The Bad Apple Chronicles

by Gabriel LaVedier

Up the river...

A few short miles outside of Pericarp County the communities clustered themselves around the river. There were any number of such large rivers that crisscrossed the land of Equestria, making it a great, green, well-watered land. That particular river was known as the Maresisippi river, one of the biggest and best known. The towns clustered along its banks were major transport hubs, goods from the north and south flowing up and down, and then distributed east and west from the towns.

Outside the furthest town on the edge of Pericarp county that was close to the river was the hub town of Clemenshorne, which had grown in stature and prominence by being the most common port for shipping apples along the river. Apple family money had been pouring into it for years, making them a very popular family in the area. But while they were happy to take Apple money, they didn’t pay much attention to what was happening in the county itself. And since few relatives of the Apples lived in there, the edicts of Eugenia Smith-Apple held very little meaning.

That was why the folk of the town were more than happy to invite in the brash young caramel stallion with the apple on his flank to do as he pleased. His black mane was feathered and tousled, looking chaotic yet stylish. He wore a white suit and string tie, looking a proper country gentlecolt. He even had a small black moustache, which he occasionally stroked lightly while he spoke.

He made his way around the down glad-hoofing and winking occasionally at the mares that would catch his eye. He looked like he had money and nothing caught the attention of a merchant town mare like a stallion with some bits in his bag. They were only too glad to offer to buy him lunch, as mares did for stallions, or to get little trinkets such as string ties and lace. His honeyed words flowed freely and his agile hooves touched, without actually making inappropriate contact. Any number of them were lining up to try and court him down the aisle.

The dapper Apple, who waved off questions regarding his more specific identity, eventually settled himself in the local saloon and salt station, holding forth at a table with a deck of cards. It was not an uncommon thing. There was always a stallion or two with a desire for a quick earning via games of chance. He had many takers, who all sat down to play.

Play proceeded without chips. Raw bits were the ante tossed into the pot, and were all that were needed to raise. The pot started very small; the young fellow had very little in his pouch. He risked it all on his first throw, smiling all the while. He was the only one smiling when all the cards were shown, and all the bits raked into the space before him.

With more bits to risk, the young stallion risked them with seeming impunity. He lost, as happened normally in the course of gambling, but he won far more often. He consumed the bits of his opponents in huge, gluttonous chunks. He forced big moves from them by appearing weak then trouncing them monstrously. His opponents drifted off in grumbling huffs one after another as they lost a majority of their bits, or even all of them, the last one tromping off after he turned out his pouch and found nothing left but lint. As a final little kicker, the stallion offered two bits for the pouch, which he used to carry around all his new money.

His next activity was to trot down to the office to purchase a ticket on the next passenger steamer bound down the river. He flashed his bits and his smile all around, bringing in a few other ticket buyers. The mares that had been following him around, and had been competing with each other for his evenly-spread attentions, all looked most disappointed by his decision. Some even slid him their names in scraps of paper, happy and light as they trotted away, because they never saw him letting the papers fall into the river and flow away.

The boat arrived at the dock in short order, loading from two ends. The slick stallion jangled his way up the gangplank, waving his black tail towards the mares who waved and sighed, none of them taking account of the bits they had spent in vain. He also seemed to be waving his flank at the stallions that stood and seethed, perhaps inviting them to kiss it.

The steamboat was divided into four layers, arranged inside the large enclosed area in the center of the deck. Below the level of the deck there was a layer of rooming for those that had paid for lodging on the ship. The rooms were cramped and closed, the air warm from the boiler below, and stuffy from the insufficient ventilation. The rooms were arranged along the keel of the ship, a long hall leading up and down past the rows of doors. At the far end of the hall was a stairway down to the lower area, which held the huge coal boiler and served as living quarters for the workers. It was also used as a sleeping area for the lower class of the travelers, who could not get a room or who were swept off the deck by watch ponies. At deck level was a finely appointed lounge and dining area, with crystal chandeliers and lovely paintings on the walls. The top layer was where the captain controlled the massive paddlewheels and where the navigator plotted their course along.

The snappy new arrival didn’t bother getting his room, as he never intended to set down his pack. He strolled down to the back of the passenger hall, and into the boiler room. He trotted through the wave of heat that hit him as he went down, sweat springing up immediately and bringing a sheen to his skin. “Hello, chappies. Anypony down here care to put a few bits down on a game?”

