The CMC and the great shut-in caper

by PennyDreadful

3

Sweetie Belle was lost in thought.

The idea of reaching adulthood without a cutie mark. It really was horrifying. But now that she considered it deeper, it was reaching beyond the comical nightmare she and her fellow crusaders had shared back at Shiver’s house.

The cutie mark was many things. A fancy flank fixture, sure, but it represented a lot within society. It was a symbol of a ponies' harmony with themselves and the world around them. To achieve harmony of the self and not just know, but truly understand where it was in the world you wished to be and what was most fulfilling for you to do for yourself and others… It was a big deal.

To exist so long, to reach adulthood without the comfort of standing beside oneself for the journey… It was a scary thought. The cutie mark was a ponies way of comforting themselves and knowing they had a place within their own life and the lives of others. It was psychological bedrock, and she had to admit, that was likely part of why foals were so eager to get theirs.

It was scary to be young sometimes, if you thought about things too much. You didn’t tend to notice it, but every once in a while you’d get that scary little moment where you saw that adults could cry. That getting bigger didn’t necessarily mean getting smarter. That you were a little filly who didn’t actually know anything about herself.

The rush to get a cutie mark was, in a way, a rush to eagerly meet your best friend. To scramble as rapidly down the path as possible to hug the person who could understand you more than anyone else in the whole world.

To light a match and have a hoof to squeeze as you walked forward into the terrifying darkness where strong and dependable fathers had to stop and rest a knee injury you didn’t realize they had, and where friendly teachers, with pain behind their eyes, continually assured you they would talk to the mother of the schoolyard bully.

“Sweetie Belle!”
Having your cutie mark gave you the power of knowing who you were and what you could count on in a world far larger and darker than your foalhood bedroom. And the idea of not having that… Well, it was no real wonder mister Shakes was the way he was.

“Sweetie Belle!”

“Huh?” The diminutive unicorn snapped out of her reverie, eyes refocusing and staring owlishly at Applebloom.

The yellow filly huffed. “You’ve been spaced out n’ runnin that same brush up n’ down on that one spot fer 5 minutes! Yer gonna get the bristles all mussed up n’ broken!”

“Oh.” Sweetie Belle looked down at the wooden standee that lay on the barn floor. The image of Nightmare Moon, fangs bared and eyes amusingly walleyed stared back, as if chiding her for smearing the black paint around so repetitively on its hindquarters. “Sorry, I guess I was thinking about something else.”

“Aw it’s alright. It’s lookin real good, yknow, despite the smeared flank.” Applebloom beamed. “Once it’s all dry n’ done, Applejack’s got a spot picked out fer it in the maze already!”

The Apple family was such that the unwinding of the holidays took the form of new and refreshing work in place of the standard chores. The idea of true relaxation was anathema to the fiery spirit of the acres, and so as Nightmare Night approached, Applejack and her family typically spent their time gleefully hustling to design the layout for the corn maze, repaint and tune the wagon for Big Macintosh’s much-beloved hayrides, spiff up the many games that were operated by the family for the town-center festivities… and prepare the many fritters, donuts, and turnovers that were coincidentally available for purchase where all three of those activities just happened to let out.

Typically, the hustle was more a form of personal entertainment and community interaction, but recent years had been much more profitable than usual. Princess Luna had visited Ponyville’s festivities the year she had returned from her banishment, and the rumor-mill had happily spread the story from playground to playground across Equestria: Every town’s Nightmare Night had a drunken local schoolmarm in a nightmare moon costume, wandering through the streets with her equally drunken “Bat pony” soldiers, making booga-booga noises at the delighted and shrieking foals and accepting tips of candy and brandy, but Ponyville? The message was passed among Equestria’s young ones: Ponyville had the genuine article. [3]

So, the Ponyville Nightmare Night celebration had accrued a fine helping of out-of-towners, and grown accordingly in scope. The local businesses were all too happy for the visitors, and the tourism committee loved it, but a few of the locals could be heard mourning the loss of the small-town savoir-faire.
Princess Luna herself was all too happy for the opportunity to connect with more of her subjects, and had taken things in stride, gleefully donning the ridiculous costume recreation of her own armor in order to “terrorize” the town the previous year. She had confessed to Twilight, after her first visit actually, that she was greatly comforted by the form Nightmare moon had taken in the popular consciousness. The fact that Nightmare Moon was now a comical holiday tradition meant to entertain children and get teachers liquored up rather helped lessen the guilt of the very real rage, hatred, and destruction the mantle had meant in its original form.

Sweetie Belle lifted the wooden cutout and looked it over one last time. Apparently Fluttershy had provided the basic drawing, but she had to say, she was quite pleased with how she had managed to paint it to life! Even if her mouth was a little shaky with such a large brush. She really needed to work on improving her magic.

Dragging it outside for Applejack’s final approval, she found she didn’t have to go far. The behatted pony was attending to a wheezing heap of pale fur hanging limply from the yoke of one of the carts.
“Applesauce, don’t tell me ya’ll r’ tuckered out already! That’s gotta be the most pathetic work ah ever seen! Ya only moved two hay bales? What kinda earth pony are ya?!” Applejack snorted, looking down at the sweat-covered Shiver.

The stallion wheezed limply, and his eyes lolled in their sockets. “The k-kind who would v-very much like to be dead, oh dark mistress of the harvest…”

“What in sam hill are ya’ll talkin bout?” Applejack turned to nudge her younger sister. “Applebloom, ah appreciate yall findin help on short notice, but ah think ah’ve broke the poor feller. Ya’ll might wanna take him someplace else. Frankly, he kinda gives me the creeps, what with the bare behind n’ all. That n’ ah think all the fresh air might be makin’ him sick.”

Applebloom sighed. “Nah, he’s just carryin a couple pounds of Pinkie Pie’s latest experiments in his tummy. Ah don’t know why ah thought he’d be any help. Sorry AJ.” She looked down sheepishly, but noted that Applejack had a startled expression.

“Pinkie’s experimentin’ again? Didn’t she learn anythin from that taffy monstrosity she was workin on last year that wired her jaw shut?”

“She’s worked on it before!?” Shiver yelped, eyes rolling like lawn bowls before coming to focus on Applejack with an effect like a dead fish. “That confection is an abomination! A despair from which there’s no waking respite! If she should ever complete that vile and villainous recipe, we will all be doomed!” As punctuation, his tongue flopped out of his mouth as he finally passed out.

“What in the hay made him get all fancy-like there? A minute ago he was barely talkin’ louder than Fluttershy on open mic night.” She shivered. “He’s right though. That stuff was spooky! The way it moved was unnatural.” She seemed to pause for a moment. "Maybe he's right in more ways than he knows... 'Dark mistress a' the harvest is a plumb fancy title, but ah kin kinda see a costume in mah head just hearin it... Ah wonder if there's tahm fer a last minute visit to Rarity t' have the ol' scarecrow suit gussied up."

“What, an’ just run off from work?” Applebloom cocked her head.

“Ain’t t’ be helped! “Applejack lied, muzzle scrunching in a smile. “You an’ yer friends are free. Go bug Twilight or somethin! Oh, an’ get that poor feller unharnessed ‘for he starts to attract flies.”

Applebloom huffed, looking at the limp stallion. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say Applejack was going out of her way to make time with Rarity. She couldn't help but notice, however, that this was the second time Shiver's morose existence had inspired somepony else. Perhaps there was something worth working on there.