you’re too caught up in your dishwashing mindset to note it or the source. “Sure thing,” you say to her, smiling. I’ll be up in a minute.” She looks up, noticing your casual demeanor, and smiles hopefully. She turns and hops of the stairs, looking back at your distracted face, grinning, then running up the stairs gleefully. “Told ya it wouldn’t be weird,” comes a AJ’s voice. “Why would it b-” Memory returns mid-sentence, worry consuming your expression. “Come on, relax,” the soothing girl instructs you, before reminding you that Bloom would forget about this as soon as you did. “Yeah, that was pretty awful though. Not sure I can just forget about it like that, though.” “You know what ah mean. Quit acting like it’s a big deal, and you two’ll be close as peas in a pod,” She takes on a thoughtful look and touches her finger to her lip, “Wait, was that the expression?” You chuckle, not correcting her, and start to head up the stairs. No reason not to accept her help here. You’ll take her advice, just play it cool. “She really likes you, ya know,” AJ says as she walks next to you, and ah can tell you like her too.” You smile in the dark hallway, and say, right before entering the bedroom: “Yeah. I guess I do.” You join them in their prayers this time, somewhat remembering the words. You grin at Bloomers when she looks at you with a question on her face, and she returns the favor, warming your heart. After prayers, she leaps onto your back like last night, albeit with much more energy. Her bare heels grasp your waist, and she raises her right fist high into the air: “Ride, my steed! Ride!” comes the squeaky voice above you. Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing? You grip her legs, making sure she’s steady, then leap up, causing her to yelp in surprise. You tilt your head back, and quietly shout: “MEEAUUAAAUGH”, realizing halfway through that you have no clue what a horse sounds like. The girl bursts out laughing at your goblin-like shriek-grunt, and points to the doorway, bellowing “My low was your fall! My high is this ride! Ride, Anon! Riiiiide!” And with that, you barrel out of the room, leaving three jaws wide open. Sprinting to some unknown place in the house, then another, you look innocently at her, and inform her of your predicament. “Ok, I think I got lost.” She laughs again, her body convulsing upon your upper back. She directs you back, and you tell her “I got the same high-low as yours.” She crushes your neck in a mighty hug. “Ack. Bloom. Neck.” “Aw, sorry Anon. Ah forgot how strong I was, bein’ a maghty knight an all.” You giggle, before entering her room, and tossing her onto her bed. You tuck her in, the biggest smile on her face. “Goodnight, my mighty steed,” comes the exuberant girl, no trace of sleepiness on her face. “G’night, my brave knight,” you whisper, before silently exiting the room and entering yours, lost in sleep before you can even begin your nightly brooding.