Work and Play

by Impossible Numbers

All Play

The last light of Sugarcube Corner clicked off while they were peering over the rails of the balcony. At once, Applejack and Pinkie chuckled and giggled and galloped straight to the sleeping bags in the middle of the room in the spire.

“Nighty night, dearies!” said Cup Cake through the bedroom door.

“Goodnight, Mrs Cake!” chorused the fillies. As soon as the creaks of the staircase faded away, however, both of them whipped out the flashlights from their bags and lit their own faces from underneath, chuckling and giggling as quietly as they could manage.

“OK, OK,” whispered Pinkie Pie. “Truth or Dare! Truth or Dare!”

For a moment, a frown crossed Applejack’s face. “Uh… Well, Ah’ve heard of that one, o’course. But, um, what is Truth or Dare?”

Pinkie blinked at her with a gasp. “NO! You’ve never played Truth or Dare? Every pony’s played Truth or Dare. What do you do at slumber parties?”

There was an assumption in that question that cut Applejack, and she winced at it. Almost immediately, Pinkie’s face softened.

“Oh,” she said. “I was being silly. I mean, of course not every pony has played Truth or Dare – obviously, really little fillies can’t have played it, I mean they just got here – and not every pony does the same thing. Different strokes for different folks, after all, right?”

“Maybe,” said Applejack in as soft a tone as she could manage, while deep inside her, something screamed at Pinkie to shut up, “you could jus’ tell me how it’s done, sugar cube?”

Pinkie bit her lip and nodded, but then burst out with a short, sharp laugh. “Sugar cube? That’s cute!”

Applejack’s ears flared red. “It’s what mah big brother used to call me. Ah think it sounds nice, that’s all.”

Opposite her, Pinkie shuffled and her sleeping bag squeaked with each rock of her torso. A quick shush made her stop at once.

“Okey dokey.” Pinkie gave her a wink, and then disappeared into her bag. After a lot of squeaking and some hasty shushing, she popped out and threw her rubber chicken across the room. “Now try this. Let’s start with a dare, to make it easy peasy. You think you’re such a cowpony, then let’s see you cow-po-nay!”

A strand of ribbon landed in a heap on Applejack’s face. Snorting, she flicked it off and peered beyond Pinkie’s outstretched hoof to the smirk behind it.

“AJ,” said the filly, “I dare you to get that chicken without leaving your bag at all! I wanna see a lasso!”

Applejack sagged with relief. Deep within her mind, a tiny voice was whispering that she was miles away from being a cowpony, but she’d practically been born with a rope in her mouth. Even with hooves, it was the work of a moment to tie a respectable ring. The red fabric was a blur, and then…

“Wow!” breathed Pinkie when the chicken bounced off her face. “Do it again! Do it again! You must be a rodeo queen!”

“Tweren’t nothin’.” Yet behind her fluttering chest, a little Applejack was pumping the air and whooping. “Does that mean Ah win?”

“Dare me to do something! Dare me! Dare me!”

“Oh, Ah dunno. Ah can’t think of anythin’.” Applejack fixed her with a steely look. “So how’s the ‘Truth’ bit work, then?”

A creak of a floorboard came from downstairs. Both of them shut up at once and cocked their elf-like ears, breaths well and truly bated. Two clicks later, their flashlights went off. Both of them blinked against the afterglow.

“Clear,” whispered Pinkie. She switched her light back on. “But I can’t believe you’ve never played this before. And, and that hat was amazing. And your voice keeps turning all well-to-do one moment, then cowpony cool the next. I bet you ran away from a travelling theatre!”

Applejack illuminated her own frown. “Theatres travel?”

“Not like that, duh! My family used to watch them when they came in. They had all kinds of coaches and carriages and wagons and things. I think they called it… hold on…” She tapped a beat on her skull. “A ‘caravan’?”

“Ah ain’t travelled in no caravan, Pinkie!” Applejack couldn’t hide the chuckle. “No, Ah jus’ came back from –”

“Ooh, ooh! Truth or Dare! It’s my turn! It’s my turn! Truth! Truth!” Pinkie was almost bouncing out of her bag, which was impressive considering she was lying on her belly and elbows. The beam of light juddered with each bounce. “OK, OK, for this, I tell you to say something, and you have to tell the truth! No backsies!”

“Um… OK, then…”

Applejack began to sweat. Much as she was getting used to Pinkie’s squeak and the way the filly never seemed to stop moving, there was always the chance Pinkie could bite. Not really bite, naturally, but that was how Granny would’ve described it.