A few heads popped up, all earth ponies. Two of the boiler-tenders and one of the ponies huddled down in the shadows. All three were fairly indistinguishable from the covering of coal and threadbare clothing. All three wandered over to the aristocratic stallion, drawn by the sound of jangling bits in his pouch. One of them, an older stallion, eyed the younger one and tapped his hoof. “What are you doing down in the boiler with us? A bit strange for a proper gentlecolt to be down in the belly of a steamer.”

“Oh, come now. Why be so suspicious? I’m just a country-living gentlecolt who plays a little bit of whist. I’ve heard a lot about all your river-going folk, and how much you like to play cards. I thought maybe you’d show a first-timer an interesting time.”

The other ponies looked between each other and winked to one another before the older one nodded and smiled pleasantly to the country gentlecolt. “Now that’s a powerful good idea! Got to tell you, though, we don’t really play whist. We play poker down here. Do you know how to play poker?”

"Poker... Poker... Ah! The name seemed familiar. I do recall hearing something about it and I do believe I heard the rules along the line. Yes, I'm certain I could get the hang of it. I hope you'll go easy on me." The young adult looked on with a bright smile and a vulnerable posture, as he took a seat by a wooden crate with the right height to serve as a table.

"Well, stranger, we'll serve you well. Don't you fret. You'll get taken care of." The older gent winked to the other two, all three of them taking places around the crate.
The country dandy shuffled his deck a few times and hesitated as he was about to pass them out. “Wait… How many do we get again?”

The other ponies smirked to one another and laid bits on the crate. “Five, stranger. Five.”

The cards were distributed with only slight hesitation, all the cards taken up and looked at. The dealer pony dropped a bit from his jangling pouch onto the crate and looking at his cards. He adjusted the cards in his hooves, and scratched his head. Ok, now we… Add more money?”

“Yup. Drop how much you think your hand is worth.” The others all put down a single bit.

After one more consideration, the last member of the card game dropped two bits, with hesitation. He was surprised when the rest of them put down more bits. “Oh! Wait… What is that?”

“That’s how it works, stranger. You put down the same as the rest unless ya think you’ve got a good one. Then we all match it up. Think it’s worth another bit or are you ready to move on?” The spokespony for the group nodded lightly to his cronies after his speech.

Another look led to a shake of his head. Then he set down two of the cards and took up two more. “I remember this part. We get to try and get better cards.”

The others put in their own cards, receiving their own cards. “Alright. Now we throw in some more bits.” The others looked at their cards, one throwing his cards down, the rest putting down single coins.
The dealer gave his own bit and looked at the rest. “That’s all for me. So, here’s what I have.” He showed his cards. Nothing but a pair of sevens and low garbage.

"Ooh, too bad, stranger. I've got you beat." The older pony laid out a hand with three threes, the only other pony in the running showing off a pair of sixes. "All mine." The gent took in the pile of bits, winking to the other two, all three missing the stranger smiling.

The game went mostly in that fashion, the stranger asking a few questions about the value of card combinations, while he continued to bleed bits from the heavy pouch he had with him. But there were some slight indications all was not as it seemed. Occasional good moves and fair bluffs came from the apparantly inexperienced dandy, along with "suddenly" remembering the rules and calling one of the other ponies on his attept to claim a win on a had that had been beaten.

After a long while of chugging along the river, the stranger finally showed his true colors. He had softened up the belly-traveling tramps, making them believe he was a harmless whist-playing country aristocrat, looking for excitement and adventure and a little danger walking on the wild side. Then he proposed higher stakes, as his bag was growing light in any case, and he didn't want to drag out the inevitable. The other three agreed. How hard would it be to clean out a jolly dandy, really?

The minimum bets had been sharply increased, as had minimum raises, while all limits had been removed. Bits clinked on the impromptu gaming table, arranged in messy piles, passed from hoof to hoof. The three had grown adversarial. Now there were serious amounts, being bandied about in greater quantities. They barely gave a token thought about the pony that served as dealer. They noticed soon enough when he was eating up their wagers, taking away the good take they had built up as they greedily attempted to win the whole take from one another. The new bits put in their hooves and what few bits hat been jangling in their pouches before they started, all were claimed in round after round. They were just hoodwinked enough to believe it was all a fluke, a mere streak that would end grandly.

“Two pairs, aces and eights, jack of spades for the kicker.” The cards were flipped over smoothly, the toehr three ponies slapping their cards down and groaning as the pot was swept up and dropped into the large pouch the stranger had at his side. “Gentlecolts… It’s been fun.”

“Yea, fun… You sure got real good real fast, stranger.” The older pony stood up slowly, glaring at the brash young stallion in the low light. “It’s very curious.”

