A Job With Benefits

by Boomstick Mick

Another Chance

Soarin had no recollection as to how or when he had happened upon the strange place in which he now found himself. The ground below him was veiled in a thick white mist which concealed a surface that felt every bit as rough and hard as unmortared cobblestone. The heavy fog seemed to span infinitely in every direction, an endless pale ocean of ghosts. Every step upon the barren terrain was accompanied by a repetitious echo that steadily faded until the sound of the next step overlapped it.

Soarin kept walking. It was all he could do. It seemed like the farther he traveled, the higher the mist would rise. He tried to turn around, yet the anomalies persisted. The mist that was once knee level was now at his neck. The perplexed Pegasus walked until the mist had completely enveloped him. He'd eventually emerge from it if he kept moving forward, or at least that was what he was telling himself.

Eventually the fog began to thin, and it was then that Soarin noticed the figures all around him, grey, formless things at first. Their silhouettes became more recognizable with every step they took. They seemed equine, but when they stepped through the veil of mist to reveal themselves they were black and featureless, all but the sky blue uniforms they adorned. They formed an oppressive circle around him, flanking him from all sides as they closed in. Soarin decided to take to the sky in retreat, but when he looked up, there was another blocking his path. Hovering above him was a shadow whose outline was unmistakable. "Spitfire?" he called out to her. "What are you doing? What is this place?"

The shade raised her hoof in an authoritative gesture.

Soarin noticed that the shadows encircling him were advancing toward him, their ranks becoming tighter until they formed a black inescapable ring. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Spitfire's wraith let her hoof fall, and the shadows puddled into black blots on the ground, elongating, crawling up Soarin's limbs like inky snakes. He tried to get away, but the black tendrils the shadows had formed ensnared him, their grip unyielding. The black expanded across his body, enveloping him, clinging, tightening, its hue transitioning into blue, like the twilight of the night sky surrendering to the break of a new day. Soarin tugged and tore at it, but it seemed to be stretched tight over his bones. It was as if it was his own skin he was trying to remove. Soarin could only continue to claw in desperate attempt to liberate himself. "I'm not a Wonderbolt anymore," he cried. "I don't want to go back!" The material of the suit shrank, tighter and tighter, constricting him until his body looked as if it had been desiccated and mummified in latex. The opening of the suit around his muzzle expanded over his mouth until it formed an airtight seal that threatened to suffocate him. His pleas became nothing more than frantic muffled cries. The eye holes of the hood began to close, and the last thing he saw through his wide, terrified eyes was the shadow of Spitfire looming over him.

Soarin's eyes snapped open. His coat was heavy and damp with perspiration. The sweat-soaked sheets of his bedding were twined all around his limbs and body. It would seem that he had been thrashing about in his night terrors. He laid there, his eyes growing heavy as sleep threatened to take him again. He disentangled himself from his cotton restraints and pushed himself up from his bed for fear of the other horrors that may have been lurking the ether of his dreams.

---

The makeshift shower was a crude thing. Crude, yet effective. A hose winding up a long iron pipe that had been staked into the ground behind the barn fed water into an overhead bucket that had been punched at the bottom numerous times with a screw driver. The water dribbled through the improvised showerhead and onto Soarin, who sat back and let the cold water run over him. The water would stop running after a minute or so, until the nearby leaver was given a few more pumps to draw from the reserve deep under ground. The bucket was quick to fill, but slow to drain, making it an effective device for when all one had was a well at their disposal for means of bathing.

Soarin watched the fading twilight of the blueblack morning sky lighten into a serene, star speckled indigo as the cold water sluiced the sweat from his body. It made him cringe as it reminded him of his nightmare. Doing his best to push the unpleasant dream from his thoughts, he reached for the bottle of shampoo on a nearby bench, lathered up, and pumped one more bucket full of water to rinse it away before he'd be off to join his family for breakfast.

Family, Soarin mused. It was strange to think of a group of rural earth ponies as family, but, by Apple Bloom's definition, that's what they were. It wasn't the word that boggled him as much as the definition. The concept of 'unconditional affection' was something he had never known, even back in the day when he would have called the Wonderbolts his family. The Apples were the first to ever make him feel like he actually belonged. It was a good feeling. He liked them: Braeburn with his boisterous enthusiasm and contagious optimism, Big Mac with his stoic yet kind demeanor, Granny with all her wisdom and her warm smile, little Apple Bloom with her cunning wit and playful spirit, and then there was Applejack, the sweet little southern belle who managed to set his passions ablaze: humble, hardworking, well-mannered. She was sweet and shy with her affections, yet she could be bold and passionate when she asserted herself. Soarin could not recall a time in his life when he was so infatuated. He opened his eyes when the water finally stopped running over him. Why daydream about her when he could be having breakfast with her?

