Necessary Love

by Zurock

Chapter 30: Whistles

Even with the bell moth spectacle fresh in mind, the sheer pageantry of all the balloons and banners and streamers populating the boardwalk before the entertainment stage was quite incredible.

Foil ribbons ran everywhere overhead, innumerable, yet they were strung with unmatched mastery. From the highest point above the stage they fell down like a fountain of glistening flags in rainbow colors, all bouncing along to the gentle sea breeze in a wild little party of their own. And even with their spread so dense they were balanced far enough away from the bright and burning torches to meet all mandated safety requirements.

Everything else was just as spectacular! The thoughtful placement of all the balloon bundles was calculated for maximum cheeriness and minimum obstruction of the stage and ocean. Every party sign which dangled here or there was homemade with exceedingly precise care, and together they filled the entire range of information from helpful ('Snacks thattaway!') to plain old exciting and fun ('Give it a shake until you can't stay awake!'). Even the baskets of knick-knacks and party favors – one at each table – were unique and put together with meticulous attention to detail, being perfect as either centerpieces or as dissections of noisy and flashy enjoyment.

All of the pizazz – including a twenty-one confetti-cannon salute whose squeaking bursts were timed to play a short tune, and Hulahoof himself dancing on top and across the many tables – greeted the guests when they arrived for the party. No military parade in Canterlot could have be flashier, and no circus in Equestria could have been more fun.

Nopony could have been in a more ready mood for it.

For the entire walk back down from the hills they had all been booming with excitement. While the bells had been playing in the glade the absolute magic of the experience had left them gripped with near-silence, but once they last chime had rung and the last pair of smitten moths had flown off and all had become night again, then everypony themselves had lit the glade themselves with their bright emotions bursting simultaneously. During the return trek to the resort they had somehow managed to cram many of themselves side-by-side on the thin trail just so that their buzzing chatter would have been unhampered. The once-in-a-lifetime event had transformed what should have been a sleepy hour of preparing for evening rest into a waterfall of energy like an amusement park with free passes and no lines.

There wouldn't have been one complaint if the party were to have lasted all night.

Venus and Vesuvius opted not to stay. They had held each other closer and closer while watching the bell moths, and afterwards they had very nearly soared ahead of all the others anxiously down the hill trail. Once they were sure everypony had arrived in front of the Passion's Embrace for the party they immediately, through the immense distraction of their eyes slobbering all over each other, wished everypony a happy time before they raced inside. The flushed-faced Venus led her stallion away by the nose with just the tempting swing of her silk-covered backside.

On the stage Gallowayo's band was close to ready for showtime, though they were still busy with their very final checks. Some good money had been spent on equipping them; it was odd how the two bended trees used to highlight the stage contrasted so strongly with the massive tower of speakers now also found on either side. Wires snaked about, bunched and labeled carefully, all either hooked to power or plugged into the assortment of devices more appropriate for a large club gig. Yet most all the equipment was pushed to the side or to the back, clearing a wide open space center stage except for a solitary mic stand which sat in an empty spotlight.

Gallowayo tapped Twilight and directed her eyes towards the stage setup, and he didn't need to say a thing to convey how eager he was. Every ready tremble of his body called out the same message which was written gloriously all over his face: he had been waiting and waiting AND WAITING for a thoughtful pony like her to show off his most labored-over art to.

Twilight smiled, and she nodded a promise of sincere attention.

Pleased, the stallion made his way up onto the stage. There weren't even faint traces of his usual nervousness before a performance. Like Fluttershy, this one show TONIGHT was going to be HIS bell moth ritual.

Meanwhile most of the audience followed the signs to the other side of the resort beachfront, past the entertainment boardwalk and to where the bar and food hut were. Though long tables filled with snacks and party punch had been set up near the stage, the day's activities had precluded dinner and most of the guests were hungry enough to want something slightly more substantial than salty or sugary treats. Altogether they were a busy crowd crammed in front of the wide windows of the food hut. The peckish ponies laughed and shouted over each other while trying to get their orders in, and the island ponies working in the kitchen scrambled to sort everything out.

A few ponies were wise enough to realize that while waiting they could get their drinks from the bar next door where Till had dutifully taken up his station. Behind the counter and with a dishcloth draped over the back of his neck, even alone he served with far more speed and efficiency than his neighbors. His knowledge of the island's supply of drinks was intimate, and he was fast to make recommendations to anypony who didn't have an immediate request for something specific. In the same fashion he was always gentlecolt enough to invite those he served to take a stool, though all courteously declined the offer.

Except Applejack.

Plate after plate and glass and glass the rest of the ponies were served their meals and drinks, and they made their way back towards the stage to attend the party proper. But the farm pony brought her plate to the bar instead. She set her food on the counter very near one end and then hopped right up onto a stool. Her hat she gently dropped onto the seat next to her.

"Howdy, Slick."

"Ah. The corn fritters," Till approved of her meal choice. The opportunity to trade open words with her again had him in quite a jolly mood, and his smile couldn't have been pried off his face.

"I wanted something small," the farm pony explained her choice of an appetizer over anything with bigger portions. "But dang if this butter sauce ain't mighty enormous! S'made'em good and crispy, too!" She smirked, fluffing herself with overdone vanity, "Had to go with the corn, though. Can't trust your apple fritters would've been any good!"

The stallion made a mock show of being wounded before he grabbed a empty glass from his rack and spun it onto the bartop before her. She hadn't been one of the ponies who had sought a beverage while waiting.

"Well, maybe you'll be good enough to at least help us out by passing judgment on our cider?" he invited playfully.

"Tryin' to poison me, huh? Alright, let's have it then. 'What don't kill ya only makes ya more tough-like,' Granny always says."

Selecting one of several identical bottles from the loaded shelves in back, Till popped it open and filled half the glass. He was a natural at his work; smooth in motion, he was quick enough to flick the bottle over and upright without a splash or spill, whipping the bottle on and off like a faucet. It could've been his one-millionth drink served that week.