The pouch was tied up and attached to the young male’s side. He then stared just behind the older stallion, at the boiler. “Well, I’m a curious colt. But what I find really curious is how you managed to go this long without noticing you’re being watched.”

“What?” All three of the stallions looked behind them. The realized, somewhat quickly, of course they were being watched. There were others riding in the belly. “Hey!” But it was already too late. The other pony had turned tail and run out. He was already up the stairs. And any pony with that many bits and dressed like that had a decent room. The type the steamboat crew would be only too eager to assist.

He ran his way down the hall and up to the deck. It had grown late, and undoubtedly the lounge would be well-supplied with ponies, to trick and to relieve of belongings. He stopped long enough to catch his breath and arrange his invented back story in his head. The pack wasn’t exactly standard issue, but it added a little to his mystery. The one detail that jarred just slightly, making him all the more interesting and unusual.

Once the cool river air had worked its way over him, and removed the sweat gained from being near the boiler, the young male strode in to the large inner area, trotting through the utilitarian halls with his coin pouch jangling. He stepped through a door into a wholly different environment. The floor was an expanse of red carpet, perfectly cleaned and plush, not a pile out of place. The place was paneled in wood with recessed teak sections spaced evenly midway up the walls, those sections trimmed in gold, the non-teak portions painted bright white. The ceiling was slightly domed, a large and beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from it and casting glittering lights over the area. A bar was to the right of the entrance, a few ponies holding forth at it. To the left, a door leading to the dining area, and several tables. They were uninhabited save for one, which held a black-suited older stallion with a long white mane and white more-than-goatee and attached moustache. His coat was still a striking roan despite his obvious age; also despite his age he seemed spry and collected, eyes sparkling with intelligence. His mane was done back, held down by some kind of product, while his formal white shirt was held closed with black lace.

As the first order of business, the newly-arrived center of attention went to the bar. “Evening, barkeep. Let me have some salt and a scotch rocks.”

The bartender, a slightly-short cream stallion with a bushy mane wearing a set of dark round glasses with dark rims, nodded, pulling out a silver plate and pouring out a small quantity of salt. He then took out a lowball glass and scooped in some ice. As he poured in the scotch he commented, “Say, stranger, have you heard anything odd? I swear I can hear some drilling in the wall.”

“Haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary. But I haven’t been up here very long.” The young stallion laid some bits on the bar and took up the glass, saluting the strange little barkeep. He took a quick sip and then licked up a bit of salt. After a few more sips and licks, he really took notice of the older stallion. There was just something about him. Something familiar. And the stallion thought the same. A small movement of his hoof beckoned the young stallion over.

“Evening, youngster.” The older stallion looked aside at the apple mark on the young stallion’s flank and his grin pulled wider. “To whom do I owe the honor?”

The younger male had a seat at the table and set his back down beside him. “Evening, sir. Name’s Apple Graft. Just out of Clemenshorne via greater Mesocarp. Not much to do out there if you don’t buck apples or ship them out. I’m just a restless stallion. Thought I’d try my hoof at this.”

“Is that so? Well, welcome to the river, mister Apple… Sorry, mister Graft. I hope you find it pleasant. Most folks are very friendly and generous along the waterways.”

“I certainly know it. I’ve found the ponies here to be so generous, so very giving. They’re very kind to complete strangers. I enjoy that kind of open-hoofed nature.”

“All it takes is a little encouragement and folk along the rive rive up just about anything. Got a code of honor and all that. So… It’s a long trip to where we’re going, mister Graft. Would you care to pass the time in more of a gentlecoltly fashion?”

“That sounds quite civilized, good sir. And just how would we spend such a time? Were you thinking, perhaps, a game of Whist if we get two more?”

“No no. Let’s not bother the others. Why not have a good, stallionly game of poker? I have a deck if you have the time and inclination.”

“As it so happens, I enjoy that game greatly, and have just the temperament to give it a go. I should warn you, sir, that I have been told I play a mean hand or two.”

“Very well! This should be interesting, then.” The older stallion pulled out a deck of cards from in his jacket pocket, shuffling and cutting them with speed and grace. “I don’t suppose a proper young country gentlecolt like yourself would care to lay down a few bits on the games? Just out of pure good-natured fun?”

“Why, sir, I find that a most excellent idea! Not too much, of course, just a little bit to make it interesting.” Apple let his bag of bits hit the table, jangling them loudly.

“But of course…” The older stallion laid out a smaller pouch of bit and tossed a few into the center of the table. “Just to be friendly.”