Draping the towel around his neck and dawning his treasured hat, Soarin began the walk to the house to break his fast with the Apples - but the sudden squeaking of the pump from his shower captured his attention. He looked over his shoulder, and the sight he beheld wouldn't have surprised him any more if it was King Sombra himself juggling flaming cupcakes. "Fleetfoot?"

The water dribbled down from the holes in the bucket and onto Fleetfoot's silvery mane. She bristled the moment it touched her, her four hooves spreading out and gripping deep into the soil around her. "Celestia's teats, that's cold!"

"Careful," Soarin said dryly, "wouldn't want you to melt."

"You're funny," Fleetfoot quipped once she was over the shock of the gelid water assaulting her senses. "You could be a jester in Celestia's court if this farm hand thing doesn't work out. You're so good at making a fool of yourself, I say it's high time you made it a profession." She sighed and sat back, letting the water run over a body that was honed into physical perfection through years of grueling training. While muscular wouldn't have been an accurate word to describe her, one could observe from a simple glance that she was solid as granite from head to hooves, thin and taught like a bow string. However, as easy on the eyes as the athletic mare may have been, her temper, her blunt honesty, and her barbed tongue were quick to drive off even the most determined of suitors.

Soarin watched, tapping his hoof impatiently as he awaited an explanation as to where she had come from and why she was using his shower. Fleetfoot craned her head back and let the water wash over her face and down her chest. Rivulets trickled down from the tips of her feathers and glistened in the morning light like cascades of tiny diamonds. "Can I get you some shampoo?" Soarin offered with an exaggerated courtesy.

"If it'll rinse the stench of leather and whisky off of me," Fleetfoot replied as she scrubbed the junction at her wings. "Though I must admit I'm growing fond of the smell."

Leather and whisky? Soarin puzzled until the two smells commingled and conjured in his imagination. Braeburn's face immediately popped up. "Wait... You and--

"Braeburn," Fleetfoot announced unabashedly. "I gotta give it to him, he's handy with knots."

"He... tied you up?"

"Other way around. His wrists were raw as lashed hide before he realized he wasn't getting away."

"Okay, I don't want to hear this."

The last of the water trickled down, and Fleetfoot smiled at him maliciously through her sodden hair, her eyes like amethysts shining through a silvery veil. "Ah, why not? Not interested in learning a few new pillow tricks?"

"How long have you been skulking around here?"

Fleetfoot approached Soarin and ripped the towel away from him. "I spent the night with Braeburn, okay? I was hardly 'skulking', as you put it," she conveyed as she dried her mane.

"And how did you manage to accomplish this without alerting the other Apples?"

"We got some blankets together and hauled the wheel cart out in the middle of the orchards," Fleetfoot replied.

"On the freaking wheel cart!"

"I doubt we'll be doing that again."

"You shouldn't have even done it the first time," Soarin admonished. "We use that thing to transport food, you know..."

"Right? Damn near got a splinter in my ass. Next time we'll just use your barn."

"Hell no!"

"Stingy," Fleetfoot spat.

"You still haven't told me why you've come here."

"Clean the shit out of your ears. I wanted to bang that cowboy I met at Rainbow Dash's birthday party. You think I'd let a piece of ass like that get away without at least getting me a free sample?"

"Free sample?" Soarin scoffed. "Sounds like you took the whole damn cake."

"And it was delicious," Fleetfoot purred.

"Well, congratulations on a mission accomplished. Now go away."

"Braeburn isn't the only reason I'm here, moron. I dropped by a few days ago, but you were indisposed at the time. Were you in another on of your butthurt-induced alcohol comas?"

Soarin squinted, perplexed. Granny had mentioned something about a visitor asking for him, but she forgot their name. With everything that had been going on, he forgot to ask Applejack about the visitor's identity."Wait, so you were the one who came by while I was bedridden?"

"I just freaking said that!" Fleetfoot threw the towel in Soarin's face, which made a loud, soggy slap upon contact. "Luna's ovaries in a bucking basket, you're slow! Was I speaking Klingon? Did I stutter?"