He slid the glass over to Applejack who gave it her a professional inspection: color, smell, fizz, thickness; all overplayed, of course. Once ready she raised the glass up in a final farewell and then tipped it back for two solid chugs.

Till leaned on the counter, one hoof poking into his jester-like grin, waiting as the farm pony set the glass back down and smacked her lips to process the flavor.

"Well," she delivered the bad news, "it tastes like something that came outta a cow, and I don't mean milk."

"Ouch."

"It's all in the apples, Slick; they're gonna make or break your cider. You done gone and shot yourself in the hoof starting with such slopwork goods."

"How unforgiving. Do you treat all your potential customers this way?"

"Any partner that's worth going into business with you gotta respect enough to tell them the truth. The honest-to-goodness, ugly, ugly truth; warts and all."

"So... should I pour you something else then?"

"Heck no! I'm gonna finish this!"

Nothing they said to each other was devoid of a twist of humor, and they decorated themselves with huge smiles.

A few final guests and islanders passed by the bar, all on their way towards the stage. The very last individual to come through was James, and it was no surprise that the man had taken the longest: his plate had no orthodox meal. He had spent some good time haggling with the kitchen staff for a special order, as he had very much wanted food that would actually fit his diet and not chain him to the toilet for a night.

He stopped and briefly laid his plate on the bartop.

"Aw, howdy Beanstalk!" Applejack chuckled. "Come to join us?"

The man took a glint down the way, at Prism and all the other ponies who were spreading out amongst the tables on the boardwalk before the stage.

"Nah; no disrespect, of course. Just stopping for a drink," he said.

"Sure," Till immediately moved down to meet him. "What can I get for you, sir?"

Pulling his head back, James took in the shelves and shelves of bottles behind the stallion. It was an inventory too mindbogglingly big to browse in any fast amount of time, especially because a lot the bottles were branded with unrecognized names or identified themselves only with unfamiliar iconography. He hadn't exactly ever gone on a Great Equestrian Drinking Tour while at Ponyville.

"I don't know," he merrily sighed and shrugged.

"We have just about everything you could imagine," encouraged Till. And happily he began to enumerate, "Juices from nearly every fruit, your typical brands of soda, the whole range of teas, I could pour you some coffee if you'd like, or maybe you'd prefer something a little more creamy or sugary? If you'll take a recommendation, I'd suggest the watermelon lemonade. A little wild, but when it gets low just fill the glass again with punch and you'll have mixed together something particularly sweet."

"Hmm..."

Still dancing over the bottles, the man finally caught notice of a rather interesting item. It popped off the shelf with its color.

Far back in the corner, set on the highest shelf, was a bottle without any label at all; not even one solely with a picture. Shorter than nearly every other bottle, with almost no neck to speak of and a simple rubber stopper to keep it sealed, the liquid inside had an unusual luminescence about it; it didn't glow, but it was bright, shining, and incredibly colorful. Somehow they had bottled a brilliant rainbow.

"What's that?" James pointed.

The stallion turned to look, but immediately a nervous frown seized him.

"I'm sorry, THAT you can't have," he said. "That's the corcandeo juice."

"Well hot dang!" Applejack laughed loudly and slapped and bartop. "Can't even sip it AFTER it's been juiced? You're stingy as a mule!"

Till wasn't able to take her comment with the same fun as he had all her others.

"I'm really very sorry, but it's for... special occasions only."

Amused, James poked at him, "And eight guests, including the pupil of Princess Celestia, on the night of a big party AND the start of the bell moth's mating ritual, ISN'T a special occasion?"

"I... would have to get permission from Venus and Vesuvius," the stallion still responded in the same withdrawn, sober fashion.

"It's fine, it's fine," the man dismissed with a wave.

He returned to browsing, not finding the task any easier than before. Again he glanced left towards the stage and tables, and though at first he was drawn to Prism his loose eyes wandered after a moment. Eventually they reached another table.

Pinkie Pie sat with Rainbow Dash and Hulahoof, and they were all engaged in some cheerful back and forth with each other. The blue stallion had some vegetables shoved into eyes, mouth, and nose, and he was waving his legs and wings about while surely spouting some ridiculous roars to go with his wacky look. The other two ponies couldn't contain themselves at the sight, and Rainbow Dash almost tumbled over from her gut-busting laughter.

They were like a drunken crowd.

But that one squeak of an idea instantly set the man down a deep trail of thought. There were plenty of items within pony culture that he had sometimes pondered over but had never chased answers too thoroughly, and now he had a opportunity to discover one such answer. After all, if he was going to have to deal with Pinkie Pie sooner or later then maybe for that difficult task he could avail himself of the most universal friendship maker of all.

"Hey," James called to Till, and he pushed himself far over the counter. He was as serious as he was curious, and he questioned intently, "Do you have anything... HARDER?"

Much to the man's relief the pony very casually answered, "We have the standards. Not in any great supply, though. I mean, they're not the most popular selections by a long shot."

"'The standards'?" James raised a suspicious eyebrow at the stallion's qualifying comment.

"Yeah."

The man snickered to himself and then threw his arms out wide to show off his very human body.

"Pretend for a moment," he hinted to the bartender, "that I'm not from Equestria."

It only took Till a single quizzical second to realize his error.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he sincerely apologized, and then he leaned his head back to look under the counter. "We have four brands of wine, nine ales from dark to pale, five kinds of beer, two rums, two whiskeys, and then I've got a few mixes (which, to be honest, I haven't ever made before)."

"Let me see the rum," James decided to cut straight to HIS standard.

Till produced two bottles that looked exactly as expected for rum from any old liquor store, and the man turned and pulled one of them over to himself. To no surprise at all he found the label immediately useless: there was a depiction of a high-class mare with a monocle sitting amongst some barrels, all of it was stylized as if it were a wood engraving, the branding 'Lady Love Eyes' Fine Aged Rum' was written at the top in swooping letters, and then there was a single notation of '80 Hoof' on the bottom. Literally not a thing more was there; not bottling information, not barcodes, not a word of warning vis-à-vis responsible drinking.