Apple tossed out an equal number of his own bits and lightly tapped the table top. “Speaking of friendly, what’s your name, old sir?”

“Me? Well, just call me Chance. Everypony around here does.” Chance flipped the cards from the deck, dealing out for himself and Apple.

Apple took his cards and looked them over with an interested eye, throwing down an additional bit. “I like you, Chance. To the point. Good job on that.”

“Well, thank you…” A bit from Chance hit the table. “I’ve learned how it works out here. It’s not my original home, after all.”

Two cards slid across the table while Apple nodded. “We’ve all got to move away from home. Just a part of growing up, I guess.”

“Got to? Maybe, I guess…” Chance took one card for himself and laid another bit on the table. “Life works out like that. But how do you get those ponies that live generation on generation in one spot?”

“Ah, that’s just the exception that proves the rules. Ponies are always being told to strike out on their own and see the world, get out of the family homestead. It’s how we spread so far.” Apple threw down two bits and adjusted his cards. “Why we’re on the river rather than were we were born.”

Chance matched the action then laid out his cards. Two pair, sevens and jacks. “Of course. Of course. That‘s it.”

“I don’t mean to begrudge the homebodies. But sometimes there are pressing matters to tend to.” Apple laid out a pair of threes and a lot of nothing. “Good fortune, Chance. Looks like you’ve got a touch of the good luck about you.”

Chance swept up the cards and the bits, shuffling and cutting then handing the deck across to Apple. “Oh, just a fluke, I’m sure. I only play occasionally, friendly games with nice travelers.”

“It’s the same with me. I play in parlors and sitting rooms. I’m just a country gentlecolt.” The cards were shuffled again, several more times than were strictly necessary and cut at an odd place before being dealt out. “Nothing special. Ordinary, forgettable stallion.”

Chance laid out his bits before looking at his cards. “Indeed. Nothing at all memorable or suspicious about you. It’s a good state to be in. If you leave no impressions anywhere at all you can come and go as you please, easily slipping into any place you want.” He laid down one more bit, shifting his cards around.

“Yes, well, I’m not that invisible. I have left many an impression on some stallions with whom I have spoken, and deeply impressed many mares.” Apple anted and then called the initial bet after a quick look at his cards. He dropped two and picked up two. “I’m not a bad stallion, overall.”

“Really? I thought even Cannonites stopped polygyny in the Principality. I was sure only those griffins did that sort of thing. Oh! Do you mean you love and leave?” Chance dropped three cards and took three new cards. “That’s one way to do it. But do you leave enough of an impression to upset them?” He tossed a bit into the pot and looked sternly at his opponent.

“Not that it matters but I hardly stay long enough. Mostly they’re attracted to my charming demeanor and good looks. They feel inclined to offer little trinkets and tidbits and buy me meals. Who am I to complain?” More bits landed on the table, significantly more than Chance’s single bit.

Chance laid his cards down and slid them across the table. “Of course. How could you possibly resist?”

As it had in the belly of the boat, the younger stallion’s strategy worked in big moves, grand sweeps of gamesmanship and big bets meant to chew up his opponent by the gluttonous mouthful. The difference was, unlike his prior opponents, his competition did not take the bait.

Chance could almost sense bluffs or sweep attempts, folding before the replacement of cards if needed, and only betting more than normal when he clearly had the advantage. Nothing big, nothing flashy. The problem was, it worked. He was winning more games with smaller takes. He was bleeding out bits into his own pouch, clink by clink. The young stallion had killed off his salt and drink long ago, and not wanted to waste a bit on getting more, much as he could have used them.

“Young stallion… I feel it only fair to tell you, I have not been exactly honest with you.” Chance sat back, holding up the round as he spoke. “You may be able to tell I’m something of an old hoof at games like this. Thing I, I wasn’t always. I can’t say if I’m grateful or not by the forced change of surrounding or not. But I wanted you to know why you’re not doing so well.”

“I figured that out, old man. I figured that out.” Apple looked ragged, one hoof tapping the ground as he laid a few more bits on the table. “Congratulations. You put one over on an innocent younger country gentlecolt for your own amusement.”

“Now now… Do you really want to give me a line like that? I knew who you were the minute you stepped into the room, mister Apple. Graft indeed. You just tried your hoof against somepony that wasn’t going to let you get away with it. I knew your style, knew your intention, knew it all.”

The unveiled young stallion slammed his bit pouch down on the table. “Think you know it all? Take it. Take that chance. Show me what you know…”

Chance was very calm as he looked into the pouch, counted the bits, and matched the amount exactly. “All in?”

“All… In…” Cards turned over. Three sevens. “Beat it.”