Too nonplussed to be angry, Soarin let the sodden towel slide off his face and drop to the ground. "Why?" was all he could think of to say. Out of everyone in his former team, Fleetfoot was by far the cruelest; she had practically tempered the way of being bitch into an art form. The vile filth that constantly spewed forth from her mouth toward fans, the board, the press, the students at the academy, and even members of her own team had all but made her a legend.

"I needed to clear the air with you on a few things."

"Like what? And what all have you said about me to Applejack and Granny Smith?"

"Nothing that wasn't true," Fleetfoot said, shrugging. "I told them about what a whiny little pussy you are. I told them you were a self-loathing, antisocial lush with a victim complex who lets everyone treat you like their whipping boy. That Apple girl, what was her name, Applebuck or something, she just wouldn't stop asking questions about you. By the time I was finished telling her everything about you that I cared to know, she was in tears. She said something about how she should have given you another chance, or something. I'm not exactly sure what she said, I was too busy staring at that cowboy's ass to listen."

Soarin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You acted as my wingpony?"

"Wingpony?" Feetfoot laughed. "I was merely answering her questions. Like hell if I'd ever help you get laid. What, you trying to bang that girl - the cute one with the green eyes?"

Soarin decided to change the subject. "What was it that you wanted to straighten out with me?"

"Why don't you want to talk about her..?" Fleetfoot smiled when Soarin was hesitant to answer. "Awww, does Soarin have himself a little crushywushy?"

"Fleetfoot!" Soarin snapped. "That's none of your business. Would you just get to the point already?"

"Alright, alright, If you insist. " The mare gave Soarin a thoughtful look and said, "So, Soarin, that newspaper. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. What do you think of it?"

"It's a bunch of crap," Soarin replied, surprised that the wound that slanderous rag dealt still felt as fresh as it did. "Nopony from the Foalstreet journal was even there the day I quit the team. The paper kept mentioning that their information was supplied through a 'reliable source.'"

"And who do you think that source was?" Fleetfoot asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Soarin spat her name like a curse. "Spitfire, obviously."

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes, as if she had expected the answer. "Sorry, but no. Wave Chill and I were both there when the media assaulted Spitfire with their incessant questions. All she told them was that she was pulling the team out from the Equestria Games due to circumstances beyond her control. Your name wasn't even mentioned."

Soarin balked at that. Wave Chill had told him the exact same thing the day he had brought him that newspaper. "Then who told them? Where'd they get all the ridiculous accusations?"

"I couldn't tell you, to be honest," Fleetfoot replied. "You know how the media works, especially the Foalstreet Journal. They're probably slandering you to sell more papers. They're telling everyone that their information is coming from someone else in order to avoid allegations of slander, should you decide to take legal action. It's some loophole BS they've been using for years."

"Wait a minute, they are slandering me? They're still doing it? What else are they saying about me?"

Fleetfoot looked as if she wasn't sure how she should reply to that. "It's just the Foalstreet Journal, dude. Get over it. They'll eventually get bored of dragging your name through the mud and move on to their next victim."

Soarin was taken aback by the news, but there was something else that was bothering him. Something about the way Fleetfoot was standing up for Spitfire came off as suspicious. Her explanation almost sounded like it was rehearsed. It didn't set right with him. "Why did you feel the need to come down here and tell me this?" he insisted. "Do you think I'm just going to believe that you came down here to console me out of the goodness of your own heart? Since when do you care about anypony but yourself?"

Fleetfoot's eyes narrowed. "You know what, I don't give a shit if you don't believe me. I already told you that I came down here for Braeburn, not you. I figured I'd clear the air with you on this while I was down here. You blame Spitfire for all of your mishaps, just as she blames you for all of hers. I figured you'd be cursing her name for the rest of your days over this if I didn't step in to enlighten you. So pardon me if I decided to do one nice thing for you. I'll not make that mistake again. None of this drama would have happened in the first place if you just had the balls to stand up for yourself from the very beginning. Maybe Spitfire wouldn't have treated you like crap if you'd just showed her that you wouldn't put up with it."