Great, James chuckled in his head. Though maybe this was a sign that Equestria truly WAS a land of harmony: not enough lawyers to chase labeling lawsuits!

The man tapped the top of the bottle.

"Let's do it," he said.

"What would you like it with, sir?"

"Ah, I don't know. Surprise me."

Till had a very hesitant look, as if the man wasn't taking the decision seriously enough.

"Yeah, go ahead. Experiment a little. I want to see what you got," James assured him. After all, it wasn't really the rum he wanted anyway. It was the courage.

Slowly the stallion nodded, but as soon as he began to think about the all the possibilities he could mix his reserve was quickly swept away. He replaced the extra rum bottle and turned right back to his shelves, jumping from drink to drink and grabbing other bottles here and there and as he rapidly created a miracle concoction in his head.

Applejack had a tall stare for the man, equal parts calm surprise and wily evaluation, and she whistled, "Doggone, human-folk got some really funny tongues don't they, Beanstalk?"

"Are you telling me," he needled her back, "that Sweet Apple Acres doesn't make any sweet apple hard cider?"

"It don't sell," she explained plainly.

"I'd buy it."

"I can see that!" She peered into him: not at all worried, delightfully amused, but with at least some friendly caution. "You sure your constitution is up for this?"

"Mmhm. This ain't my first rodeo. You know, I'd LOVE to see YOU after you've had a few shots of rum in you. I can picture it now, and let me tell you: your countryisms only get MORE hilarious."

"Don't go counting your chickens, Beanstalk," she denied him with a tickled smirk.

On the bartop Till spaced out his supplies and then began his wizardry. As before he worked fast, swiftly mixing together a drink from bottles which flew too fast for the man to read. The stallion was even able to work without watching what he was doing; he constantly had his head up to examine the man, thrilled that his patron was taking a happy interest in everything.

Once finished, he gave the drink a gentle swirl and pushed it towards James.

"Here you are. I hope it's to your liking."

Whatever he had devised had lightened the rum up significantly, giving it a flatter but sunnier color bent only by the shine of the bobbing ice. The man took careful hold of the drink and, with Till intently watching, he took a taste.

It had a bit of tang to it, the added sweetness being rather sharp, but underneath everything he recognized a specific sensation. From tongue to throat to nose he felt it: the burn of alcohol. Real, genuine, no-magical-substitutes-added alcohol.

Well hot damn.

James thanked the bartender with a highly pleased nod and a toast of his delectable drink.

Till was quite enthralled to have served another satisfied customer, and he said, "Wonderful! Please enjoy! Though, of course, I do have to warn you to please keep a close eye on yourself."

"Hey, no trouble. I promise I'll take it easy," the man thanked him again. "Just this one will probably be enough anyway; I'm not looking to go crazy here. And if I come stumbling back for another drink all whirly-eyed and talking like my teeth have fallen out then you have my permission to cut me off."

"Now THAT I would like to see!" Applejack chipped in.

"Don't hold your breath, Applejack."

After one last tip of his head to the ponies he left with his drink and plate, off to the party.

"Interesting fellow," Till said.

The farm pony mildly buried some shadowy seriousness.

"You don't know the half of it..."

While softly whistling a merry tune the stallion cleared away all the bottles he had taken out and wiped the bartop clean with his dishcloth before he poured himself a juice drink into which he dropped a single cherry, and then he set himself up across from Applejack.

"So, how are the fritters?" he asked and passed a napkin to her, laughing quietly at the shine around her mouth; her dish's savory sauce had splashed about her lips recklessly.

"I can't get enough!" Applejack proclaimed right through the napkin as she wiped her mouth and hooves. Her plate was emptying alarmingly fast. "Reckon I'll be back over there for another helping. Maybe I'll ask'em for the recipe too; give it a shot once I'm back home."

Till proudly offered, "I can tell you it. It's my mom's recipe."

"Ah, hehehe, that's right. You're the head chef here ain'tcha?"

"The two other ponies they hired to help with all the cooking are good, but still learning," the stallion shared. "It's been fun to trade recipes with them and teach them a thing or two. Mom loved how much I took to the kitchen; can't say Dad was ever so happy about it."

Applejack glared as she softly set the napkin aside. There again was the other pony's father, come to intrude unexpectedly upon a pleasant conversation.

But Till couldn't pull himself away, and he carried on earnestly, "Yeah, he thought it was all a waste of my time when my Mom already had all those servants around to help her. My time, he said, was better spent learning the management end of things. But I couldn't help myself; there's just something so satisfying about cooking."

His stare went back and forth between the farm pony's vanishing meal, the sauce-stained napkin, and her freshly cleaned mouth.

"It's all in how you labor with your hooves in a hot kitchen to put something together, and when other ponies taste it there's just this really elementary happiness that they light up with. It's such an easy way to really please another pony."

"Uh huh," grunted Applejack, still suspicious. "I know the feeling."

"Yup," Till didn't catch on to any of her wary clues, "and that kind of thing was exactly how it always went with Dad. He was always going on about, 'Well, my father spent every day teaching me this and that about running our family plantation, just as his father before him, and the same before him, and the same before him, and before him, and before him! Generations of Tills have been masters of this place, da-da da-da da-da, and one day, Plottington, you're going to take over! Pay attention! You need to know how we do it!' But geez, he couldn't take one word back to him about doing things even just a little bit differently! Everything had to be EXACTLY as grandpa taught him." He smacked his lips once, shook his head, but then regretfully sounded, "It was always such a struggle."

"So it goes, sometimes," the farm pony commented bleakly.

Looking to draw their conversation elsewhere, hopefully to more interesting things, she directed a hoof towards the corcandeo juice in the back corner.

"You ever try cookin' something with your magical fruit over there? Or do the bigwigs think that'd be too much of a waste of their precious supply?"

He was somewhat thrown for a moment with the change of gears, but swiftly he got himself on the new track.

"Ah, Venus and Vesuvius have let me do an experiment or two, but mostly simple things. You know, sauce or whatever. We've found that if you go too far it changes the fruit too much."

