Dear Granny Smith,
I might have pushed the limits of your granddaughter’s tolerance far beyond the point of no return.
I sent her a notice a month or so ago regarding your latest cider shipment’s tardiness and had the unfortunate gall to call her Miss Crab Apple Jackhammer Time. Like all other moments where I mercilessly butchered her name like a julienned carrot, I’d given little thought to the name beyond the playful ribbing you and I have enjoyed at her expense.
Today, I received the holy mother of all restraining orders from her whilst judging the annual National Dessert Competition, served by her alongside an outstandingly delectable apple pie she’d baked. It’s the first time I was served both a slice of apple pie and a slice of humble pie simultaneously. It couldn’t be a more bittersweet moment if it tried.
The restraining order states I’m not allowed to set hoof on her acres, write any correspondence or send any parcels to her, or otherwise interact with her in any way outside of royal summons regarding world-threatening issues or entities. Which, sadly for her, is anywhere from a weekly to quarterly basis. In addition, I’m not allowed to toy with her name in any capacity — no fun allowed, basically.
And this is where I have a problem. She didn’t bother sticking around to hear the results of the competition, apparently having fulfilled her unrestrained vendetta. It’s a shame, then, that her pie won the competition and I can’t even send the trophy to her.
Now, technically I could send it to you and you could give it to her and this whole trophy mess would be done and over with, but I think it’s about time your granddaughter and I had a real face-to-face talk about this whole affair that, quite clearly, has gone over the rails. To that end, I’ll keep the trophy here at the castle. This situation isn’t quite important enough to merit a royal summons, but do pass along the message that if Applejacked Up wants her trophy…
She can come pry it from my ivory hooves while we have a nice, long chat.
I’ll be waiting eagerly for a reply. Or for her to break down the throne room doors. Whichever comes first.
Friends forever,
Princess Celestia
P.S. I don’t actually want the doors broken down. You don’t want to know how long it took to repair it the first time Tirek broke it. Millennium-old oakwood is not a cheap resource to acquire and process.
No, I won’t use your leftover applewood for the door. As kind a gesture that is, I prefer the vintage appeal of aged wood for the castle exterior.
I’d much rather use the applewood for a nightstand or armoire if you insist on me using it, however. That’s an offer I certainly won’t refuse.
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This is a great line. And that makes me happy.
By definition, Celestia will be waking up with a horse's head in her bed. I just hope there won't be any unforeseen extras...
Well, this was a nice surprise
7865198
Naw, this is Equetria and that would be murdering a citizen. Somepony might try to put an 'Anon' head in her bed, though.
So she can't send correspondence to Applejack o' Lantern, but she can to Granny?
At least you didn't call her "Peanut Butter Jelly Time."
Especially given that there was an entire episode about how having fun at the expense of people who don't think it's funny is a bad thing, mayyybe it's time for Celestia to let go of her need to call Applejack anything but her actual name.
Well... Let the games begin!!!
7865744 Yeah... because, as a reader, it's beginning to annoy ME, too, now. When a joke has run its course, let it die.
7865198
Well, if this was the Disgruntledverse, Celestia would be waking up to find a whole horse in her bed, trying to molest her.
Sooooo!!!.......................Grumpestia!
Applejack won't go to Cabterlot. No, she is smarter than that. She will send Pinkie Pie...
7869056 Cabterlot
Yup. AJ would never go there.
You can hardly get three steps anywhere before a cab comes by