You want me to stand up for myself? Soarin thought, scowling. Fine. I'll start with you."You reap what you sew, Fleetfoot. As long as I've known you, you've been nothing but a nasty, foul mouthed, short tempered, derisive bitch, bent on making everyone around you as miserable as you are. You've always looked down on me and insulted me without provocation, so don't go acting all surprised that I won't trust you. You're one of the reasons why I quit the team in the first place. Take a look around you." Soarin gestured to his surroundings with his hoof. "This is who I am now, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually happy. I don't care about the Wonderbolts anymore, and I damn sure don't care about you. I'm not putting up with you anymore. Now, unless there is any other business you'd like to conduct with me, piss off." Soarin had never spoken to Fleetfoot like that before. He'd never spoken to anyone like that before. He wasn't sure where that rant came from, but It felt good to finally be able to tell her off.

Fleetfoot tried to keep her face a mask of indifference, but her eyes betrayed a hint of surprise. "That's the last time I ever do anything for you," she sneered, unfurling her wings. "You should cut the Eastwood act before your mouth writes a check that your ass can't cash. That country boy crap might charm that back woods tart of yours, but you and I both know you're just a pussy with a cowboy hat. She'll realize that soon enough, then she'll be off looking for a real stallion." And then she took to the sky without another word.

"Hurry on back to the lab," Soarin shouted after her. "You don't want to be late for getting your bolts tightened." He wasn't inclined to believe Fleetfoot. She'd never given him a single reason to trust her. Spitfire had gone out of her way countless times just to spite him. It wasn't unreasonable to think that she was somehow pulling the strings behind all this defamation to kick some dirt in his face for losing her the chance to participate in the games.

His stomach suddenly rumbled a reminder that he hadn't had breakfast yet. Sighing, he decided that he was too hungry to dwell on the issue. It wasn't like it mattered anymore. Soarin quit the Wonderbolts, he was being slandered, all of Cloudsdale most likely hated him, and it was evident that he was going to have to suffer more of Fleetfoot's uninvited visits so long as Braeburn was there. The only option to his disposal was to just let things run their course. It didn't matter what was being said about him. He had a place where he belonged, a family that didn't make him feel like he was useless. That was all that mattered to him.

---

Apple Bloom's voice was the first thing Soarin heard when he entered the house. "But why not?" she was saying in a whiny voice.

"Darn it Apple Bloom, Ah done told ya that Ah don't want you going there again. You shouldn't have gone the fist time." Applejack could be heard chiding her in the stern sisterly voice she would use from time to time. "Need Ah remind you of the time Ah had a run in with a pack of Timberwolves?"

"But Ah won't be goin' in there alone," Apple Bloom complained. "Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo would be there too."

"No, no, no, and a thousand more times no. This conversation is over little lady, ya hear?"

Soarin rounded the corner and pushed through the double doors leading into the kitchen. It looked like everyone was accounted for. Braeburn assisted Granny Smith in piling stacks upon stacks of pancakes onto a large plate while Big Mac, Apple Bloom, and Applejack sat at the table which was already set and supplied with a plate and silverware for each seat. Two separate dishes for butter and syrup were set near the center for all to reach. Applejack and pancakes, Soarin thought with a smile. That was just what he needed to improve his morning.

Apple Bloom was the first to notice him. "Hey, Soarin!" she said in a suspiciously cheerful manner. "You think you can help me out with something?"

"Hey now, don't you go roping Soarin into your little escapades," Applejack cautioned her before she turned to him. "Hey there, cowboy," she greeted him in a tone that was suddenly sweet in contrast to the authoritative way in which she had been speaking to her sister.

"Hey yourself." Soarin took a seat at the table across form the quarreling siblings and asked, "What were you two going on about?"

"Ah wanna go back to the Everfree forest to look for mah lucky bow, but AJ won't let me." Apple Bloom crossed her arms indignantly over her chest.

"You wanna go back?" Soarin asked. "You've already been there?"

"Couple times. Some of the ingredients Ah gathered for that concoction that cured yer amnesia came from the forest." She harrumphed. "Applejack won't even let me go back to get mah lucky red bow that Ah dropped. Didn't even realize the darn thing fell off until Ah got back home."

Soarin eyed the red bow on Apple Bloom's head. "You're wearing it, aren't you?"

"Ah got this bow from that hats and bows closet. It ain't mah lucky one."

Soarin screwed up his face. "You have a hats and bows closet?"

"Don't everypony?" Applejack asked.

"Not that I was aware of..."

"Can Ah at least get Soarin to go find mah lucky bow for me?"

"Ah said no, AB. Soarin ain't yer errand pony. You should know better than to ask him to go to a dangerous place just to fetch some head accessory."

"But it's mah lucky bow!"

"What makes it so lucky?" Soarin wondered.