"Isn't that the whole point: to change it?" Applejack was stumped by his suggestion. "You mix it up with some other stuff to take its flavor somewhere new?"

"Oh, flavor, yeah," he seemed so unconcerned and unversed with the idea, and he struggled to clarify himself. "It's just that you don't... really have corcandeo for the FLAVOR."

"Then why?" she demanded, and she slid her plate and glass aside, stretching herself over the bartop. "What EXACTLY is this fruit?"

"W-Well, l-like I already said, it's a bit of a mystery to us and we're trying to study it."

The stallion was so genuinely uncomfortable with how dodgy he felt forced to be, especially before Applejack. Every time he tried to meet her eyes to be fair to her he cringed with weakness and diverted away. He had a true sense of how quintessential her honesty was and therefore how much his restrictions displeased her, and that was what skewered him the most. Yet even so, apparently all his great unease wasn't enough to keep him from wandering peculiarly.

"B-But it's sort of like-... well... hm... You put a lot of pride in your apples, I'm sure, and when you give an apple to somepony and see how much it pleases them to bite into it and to taste all the goodness inside... That's really something special, right? So... corcandeo is sort of like that. It's a way to make other ponies happy."

The farm pony frowned, muttering, "Only not by actually tasting it, you're sayin'."

Till winced some more, and he took a long swig of his drink. Finally he bled just a little bit of timid sincerity.

"Yeah... it's-... it's the magic. We're trying to understand it, but it's really something-... something SO SPECIAL."

Applejack mulled on his reveal for a time. She even snatched another corn fritter and chewed on it unhappily.

"Isn't that, I dunno, a mite dangerous?" she asked at last. "Messin' with magic you ain't so sure about? I mean, with what you told me of them trees back in the orchard-"

"The trees are something very... different," the stallion asserted with confidence. "They're definitely the bigger enigma and are more unpredictable, but the corcandeo is... very consistent, and not dangerous at all. It's something WONDERFUL."

Again there was so much speaking in circles around the target without ever hitting it, and it made Applejack grimace with impatience.

So he only tried harder, still drifting at sea, but he again immensely pulled from his inner honesty, "... If-... if you've ever wanted to make somepony you know DEEPLY HAPPY, in such a-... such a... RAW way; such a FUNDAMENTAL way... If you've ever wanted to PLEASE somepony in particular in a way that's SO COMPLETE; to LIFT the whole of them ENTIRELY... Well... the corcandeo is a way to do JUST THAT. I mean it. And that's all I want from this place; to give that feeling to other ponies."

He reached for her, across the bartop, placing a hoof over hers. Though a surprise, she didn't recoil; his touch was so calm and caring. The coming down of his hoof was like the slow laying of a warmed cloth over sore and overworked hooves.

"I promise, Applejack, that I'll show you when the time comes. If you're willing, that is. There won't be any secrets. There's nothing I want to hide about this."

For a lengthy few moments the farm pony studied his eyes and the heavy violet swirls of his each iris; a noble color; spiritual; generous. Far be it from her to toot her own horn but, like Granny Smith before her, she saw herself as a rather swell and fair judge of character. And judging from the royal beds of color so dearly hugging his eyes' apples, and the clear gloss over them that reflected so crisply her own face, there was nothing that stopped her from peeking inside of him. He acted with an undivided heart.

Swallowing undescribed magic wasn't the most pleasant-feeling thought, but with her free hoof she patted sweetly the top of their held ones.

"I believe you..."

They untangled themselves, at her hooves' suggestion.

"... Just," she worried with a bit of a twitch and a pinch of her cheek, "something about it don't settle right."

Even that mild statement baffled Till, and he blinked away at his confusion with an earnest regard. Finally he sighed and grabbed his dishcloth, using it to shine some of the fresh smudges off the bartop.

"I suppose I really have forgotten what it's like to be uninitiated," he said.

Applejack reasoned generously, "Ah, I'm only just sayin', is all. I reckon we Apples stepped in it ourselves getting so mixed up with zap apples – mighty unusual magic that all is – but heck if it didn't turn out okay in the long run. We got right comfortable with it eventually. Maybe this 'core-candy' here is the same thing: just the start of something new."

"I really think it is," the stallion hoped in an unshaken whisper.

Many thoughts juggled about in Applejack's head. Eventually she grabbed her plate of corn fritters and pulled it back before herself. Noshing on the delicious little treats made everything a little easier, and the sweet taste of (inferior) apples that she washed it down with also helped.

In time, after her plate had nothing left but smears of butter, and the air between the two ponies had cleared a little, Applejack opened up with renewed interest.

"So maybe we can get to talking a little bit more about this tricky orchard of yours?"

"Sure." Till set aside his glass; all that was left was the cherry bathing in the wash anyway. "Any enlightened thoughts come to your mind since this afternoon?"

"Well, like I was just mentioning, I actually have SOME experience with magical crops," she replied, but then dropped her nose. "Not sure how much it applies though. Magic does as magic likes, and you sort of have to figure your way through it no matter how much sense it make or don't make."

"That's how it's been, yeah. Figuring out that the trees were responding to the pony workers themselves took some careful, lucky observation, and then it's sort of been trial-by-error from there. There's got to be some sense to how the trees... 'feel' though. I guess."

"I ain't no stranger to showing trees some affection, neither," chirped the farm pony, unafraid to admit it. "It's sort of an old Apple family tradition: if you want them to grow their best you gotta treat'em like family. Like sisters and brothers. Like your own foals, even!"

Quickly the tale unfolded far beyond the needed limits, unwinding like a spool of thread tied to her tail while she galloped.

"Course some of them are more like cousins, and a few more even like those... really sketchy cousins who show up at every reunion that, you know, the more you look at them the more you're pretty sure they ain't ACTUALLY a part of the family, but nopony won't say nothing about it so you just got to trot with it no matter how it makes you feel. You deal with'em cause you have to – and show some manners, of course – but most of the time you find yourself wishin' they wasn't there.