“Glad to.” Chance flipped his cards one at a time. Six-high straight. “That was your choice, young man. You made the bad decision to break the cardinal rule of… Not just this, but of life itself. Never bet what you can’t afford to lose. Not all situations are as temporary as this one.” The pouch was flipped back onto the other side of the table, with the remainder left inside.

“I don’t need your pity or your charity, grifter. I’ll take my lumps.” The pouch was pushed back.

“Listen, a trade. If you have what I want, I trade back what’s left in your pouch.”

“What do you want?”

“A flask of icejack. Eugenia Apple’s homebrew icejack. It’ll probably taste delicious now that time has worn the bitterness out of a mouthful.”

There was silence, for a long while, until the pack set on the ground was opened, and a flash set down on the table with a shaky hoof. “Wh-which one were you?”

“It wouldn’t matter to tell you. Even if you remembered it wouldn’t change anything.” Chance slid the pouch across the table, with some bits underneath it, taking the flask back with him. “Never knew an Apple family child without at least one flask of this. And yet, you bought salt and alcohol at the bar. You’re not out. Why haven’t you drunk it?”

“I… Can’t. I don’t know what it tasted like to you, but if it tasted half as bad as it does in my mouth, I’m sorry you ever had it.”

“Which child are you? You’re old enough to be the first generation.”

“I’m nopony. I was tossed out. I was like momma. But she didn’t like it. I don’t understand…”

Chance took a quick swig from the flask, looking down at the silver object. It was marked with an apple, but the name had been obliterated, leaving only the letter ‘B.’ “Yea. You’re exactly like her. Used the same techniques that floored me years ago. The difference is, it’s not years ago. I learned better than to try to gobble up big chunks. There’s always better players, and not everypony will be caught unwary. Bleeding out bit by bit is not flashy, not impressive, not entertaining. But it works. The long game, the slow grind, the far-ahead gaze. These things work. A heavy trounce looks good and crushes spirits. But you risk more than you ought to. And like I said… You should never bet what you can’t afford to lose. I know that. Now.”

B shivered as though he had been punched, looking up to Chance while he retrieved his pouch and the few extra bits he had been given. “I didn’t exactly relish being exactly like her. But I thought it would make her love me.”

“Nopony likes a mirror in front of them, reflecting all their negativity. Whatever else you might be, you were that. I’m surprised nopony taught you a better lesson than that ambitious mare.”

“Somepony tried…” B closed his pouch and placed it at his hip. “Guess I wasn’t ready to ride the river yet. I’m still surprised to find somepony who recognized me.”

“I didn’t. I knew that apple on your flank and figured I’d test your mettle. Looks like you really DON’T fall too far from the tree. Dressed like your pappy and acting like your momma. Spreading the Apple family far and wide. Showing everypony what they always knew about them.”

“And what’s that?”

“Cold. Cruel. Heavy on the heart and light on the care.” Chance took another swig of the liquor and got up from the table, leaving B alone to his thoughts.

- - -

At the next town down the line along the Maressissippi, abutting the infamous Mountains of Madness, one passenger walked down the gangplank without much fanfare. He first made his way into a barber shop, to ask for a quick shave, and a tin of pomade. Just one certainly couldn’t hurt.

Face clean, mane slicked, the newly-styled Apple slunk into a tailor shop. The mare behind the counter was willing to take a trade on his fine suit, giving his a deep discount on a new set of clothes. Ruffle-chested white shirt, black vest, black coat. The shirt needed a tie to keep closed, but rather than spend money on one, he opted to use one of the pieces of black lace to close it.

The last stop, before seeking out a boarding house for a slightly-extended stay, was a quick stop at the local tavern, for a quick swallow and a bit of relaxation. But the moment he got in, all he could hear were murmurs. Whispers. Rumors. Everything going on through the towns around. Everything that could use a helping hoof. Everything that needed a good stallion. Or a bad Apple.

The End

Comments

[Kamaete]

Brilliant. I really love this apple charaoecter of yours. I remembered The Discarded Son and I actually wanted to read more about Bad Apple and here I find your page and so. Many. Stories. I love your interpretation of the Apple family, and I love the way you write!

[Gabriel LaVedier]

88348

I write the Apple family as an appropriately fragmented entity, separated on generational lines. Ruthless Granny Smith, situationally-criminal Bad Apple, and the Apples we know and love as sweet innocents. I was also inspired by Southern Gothic writers like Faulkner when it came to Granny's motivation. Fading power, stubborn pride, lingering racism and old sensibilities.