"Ah don't know, it just is. Good things tend to happen to me while Ah'm whearin' it. Ah dabbed it once it a special cinnamon perfume to make it smell all pretty. Ah noticed after that Ah suddenly became incredibly lucky. Ah found bits on the ground wherever Ah went, Ah got good scores on tests Ah didn't even study for, vending machines would give me two of everything that Ah purchased, and to top it all off, Rumble started talking to me during lunch. Rumble! It was the bow that done it, Ah just know it!"

"Why can't you just dab the bow you're wearing now in that perfume of yours?"

"That's what Ah told her to do, but she won't listen," Applejack interjected.

"Ah tried that, but it just ain't been the same. For a while, Ah thought it was maybe the perfume that was lucky, but after some experimenting, Ah found that you have to have the bow - that specific bow - combined with the perfume in order for it to work its magic."

"I'd like to help you, but if AJ forbids it--

"And Ah do," Applejack interjected, shooting Apple Bloom a stern sideways glare that was accented with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry, kid." Soarin could only give a helpless shrug.

"Pony feathers," the filly cursed under her breath.

All was silent after that but for the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the den and the sharp rasping scrape of Granny's steel spatula on the hot griddle. Soarin stole an awkward glance at Applejack and noticed that she was beaming at him, as if she was waiting for him to notice her. It was too early in the morning to think of something witty or charming to say; better he remain silent than make a fool of himself. Applejack suddenly cleared her throat in a loud, conspicuous manner. He had no choice but to look at her now.

She smiled at him prettily. "Are we gonna have to do this every morning?" She patted the vacant seat next to her with a hoof. "Come over here. Why you wanna sit all the way over there by yer lonesome?" Soarin smiled shyly. There he was again, an awkward little colt in the school cafeteria who's crush just invited him to come over and sit with her.

"So," Applejack said to Soarin as he took his seat next to her, "you ready to get back to work?"

"I think so." Soarin leaned forward in his seat, extended his wings, then gave them an experimental flex. They were still sore, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it was the day before. "Yeah, I can work."

"Can't wait," Applejack winked at him as Granny Smith set a pot of coffee and a pitcher of apple juice on the table beside the platter of pancakes.

"Can't wait for what?" Soarin asked as he reached out for the coffee, but Applejack managed to claim it before he could. She filled his mug for him and then poured one for herself.

"To see you work, silly," the mare replied, sliding the old metallic coffee pot back to the center of the table. "Ah gotta see you and that scythe in action."

"Ah'll bet you looked just like one of them samurais," Apple Bloom mumbled, her little face already smeared with bits of pancake and sticky syrup, "Swingin' that blade all around at the speed of light." She swallowed. "All you need now is an x-shaped scar on yer cheek."

"A scythe is hardly a sword, though," Soarin laughed.

"Ah still wanna see!" the filly insisted. "Hurry up and eat breakfast. Ah wanna see this harvesting trick o' yers before Ah gotta head off to school." Granny Smith, Applejack, Big Mac and Braeburn were quick to voice their desire to see him perform as well.

And so breakfast with the Apples was pleasant. The words Soarin shared with Applejack between bites came easier and easier. The last time he had breakfast with her, he either avoided her questions, or managed to evade them by answering her with a question of his own. The conversation was so one sided that Applejack seemed abashed that she had been talking so much. But this time was different. They were practically finishing each others' sentences. He even managed to score a few cute giggles from her whenever he displayed the closest thing to wit he could manage.

After the last pancake was finished, the coffee and apple juice all consumed, and a pile of soiled dishes hastily left behind to soak in the basin of the kitchen sink, Soarin led the Apples out to the edge of the orchards, where the vast ocean of apple trees met with the pasture. Big Mac, in an almost ceremonious manner, with all the starry eyed Apple family looking on in anticipation, placed the scythe in Soarin's hooves. The Pegasus hefted it, weighed it, balanced it. Funny. He then looked to his family. "Alright," he said. "Point me to a tree, then count to three, er, make it five. My wings still feel a bit stiff."

Applejack was the first to speak. "How 'bout that one over yonder?" she suggested, pointing to the nearest fruit wielding sentinel from where she was standing.