"Offering a little of your personality does great with the trees you actually get along with though! 'Cept... it really makes it rough when it comes time to bring'em down, too. Grover was never the same after Palmyra had to be felled, but it was just her time, you know? They were neighbors for years and years, but once she was just a stump in the ground; hoo dang, did those apples drop from Grover like tears! I spent so many hours trying to tell him that she led such a charmed life; bushels upon bushels of delicious apples, more great-grandsaplings than she could count, and then in the end she even made a darn solid rocker for Granny! But grumpy Grover just pulled away more and more every day...

"Oh, and that's not even mentionin' such heartbreaking things as seeing Barkley with his two boys, standing tall and proud and fulla apples, but they just don't look nothing like their daddy at all, so you're pretty sure old Silvia done gone and pollinated outside the proper confines of her marital arrangement without ever telling him. Worse is that it really seems like he knows it too, but can't admit it to himself! Poor guy; it tugs at ya, right here. And of course you can't even breathe a wink of the truth about it to him cause if you did he'd just fall to pieces; literally; leaves everywhere! I mean, it happens every autumn anyway but-... well, it-... ah, you know what I mean."

Charming as her long-winded aside was, Till didn't want to waste the lengthy pause she put in for a breath. Politely as he could he wedged himself in.

"I'll, uh... try to keep your experiences in mind as our orchard here moves forward."

"Aw shucks," Applejack took her little spoonful of shame in stride, "I know some of all that was probably... more in my head than anything. I mean, they're just apple trees and all. But my point is that you'll be your most serious about your work if you treat your trees with some real feelings. That little devotion helps you feel them out just a bit more."

Her eyes went up and her chin grew itchy with thought.

Carefully she suggested, "Maybe-... I don't know... Throw magic into the mix and... maybe these trees here are awake enough that they're just trying to feel YOU out a bit more? Instead of the other way around, I mean."

He nodded, very weightsome. And the thought wasn't new to him.

"They WATCH...," he said distantly. "It's only when you think about it that you feel it, but they do..."

"Hmm... what for, though?"

"We'll see, I guess. Soon, hopefully. Remember how I told you we're going to keep about a quarter of the next harvest?"

"Sure."

"Well," the stallion perked up with optimism, "that's the worst case. That number has been pretty steady for awhile now after all my finagling with who's scheduled for orchard duty brought it slowly up there. That method's stalled out, but for this latest cycle I've implemented some new changes and we're going to see if maybe they bring that number up some. Here's hoping, anyway. What I've done is... actually something a little in line with what you were talking about."

"That so?" Applejack bent her ears with keen interest.

"Yeah," Till was eager to share his own story.

"So, there's these two orchard workers under my charge, and they're REALLY into each other. For an island like this, where even strangers... get VERY close to each other regularly... well, that kind of genuine romance is actually pretty rare. (Don't tell Venus I said that, by the way; she has all sorts of big romantic aspirations for this place. Love is love, though. You can't fake your way into that no matter how much you want to please another pony.)

"Anyway, these two lovebirds were so deep into each other's eyes all the time that I usually tried to schedule them apart. They just didn't get a lot done when they were both in the orchard at the same time, cause they were a lot more dedicated to each other than to their jobs. But it got a little difficult to keep them ALWAYS apart when I had to start trimming ponies from the schedule that the orchard really hated.

"Then, one day, they were out there together, taking one of their many unsanctioned breaks to be... boldly romantic under one of the trees. And I noticed something. There they were: laying against the trunk, hooves all over the place, kissing like there wasn't any other pony in the world to watch them. (Seriously; we have a WHOLE HOTEL here and they couldn't take it to a room.) I don't actually disapprove of their happiness or anything, but there was a job to do so I was about to go playfully chide them into getting back to work when... one of the corcandeo fruits popped right out of the tree and clonked one of'em on the head.

"No doubt it surprised them and ruined their moment, but it REALLY surprised the heck out of me because it was too early for the tree to have been dropping anything. I thought at first it was just some more bad magic; the fruit was probably rotten to the core or something. But no: it was ripe, and INCREDIBLY healthy-looking! And when I cut it open just to check? Probably the best sample of the fruit that we've ever grown!

"I FELT the trees watching them...

"So this cycle I've scheduled them together as much as possible instead. I've asked them to spend some of their work hours being clingy around the trees. Encouraged them to take all their dates in the orchard. I've even asked Venus and Vesuvius to help out by spending as much time there as they could, too! And some of the trees seem to really be responding to it!"

Yet he suddenly emphasized almost coldly, "SOME."

The farm pony raised an eyebrow as the stallion sighed.

"You'd think that LOVE would be a big part of the answer, all things considered," he said. "I mean, it FEELS SO RIGHT for that to be it. But no. It's not it for every tree. In fact, some of the trees actually seem UPSET by it. Turned off. Disgusted. For as much as some of the trees have responded so well... I think some others have withered from it. So... we'll see if the yield ACTUALLY increases."

"No kiddin'...," mused Applejack.

"Yeah," griped Till. He chewed on his lip and shook his head. "If some of the trees were 'looking' to see love then... I just don't have any idea what those other trees are 'looking' for."

Their mutual silence didn't produce any big revelations, so Applejack lightened the air with some jolly humor.

"Well in any case, it's a doggone riot that part of your job now is commanding ponies to swap spit under a tree!"

"They're not complaining, if that's what you're worried about," Till chuckled.

"Heh heh heh. They take off weekends or sick days?"

"Not yet. They regularly put in overtime!"

"Hah!"

She let the remaining laughter wiggle its way out of her and then, conceding to her thirst, she raised her empty glass in a call for more.

"Something different?" Till picked himself up and asked.

But she responded very casually, "Nah. More of the cider."

"REALLY?" he played a tricky smile.

"Wipe that smile off, Slick! That don't make it praise or nothing!"

"Oh, whatever you say, ma'am," the stallion dutifully refilled her drink.

"You take what you can get, sure, but some proper-made cider would shame this like a dairy cow with a milk allergy—" She took an extra-long, extra-greedy swig of her fresh glass. "—and don't you forget it!"