Oblivious, Pinkie cleared her throat and winked at her. “Where did you get that hat and that funny voice? I mean, what makes the AJ go ‘tick-tock’?”

They cocked their ears again, checking for the slightest sound. Not so much as a sleepy murmur came up to their level. No wind came through the open window.

“Ah was jus’ telling yer,” said Applejack. “Ah came back from Manehattan, jus’ last week. Ah was stayin’ with mah Aunt an’ Uncle Orange – they’re like the big city ponies in the family – and they was tryin’ to bring me up all s’phisticated-like.”

“You must have loved something about the place, right?” goaded Pinkie Pie, batting her eyelashes.

Despite a large part of her shrieking “NO!” Applejack couldn’t resist the few at the top. “Well… to tell yer the truth… it was OK at firs’… Actually, it was great! Nothin’ to do but goin’ to dinners and readin’ books and loungin’ aroun’ all day. An’ they pampered me somethin’ fierce. Ah tell yer, for the firs’ few days” – she broke off and giggled – “it was kinda amazin’. Ah was like a li’l filly princess!”

“Ooh, ooh! Do the accent, do the accent!”

It didn’t take much strain. If anything, she had to strain not to do it at times. “Very well, my little pony. I was just saying to the lovely little pink filly in the front row…”

“Oh you flatterer, you.” Pinkie fluttered her eyelashes and batted a hoof.

“The city was a most inspiring place,” said Applejack, smiling in what she hoped was a gracious manner. “But I fear it wasn’t quite homely enough for my palate. Oh, I was ever so miserable. So many long words to use, so much enunciating to do – why, the number of times I had to say ‘the rain in Wane falls mainly on the plain’, you just wouldn’t believe…”

Pinkie was squirming in her attempts to force back the giggles, and snorts broke through her hooves once or twice. “It’s…” she tried to say, but it was a full minute before she could control herself enough to speak. “It’s so weird! You were like this salt-of-the-earth farmer pony, and then you do that posh pony voice, and bam! I mean, what’s Wane supposed to be?”

“That there’s a town, sugar cube. It’s in the desert.” Applejack’s voice, having wandered across a few scorching hot dunes with not so much as a wince, immediately turned back and ran for the comfort of familiar grass again. “Ah done learned g’ography in Manehattan.”

Not one word of this sank in, as Pinkie was writhing and squeaking again. After a while of this, they both glanced down at the floorboards, ears cocked once more. Outside, the stars twinkled and the cottages stood as sentinels guarding a prison.

Hoofsteps reached them from below. At once, they ducked into their sleeping bags. One of the Cakes was gargling.

To her surprise, Applejack was twitching at the hooves. There was no doubt in her mind that she was a creature of the soil, through and through. Yet Pinkie’s histrionics were grating, as though she was running a rusty saw over a banjo.

Why, she found herself thinking, is it so funny when I speak like I come from the city? It’s not weird.

The hoofsteps passed by. Far below them, a door clicked shut. Only once a silent minute had slunk past did they peek out of their impromptu cocoons.

“Hey, do you think,” said Pinkie as though it just occurred to her, “I could be a cowpony? It’d be so cool, with the hat and the rope thing and the little towns in a big, big world, and then there’d be all the hoedowns and the happy settler ponies, and –”

Applejack coughed and shrugged at her carelessly. “Ah think it’s mah turn now. Truth time for you, Miss Pie. Now gimme a minute. Ah gotta think what to ask.”

“But I could be a cowpony if I wanted, right? They do all kinds of daredevil stuff, all on their own, wanderin’ like that one you were playing yesterday. The Lone Pinkie Pie: has a ring to it, huh? And I can do the accent too! Listen! Ahem… Hah hain’t a-tay-keeng no guhff frum noa wun. See? Fits me like glove.”

Chilly legs began to crawl up the inside of Applejack’s chest. Pinkie was talking faster than usual; not so’s a casual listener would hear it, but there was a slight breathlessness as the pink filly went on. Her eyes narrowed. Big Macintosh said never trust a smooth-talker. Oil can work as a cheap paintjob, was how he’d phrased it.

“All I gotta do is work out how to do the rope thing,” Pinkie went on, “and then I get the hat and maybe some boots, you know, with the little pointy wheel thingies on the backs, and then a long coat so it flutters in the wind –”

“Ah got mah question, Pinkie.” Applejack waited for the blue eyes to focus on her, and thought she saw the slight quiver. “Here it is: Where d’you come from, an’ how d’you end up here in Ponyville with them Cakes?”