"Over yonder," Soarin agreed before tossing the scythe in the air. Up it went, and under and over it spun. Soarin caught it deftly, perpetuating its rotation, spinning it from left to right, then he was off, speeding toward the tree. He skirted it, slashing, spinning, one, two, three times. By the time he was finished, all the apples had been liberated from their branches. Just before the final apple could hit the ground, Soarin managed to catch it upon the flat of his scythe. He flew over to Applejack and offered it to her, as if the blade was a serving platter. "What was my time?" he asked.

"T-tarnation," she stammered, too awestruck to move to take the fruit being offered to her. "You - that... Ah wouldn't believe it if Ah hadn't seen it just now."

"Can you do it again?" Apple Bloom pleaded, all eagerness. "Please?"

Soarin scratched the back of his head, the apple he had captured rolling off the flat of the blade and thudding lightly on the ground. When he looked to Applejack, she nodded. "Do it again," she urged.

"That one," Apple Bloom pointed at another tree. "Can you throw in another one of them twirly tricks o' yers while yer at it?"

"I guess I could cook something up." Soarin thought for a moment, then he came up with something. Before taking to the tree, he slung the shaft of the scythe over his shoulder and spun it diagonally across his back and around his midsection. He kept it in motion by again spinning it left to right, then once around the back of his neck, and then he was off. This time he managed to chain two trees in a breakneck figure eight formation, cutting, swinging, slashing away. Soarin landed with a triumphant smile on his face. A gentle breeze blew. The tranquil rustling of leaves could be heard far and wide, like the lamentations of a humbled foe who used to mock his efforts. "So," he said, "do you approve of my harvesting technique?"

"Technique?" Applejack's voice was a breathless whisper. "That was..." Her legs began to shake. She had to lower herself down on her haunches to keep them still. "T-that was art."

Big Mac approached one of the trees that Soarin had harvested and picked up one of the apples for inspection. "You managed to slice most of em by their stems. Your precision is amazing." He selected another apple, one that had been accidentally sliced during Soarin's dance and added, "looks like you nicked a few, but that's okay; the ones that are damaged can be mashed down into sauce or strained for cider."

Granny Smith gave Soarin a punch in the arm. "If Ah had a few more helpers like you, we'd have the whole orchard harvested in a matter of weeks."

Soarin turned to her and said, "I don't know about that. It's pretty exhausting. I doubt I'd be able to keep up the speed I had just used for the entire day."

"There's that," Applejack pointed out, sliding an arm around Sourin's shoulder, "and there's also the fact that there ain't no pony like Soarin." She threw her other arm around him and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "Ain't that right, you apple harvesting machine you!"

"I... Suppose," Soarin winced under the rib-cracking pressure of the earth pony's embrace.

"Ah'll admit that Ah was worried about our harvest quota this year, but because of you Ah just know we'll make it!"

"AJ, I'm.... I like you and all, but I'm still a bit sore."

Black clouds were beginning to enshroud the boarders of Soarin's vision when Applejack finally released him. "Sorry 'bout that," she offered with a sheepish smile. "You okay?"

Soarin tried to hold back his manly tears as he gave a nod. "I'm just happy that you're happy," he managed between sounds that were half grunts and half coughs.

"Sugarcube, Ah'm more than just happy, Ah'm ecstatic. Ah've been dreading our annual profit figures for months now. It got so bad that we had to beg Braeburn to come live with us until we could find some decent help. But then, the clouds part, the angels sing, rays of light shine down on the farm, and you come along to pull us up from the depths of financial ruin."

Soarin hadn't realized how dire the state of the farm was. All he could do in light of Applejack's fervent description of him being such a savior to her was blush like a maiden as he looked down and brushed the ground with a hoof. He wasn't accustomed to being doted over.

"Alright, everypony," Granny Smith announced to all in attendance, "we've all seen Soarin's harvesting abilities. We all think it's amazing, but we can't afford to fritter about all day and watch as only one pony does all the work. It's back to business as usual. Apple Bloom, it's about time you got ready for school. Big Mac, Braeburn, and the winged apple slayer here are in the orchards today. Applejack, you best get goin'. The farmer's market opens in an hour."

Everyone nodded before they broke away to carry out their assigned tasks. Applejack may be the boss, but Granny seems to be the one who calls the shots, Soarin reflected as the elderly mare was passing him by.

She turned to him to give him a quick wink. "You'll do just fine 'round here, ah reckon," she told him.

"Thanks, grandma. Er, uh, Granny. Sorry."

Granny Smith regarded Soarin with the warmest of smiles and said, "You can call me grandma, if you'd like."