Humble, humorous, and true, Till responded, "I won't. Hey, I still remember the taste of Mrs. Gold's apples. It would be a delight to get some Apple apples on this island. That's an honest offer."

Flattered, Applejack genuinely questioned, "You don't want a sample or a tour of the farm or negotiations or nothing first?"

"I don't have any reason to doubt you."

"Aw shucks, Slick. ... I reckon it's going to be a deal, then."

"Great!"

And they shook hooves to seal their agreement.

Applejack lifted her glass for another pleasant swig, but as the wave of mediocre cider was about to wash over her lips she froze, stumbling on Till's next words:

"I suppose being able to ACTUALLY make deals with an Apple is another thing that makes me different from Dad."

Slowly the farm pony set her glass down without taking a sip, and her eyebrow lurched up her forehead.

"Uh huh...," she muttered.

"Yeah," Till was all too eager to carry on. "You know he always fumed so badly about Mrs. Gold outselling us, and again and again I kept telling him, 'Dad, what're you going to do? She grows BETTER APPLES. There's no sense competing, so let's work together with her instead! Then we can make EVERYPONY happy!' You know, we're the dominant landowners in the area and your aunt only has this dinky farm. But I just couldn't convince Dad to lease our apple orchard to her; then she would sell her great apples at bigger volumes and we would collect a fair cut for our land. But nope; Dad just COULDN'T let it go. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn."

Applejack could hardly find the carefullest way to phrase herself and she wound up speaking very directly, "I ain't so sure your choice to be on this island DIDN'T have nothing to do with your dad like you said it didn't."

"What?" the hard turn jerked the bartender from his thoughts.

"You call him stubborn but your mouth keeps running back to him every chance it gets!"

"W-What? I-, uh..."

"You ain't buying apples from me just to prove something to him, are ya?" She was only concerned, not aggressive.

"No!" Till was wounded by the accusation, and he pleaded with her, "I want this island to succeed! It only makes sense to bring in the best produce if we can't grow it ourselves!"

"Well then I just can't figure why you can't let go of him if your heart's truly here."

"He's-... They're-... they're my parents! I love my dad! Why wouldn't I think about them a lot? I miss them!"

"Hey, easy there," Applejack apologized, even though he clearly was more frightened than upset. "It just makes me worried some, is all. Sounds like you got something unsettled."

Till sighed, "We disagreed on a lot of things, he and I. Especially as I got older and he expected me to take on more responsibility for the running the plantation. I would try to do what I thought was best and he'd overule me and argue that it 'wasn't the way the Tills have always done it', and how his father had taught him so-and-so and... we... fought a lot. I just have more memories of that than anything else. It's no big deal."

"Don't sound like no big deal," lamented the farm pony. "He's a bit of a headstrong mule maybe, and a hard stickler for tradition (nothing so wrong with that, by the way; some amount of tradition is good), but I don't think you didn't inherit some of his stiff neck."

"I-... I still write home and TRY to keep in touch with him," the bartender distinguished himself. "He's the one who doesn't write back. Only Mom does."

"You told me your mama thought he was mighty hurt over your leaving, and that's why he don't write."

"'Brokenhearted', yeah," he quoted, but immediately he shook his head. "That's not Dad, though. He's stern. And TOUGH! He doesn't get all gooey like that. He's just miffed because I wanted to do something different again, and he can't let it go."

Applejack grimaced and looked down into her drink, watching the brown swirls as she spun her cider and shook her head. Dismally she groaned, quietly distressed by Till's take on the situation and altogether unhappy.

"What?" her unsatisfied slump drew the stallion's instant concern.

Back and forth the farm pony's eyes went, between her glass and the discomforted bartender. She sighed, swished some cider into her throat, and then set her drink aside.

"... It's like this," she laid out her worries with little reserve, speaking speculatively but openly. "Your papa comes from a long line of tradition; I recognize that. I bet as a colt he just loved everyday of learnin' from your grandpappy every-dang-thing there was to know about being a Till. Ain't nothing nearer and dearer to his heart than all those wonderful memories of the bond he made with his own pop growing up, I wager. And so, when he finally had a colt of his own he was probably so plum excited to share everything what was shared with him with you. All that happiness he remembered from all those good years with his own dad... they was gonna come back around again, and he was going to PASS IT ONTO YOU..."

She shrugged sadly.

"... So I guess it was mighty confusing to him when you turned out to be from a different mold. And that's no knock on you; sure enough you gotta be you, and it's on him to learn who his son ACTUALLY is 'stead of who he wants'em to be. BUT – and this is where I think you're both stubborn as an apple harvest in winter, but HE was showin' the difference between you two – he was LEARNING, wasn't he?"

Till squinted at her, unsure of where her hints led.

"You told me he was giving you assignments farther out at your request," Applejack reminded him. "That it was your idea to invest in this here island but, though he didn't cotton to it none, he put you in charge of figurin' it out anyway. It took him a long while but I think he was finally coming to grips with the fact that you ain't the son he dreamed you were gonna be, but he still knew you were HIS LITTLE PONY. So he was TRYIN' to learn about ya; TRYIN' to figure you out; TRYIN' to let go of his baggage and tighten himself with ya. Maybe you're right that he's all thick-skinned and hardnosed, and so he didn't have no comfortable way for him to talk about it, and sure enough I reckon it scared him to death to walk into something he didn't understand, but he wanted so much to try, for YOUR sake..."

She grew exceedingly soft and quiet.

"... And finally he took the chance on something big: letting you have your way and coming out here. And for that risk... he only got a letter saying that you wasn't coming back..."

Deeply in need of comfort her hoof hugged her glass.

"... I reckon it really DID break his heart. He went into something scary to try and hold onto you... and he LOST you instead. He don't write about it to you cause... he plain don't know how."

"... No, I-... I don't think-...," Till tried to reply, but he couldn't find the ground to stand on. He actually began to tear up slightly, and a small shake entered his breaths. All of a sudden he seized his glass and poured the cherry out of it into his mouth, nibbling away on it while he wordlessly readied himself another drink; something a bit stronger.