There was no mistaking it this time; Pinkie’s blue eyes darted about for a split second, as though flurrying with panic. Then, their gazes were locked together.

“No backsies,” said Applejack.

“Ha. No problemo.” Pinkie’s poofy mane bounced when she rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s an easy one. I was on a rock farm, with my ma and my pa and all my sisters. It was all rocks. Rocks, rocks, rocks. I was so, so sad, because no one ever talked or smiled or did anything other than move rocks and cut rocks and grow rocks and dig up rocks and eat rocks and” – she gasped – “and then one day, I saw the most beautiful thing! It was a pretty rainbow in the sky! It just came whoom! Right outta nowhere.”

Applejack’s mind gave a spasm, but for the life of her she couldn’t tell why. “An’ then?”

“Well…” Pinkie’s gaze strayed to the twinkling sky and drifted down to the silent chimneys scattered at eye level. “It wasn’t the same after that.”

They heard an owl hoot in the darkness. Faint though it was, Applejack heard the slight scuff when Pinkie flinched.

“So then,” Pinkie continued in an even cheerier voice, “I came here! The Cakes come from my ma’s side of the family, and they said it was OK… so I came here and told them what was going on, and here we are! My turn! My turn!”

Applejack pursed her lips as she tried to spot the owl in the darkness. “You don’t wanna go back, even a li’l bit?”

“Well… I can always go back and visit, natch. Like when Hearth’s Warming Eve comes, we can all meet up for a big get-together.”

“An’ your family was jus’ OK with you movin’ away? No cryin’ or nothin’?”

“Of course! We kinda don’t always totally see things eye-to-eye, or eye-to-any-part, really. They like rocks, I like… stuff. Every pony said it was a great idea. The Cakes are just so much n – I mean, they love doing fun things like baking and having parties and talking to the neighbours and drawing and colouring and playing games like Find the Hidden Chocolate Cake –”

“Right,” said Applejack. It was the way she switched gears. Pinkie was creeping one moment, and then galloping off the next. Big Macintosh had told her about that too.

Applejack looked her in the eye. “Pinkie Pie, the game says you gotta tell the truth when it’s Truth, right?”

A fit of spluttering ensued, mixed liberally with easygoing chortles. “Well, of course it’s the truth, I mean, hah! Why would they call it Truth or Dare if the only thing you could do was dare? Then it’d just be Dare, or Dare and Dare, or Sometimes Truth But Always Dare –”

“Pinkie,” said Applejack sharply. “You’re worryin’ so bad Ah can smell it comin’ off you. We’re gonna be friends, ain’t we? An’ friends always tell the truth, don’t they?”

There was a long pause as Pinkie reached across and started fidgeting with the rubber chicken. Quickly tugging, Applejack had whipped off the ribbon with no more effort than a unicorn levitating it off.

“You Pinkie Promise not to tell any pony?” said a small voice which was even squeakier than before.

“Ah have no idea what that means.”

“Like this. ‘Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye’.” As she spoke, Pinkie crossed her chest and poked her closed right eye. “I made it up myself.”

“OK. Ah’ll do that then.” Feeling a bit stupid, she rushed through the rhyme and the crossing, and in her haste she tapped her eyebrow instead of her eye. When Pinkie opened her mouth to protest, Applejack said, “Ah promise, OK? But now you gotta tell the truth.”

Several deep breaths were needed. Applejack wondered if Pinkie had ever run a race in her life, given how strained her throat sounded. Dribbles of sweat had to be wiped off with an errant hoof. And then she told the truth.

When it was finished, Applejack’s face had crystallized. Her cheeks were taut with the effort of clenching her jaw.

“Do you…” said Pinkie tentatively. Her eyes were wide enough to reflect even the faint starlight outside.

“Ah made a promise, Pinkie,” said Applejack stiffly, and the fire burned in her chest, “and an Apple pony keeps her promise.”

Pinkie cast about for a response, but suddenly Applejack didn’t want to hear it. Click went the flashlight, and she threw the sleeping bag over her head and curled up, ignoring the weak whispers outside until they died away. It took her hours to fall asleep; the fire in her chest was worse than a sunbeam right on the pillow. Opposite her, Pinkie didn’t make a sound.

---