Soarin scratched the budding stubble of his chin as he watched the elder saunter off. So, this is what it's like to have a home and a family, he thought, elated.

"Hey, what was Granny just whispering to you?"

Soarin started as he turned around. "What?"

"Granny," Applejack was looking at him curiously. "What was she whispering to you just now?"

"Oh, I uh, accidentally called her Grandma. I apologized for it, but she told me she didn't mind if I called her that."

"Huh." Applejack turned her eyes toward her grandmother. "Yeah, she likes you, alright. Yer the first non-blood relation she has ever given that privilege to."

"I guess I should feel lucky to have you. You guys, I mean. You. And her."

"Yer cute, you know that?" Applejack laughed. "Anyway, Ah better get to setting up mah stand at the market, 'fore those darn carrot peddlers steel all the good spots. Don't work yerself too hard, okay sugarcube?" She started to walk away, but then she stopped, presumably to impart one last thing to him. "You know," she said with out looking back at him, "the Ponyville day festival is tomorrow night. If yer gonna go, you might wanna start thinking about who you wanna bring with ya." And without waiting for a response, she left him there in the pasture to think about her words.

She wants me to ask her out. The realization that she had given him another chance set Soarin's heart to fluttering.

"Hey, apple slayer," Braeburn shouted to him. "Orchards don't harvest themselves."

"I'll be right there." Soarin hefted his scythe, rested it across his shoulder, and galloped off to fall in beside his new co workers, knowing that he would be spending the rest of the day wondering how he should go about asking Applejack to be his date for tomorrow's festivities.

Comments

[TheMyth]

Fleetfoot... Why do I have the urge to punch her hard in the face?

[JBL]

Is this story humanized/anthro? Because you keep using hands, arms, etc instead of hooves. Plus the last half of your chapter is in bold. Needs another edit.

[Big Slick]

You might want to fix your bold comands

[WildStallion]

Somehow, I want the Wonderbolts to fail so bad that every pony has to take an early retirement.

[OminousBrony]

You messed up on the bolds somewhere.

[Boomstick Mick]

Thanks for letting me know about the error with the bold text. I took care of it.

[Raistlin]

You need to fix the "b" tag

Also, Venom Soarin?

[HB_DS2013]

Soarin' the Apple Slayer. It would be cool if I can draw, but I suck at it. Do people only give comments and tips to the really good fanfics?

[Wing]

Yay for update magic!

[Boomstick Mick]

6943607 btag and venom sorin?

[Griseus]

"Luna's ovaries in a bucking basket, you're slow! Was I speaking Klingon? Did I stutter?"

Ghobe' tlhIngan wej Dajatlh'a' Ghobe', 'ach stutter SoH. Fleetfoot qoH!

I think my Klingon is really bad.

[Agent-G]

Well I'm glad to see the next chapter of this. He really needs to start upgrading that place he lives in because that shower alone would be worthless in winter for him for instance. So is Fleetfoot the town bike in your story or something or does she actually has standards?

At any rate next chapter we finally get their first date, that should be interesting given everyone will see them together so I can only hope how her friends react to AJ actually bringing a date to the event. Plus part of me is wondering if at the end of it I have to wonder if it will end with AJ spending the night at his place like in the picture for this story.

[Rokas]

What a nice chapter.

[SageBrony07]

I loved this chapter. I can't wait for Soarins and Applejack's date.

[The Dragon Warlock]

I want to see the Wonderbolts fall apart. This "team" needs to just fall apart completely. Spitfire and Fleetfoot especially need to forever have bad luck and misfortune haunt them for the rest of their lives.

[Architect Ironturtle]

They still need to talk about Trenderhoof. That misunderstanding will hang over this entire story until they do. It doesn't have to be onscreen, but it must happen.

[Boomstick Mick]

6962490 It's hinted that Apple Bloom filled AJ in about the misunderstanding when she was interrogating Soarin in his barn. I might have to go back and touch up that scene if I didn't make it obvious enough.

[Architect Ironturtle]

6963028 Soarin and Applejack should still talk about it directly, even if that talk consists of, "So, that's really what you thought?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

[Black Ash]

Hrm, I can't help but feel there's something else going on here...

Also, Kenshin reference. Nice.

[Amethyst Blade]

and then there was Applejack, the sweet little southern belle who managed to set his passions ablaze: humble, hardworking, well-mannered. She was sweet and shy with her affections, yet she could be bold and passionate when she asserted herself.

reminded me of this.