"Sorry to wade into matters of such a personal nature; I know we ain't exactly close friends or nothing," Applejack said after they had spent a minute drinking in silence. "I'd just hate to see you and your old pony fall away from each other over a little stubbornness, is all."

Till drained a huge portion of his drink.

"... So," he said, "I really am my dad's little mule, huh? Pigheaded and all?"

"You got different affections, that's for certain; but yeah. Maybe instead of 'pigheaded' we'll call it 'dedicated,' though. That sounds a mite more refined."

The stallion held up a weary smile.

"I never really thought of myself as having his 'dedicated' side, heh."

"Might got it worse than him," the farm pony smirked. "After all, he was actually tryin' to wrap his head around you but here you are still bellyachin' about him!"

Her grin folded over to reveal a rather serious, caring face.

"You're a swell fella, Slick—" She swiftly reconsidered the nickname in favor of one more narrowly tailored. "—Brown Sugar. You aim to please everypony you come across, and I don't think your papa should be any different. You got what it takes to patch things up with your old pony while still being your good-old self, and without giving up the things you want to chase. Just... put a little bit more into figurin' him out, maybe."

For a short while Till reviewed her words. Through all his imagination over the days before Applejack's arrival, this was not something he had guessed would have ever come up. (Though she was right: it had been his fault it had, hadn't it?) Lightly he nodded.

"I suppose this is the kind of homegrown wisdom you pick up on a small farm," he chuckled. "I take it you had plenty of back-and-forth with your parents before you all figured everything out?"

The farm pony didn't respond, taking instead a very sullen stare down into her drink.

The sorrowful cold that radiated from her was far too obvious, and right away the bartender knew he had said something much more penetrating than he had intended. Without her voice it wasn't immediately clear what line he had crossed, but he took clues from her face and eyes, slowly finding his way to the truth. For a brief moment she looked up at him, and just through the very depth of her stare it at last all became clear.

"I'm sorry...," he whispered.

"Don't be," she recovered and shook her head. "They was good ponies. I'm glad to have known them for as little as I got to. All the more reason I'm pushing you on this matter of your own folks." Another thoughtful moment; she traced her hoof around the top of her glass. "... They're not around forever, you know? Don't dally about keeping close to'em."

Again Till nodded through a long silence before he promised, "I'll get another letter out soon. This time I'll try to be a little bit more... honest with myself... while I write. See if I can get Dad to write me back."

"Hey, that's wonderful. Best of luck, Brown Sugar."

She raised her glass. Then he. And they drank.

Their quiet conversation slipped away from more serious things, forgetting orchards of magic trees and the pressures of parental relationships. They moved on to talk about more idly pleasurable things: what makes a best apple, the secrets of cooking squash, Hearth's Warming traditions, and how to make a fine sales pitch to a pony on the fence. The respite of light laughs and casual smiles helped reset them for their next interruption.

Nosedive wandered over to the bar, his face predictably cast towards the ground. He came right up to a stool and hopped onto it, taking up dreary residence at the bar on the extreme opposite side as Applejack. His elbows mounted themselves on the table, and his hooves pressed themselves deep into his cheeks. On his back his wings sagged low, like they were soaked with water and couldn't lift themselves.

Till didn't waste a second, breaking instantly from the farm pony and briskly sliding himself down the bar up to his friend.

"Hey, Dive," he greeted with utmost condolence. "What's up?"

It didn't need to be said. Nosedive blew a hard sigh through his nostrils.

Right away Till turned about and began mixing a remedy; his friend's most favored drink, which would hopefully provide a little cheer.

Applejack politely didn't speak and minded her own business. The nature of what was happening was easy to read, even if the specifics were completely unknown, and she admired Till's compassion and loyalty enough to give him uninterrupted space to work.

Nosedive accepted his drink with the dimmest of thanks and then sipped from it grimly, ignoring the few whispered entreaties of his friend.

From winding trail up to the bell moth's glade and down back to the entertainment stage, Rainbow Dash hadn't spent a single second away from her friends all evening. Now she was at a table receiving laughs from Hulahoof; the party pony was probably more familiar to her than he was! There was nothing the self-pitying pegasus wanted to say and nothing he wanted to hear; he just wanted to drown his bitter defeat in the presence of somepony with a supportive air.

He just didn't want to be alone.

It didn't take long for Till to understand. He rubbed his friend's leg in sympathy before standing aside quietly to let him drink.

And then the bartender remembered Applejack.

He slipped a few steps towards the middle of the bar and introduced, "Applejack. This is my best friend, Nosedive. We grew up together in the Old Commonwealth. I came to the island first, and after I got on board I invited him to come and join up."

"Pleased to meet'cha," the farm pony cordially greeted, tipping her glass towards the pegasus.

He responded with a murmur, true in effort but dead in energy. Barely he lifted his glass towards her before he was attacking it again in small, sad sips. Whatever it was that Till was attempting by drawing in Applejack, the pegasus cared very little.

The chocolate stallion went on to explain to Applejack, "He's... a bit of a fan of your rainbow-maned friend. He actually VOLUNTEERED to be her service pony. But he's been... having some difficulty introducing himself to her. I don't know if you... maybe have some advice for him?" He hardly wanted to sound pressing or too forward, and he maneuvered quite cautiously, "Dive's a good guy but he's never the loudest voice in the room. Your friend—I don't want to make judgments here but—she's kind of-"

"Oooohhhh, say no more," Applejack rolled her eyes so hard it took her head with them. "Whatever you're judging of her, you're judging right, I guarantee it. Girl's got such a one-track mind you could only race a train on it!" She lobbed some bitterness towards Nosedive. "Don't surprise me in the least you couldn't drill a word into her thick skull; like trying to squeeze apple juice from a stone, I tell ya."

The fire was somewhat unexpected for two ponies who were supposed to have been friends, and Till leaned back an inch while asking, "Uh... are we... talking about the same pony?"

"'Bout yea high, tail looks like a rag used to clean up after a jam festival, has a dumb manure-eating grin planted extra low on a face that only a blind mother could love? Yeah, that's her."

Again she turned and spoke to Nosedive, oozing sarcasm.

"You want my advice? Trot right up to her and ram your noggin into hers, full force. There's a SLIGHT chance you might get her attention."

Even the gloomy Nosedive was a bit surprised by all the fierce venom. He and Till exchanged wide-eyed glances.

The chocolate stallion made his way further down the bar, stopping before the farm pony and folding his legs on the bartop.

"Uh... everything alright?" he asked her authentically.

"Aw, peachy as a pie on a window sill in a rainstorm!" Applejack griped.

She stewed in her frustration but finally met with Till's eyes. They were waiting patiently for her to show the same honest seriousness she had just been dealing to him some minutes ago, and at that the farm pony loudly sighed. She shut her eyes and tapped her temple sternly to punch out some of the indignant misery.

"Alright, alright," she groaned, "Rainbow Dash IS a good friend, I admit it. I think highly of her finer qualities. But sometimes there's just no dealin' with her, you understand? She gets in these fightin' moods and then she's like an ornery bull: she sees everything as a target and charges at anything that moves. If you ain't looking to tussle then you got no choice but to just get out the way and wait for her to tire of it."

For a third time she faced Nosedive, and she didn't have for him any good news, "Sorry to say that if you're looking to get some face time with her then your best bet might be to just challenge her to something; it don't matter what. Competition is the only thing in her head right now and she's always looking for another pony to humiliate."

The pegasus, still dour, retreated into thought. He continued to take small, regular nips of his drink.

Till, meanwhile, bowed with thanks towards Applejack.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your rough patch with your friend," he said.

"Eh. It happens from time to time," excused the farm pony, somewhat harsh. She glowered at nothing in particular as she briefly thought on it, then moaned half-to-herself, "'Course her little hissy fit this time is setting a new dang record. Gosh, how many WEEKS has it been? Feels like I don't know her no more..."

When she spied the bartender studying her carefully she played it off, "Ain't no big deal."

Till remembered her exact response to him when he had said the very same words, and in friendly humor he spun his voice like hers and replied, "Don't sound like no big deal."

She popped up like he had stomped on her hoof, and she glared at his cheeky smile. The thoughts whirling in her head still had her slightly too dizzy to grasp what he was playing at, but she more than felt the way he was ribbing her.

"I sincerely apologize to dig into your personal matters," he still needled her, co-opting more of her words (though he at least ceased fooling with her accent). "I know we aren't close friends or anything. But I'd just hate to see you and a good friend have a falling out because of a little stubbornness, is all."

At last she began to latch onto his turnabout suggestion. She was none too happy to have her own weapons turned against her. Bit by bit her nose came up and her brow came down, crushing her eyeballs.

"You're a great pony, Applejack," he only continued his mimicry, and his grin was just too perfectly weaselly. "You're honest with everypony you come across. You've got what it takes to fix things up with your friend. Maybe just... try a little more to figure her out."

She matched his innocently fluttering eyelashes with the foulest leer of a jack-o'-lantern, evil and watchful. Against the sassy turn of his lips she wielded the crumbling frown of a mountain going bald. And, changing not an inch of her face and for not a moment releasing him from her sour-tempered stare, she slowly chugged down the rest of her cider. Glass finished, she dropped it onto the bartop with a loud clack, firmly planted her hoof upon its top, and screeched it steadily across the counter towards him.

"Alright, FINE. Have it your way, Brown Sugar. I'll give talkin' it out with her a shot," the farm pony grumbled, and she retrieved her hat before pulling it down hard onto her head. More mildly she muttered aside, "And why not? I promised Twilight I would anyway."

Picking up her glass Till jiggled it and promised, "There'll be a drink here waiting for you when you get back."

Then he leaned far over the bartop, and though he appeared in every way thankful to her for her good-natured decision, he couldn't help but jab her with one last tease. Dark went his face, and sinister went his eyes.

"Vengeance is MINE."

Comments

[Jack Kellar]

Well at least one of the entourage isn't totally and HOPELESSLY oblivious. Very necessary when one of the team turns out to be a wimp that needs booze to talk for him.

And Till... boy, that oil of yours got an awful cartload of coarse sand in it. You sure as hell ain't as smooth as you think you are, son. By the way, thanks in getting the group united a bit more instead of segregating it like your bosses want to, your fixing helps a lot, villain.

Speaking of Till, I see that he seems to be desperate to cover up some heavy mental baggage with the island fruit's "fabricated happiness", an issue much like Nosedive, Summer Wind and especially Humble Herd also have. That is a nasty spiderweb of fissures in the porcelain mask, a chunk off the base of the pedestal. One small development that makes me rub my hands...

To finish this up: so some of the corcandeo trees don't respond well to explicit love. That makes me think they could be tied to emotions or bonds. I can only imagine the properties of the fruit of one that reveled in fear or homicidal enmity.

[Starlight Nova]

Why did you make the picture so blurry?

[Zurock]

7500935
Totally legitimate primary reason: Highlights the title text.
Absolutely minor secondary reason: Hides the art flaws.

[Truthseeker]

The scene between Applejack and Till was exquisite... until he turned vicious at the end there. Wonder why he got so upset when she left?

[Zurock]

7514458
He's being cheeky. Could probably have put verbiage in there to make it clearer, I guess.

In a friendly way, he's just having a bit of fun holding the mirror up to her after she's given him some true but otherwise a bit jarring and uncomfortable advice. For a guy who has had some struggles connecting to his father and sees himself as very different from his father, it wasn't the most painless thing to hear that he's way more like his dad than he thought and that he shares some of the blame in the communication breakdown, though fairly immediately Till accepts what she says as correct. So the basic idea behind his turn around is a sort of sad, fun, mischievous, "Well, fine! You make me work out my personal problems with my parents; I make you work out your personal problems with your friend!" His particular attitude about it is absorbing and venting some of his long-tired emotions from his battles with his father, but ultimately it's clear that his intentions are entirely for the well-being of Applejack's friendship with Rainbow Dash.