VI. Scott's Idea
Coming around the corner of the hallway, Applejack ran ahead as the others rushed to catch up. Rich came in right behind, followed by Smitty, Dave, Scott, and Rarity in the back. She rubbed a hand over her tired face and hoped that none of them had noticed.
“Ooh, you’re faster than I imagined!” Rich complimented, gasping for breath. “You must have built up a lot of endurance.”
“Well, when ya live and breath on a farm, it tends ta come naturally,” Applejack replied boastfully. “Ah’ve lived on mah family’s apple farm all mah life.” She ran her arm in circles, tensing her gripped hand along her forearm. “Ah can’t think of a more better place ta git free exercise while also workin’ yer behind off.”
“So, what kind of farm do you live on?” Scott asked.
“Mah family’s owned Canterlot City’s one and only apple farm ever since it’s foundin’ all those yeaIt'rs ago. We got all kinds ‘a apples: braeburn, honeycrisp, cameo, ambrosia; you name it, Ah guarantee that we’ve got a row ‘a trees fer ‘em.”
“So, what do you do with all those apples?” Smitty asked.
“Well, normally we would pick our fields ‘a trees and sell ta market, however we keep a bushel fer the school cafeteria. Otherwise, we’d sometimes make homemade apple pies and apple strudels and really any kind of apple desert you can think of.”
“Apple juice?” Rich asked.
“Eeyep.”
“Apple cake?” Dave added.
“Uhuh.”
“Apple cider?” Smitty put in.
“The finest quality, both non and alcoholic.”
“Apple cheese?!” Warehouse Mouse popped up.
The farm girl was slightly startled this time. “Uh, sorry little feller. We don’ make apple cheese.”
The furry little creature sighed in defeat.
“However, we do make homemade cheese from our favorite cow, Bessie! She makes only the best dairy food and drink.”
“Really?”
“You betcha, little feller.”
“Woohoo!” the little mouse cheered, scurrying out of sight back into his home in the wall. Applejack snickered at his antics, they reminded her of her likewise eccentric pink-haired friend.
“Wow! I didn’t know working on an apple farm would be that hard,” Scott awed.
“It ain’t all apples, ‘a course,” Applejack shrugged. “Ah’m kept busy with our chickens, pigs, and ‘a course good ol’ Bessie. Come rain or shine, and even in the scorchin’ hot sunshine, it’s never a slow day on Sweet Apple Acres.”
“Yeehaw!” the other Movers replied in tandem, jumping around making generic cowboy noises and mimicking the motions of lasso throwing.
Applejack could not help but laugh at the humorous antics of the Movers. In most cases, she was not as bothered by other people making fun of her accent, usually it was between her friends or from others she knew were just making a good-hearted joke. Sometimes there had been instances where the joke was more cruel and meant as insulting, but she had been taught to turn the other cheek and not give them any attention, as that was what they were after. It was hard for her in most cases to handle her rather explosive temper, which had caused more than its fair share of trouble for herself on many occasions.
Working her entire life on a farm was both stress inducing and stress relieving. On one hand there was so much hard work to do on a daily basis, and on the other hand there were plenty of distractions to keep her mind off of things. The real issue, and one that she had to learn the hard way, was knowing when she was stressing herself too far and needed to cool down. Ma and Pa always told her that rest was just as important, if not the most important she needed when working.
And speaking of stress, poor Rarity was filled to the brim with ounces upon gallons of them. One of her usual telltale signs of her anxiety was that her pristine hair would come undone, as a few strands would stick up out of place. This was followed by frantic shouting and ruined mascara from bawling tears and over-dramatic frantic shouting. Worst case scenario, she would lock herself in her room and stuff herself with tubs of who knows how much ice cream. It was both depressing and disgusting to watch, but more depressing if anything.
Applejack walked around the partying Movers towards her friend, holding out in case something drastic was about to happen. “Rares? Ya alright there, sugarcube?” she asked.
The poor girl had her hands covering her entire face while making subtle noises. That was never a good sign, especially at how messed up her hair was looking. And just as she feared, when her hands uncovered her face, she saw darkened water streaming down from her red bloodshot eyes. The farm girl immediately wanted to respond with shock, but she kept herself composed. The last thing Rarity needed was more reason to be stressed out of her mind.
More tears streamed out as Rarity clutched her arms around her chest. “Oh, it’s just…well, I…” she sniffed. “Oooooohhh...I just don’t know!”
Her sudden outburst caught the attention of the Movers, not to mention Warehouse Mouse, who’s entire house rattled from the sudden shockwave. Even Knit Knots felt something come over his office space, and he knew that something exciting was happening in the Warehouse and that it involved whatever the Movers were up to.
“Uh…” Scott stammered.
“Uh oh,” Smitty grimaced.
Applejack’s worries went from three to eleven in five seconds flat, a brand new record that even Rainbow Dash would be terrified at. “Rares—”
“I don’t know, okay?! I have been racking my brain constantly for the past three days just to finish this blasted deadline! And this dress—this one blasted dress—has been causing me no end of grief! I have stayed up for days on end, and it is slipping away through my fingers like…like sand in a…in a…! In one of those things that shifts sand! Shifter! No!! SIFTER!!!”
This kind of outburst was…admittedly unfamiliar territory when it came to over-dramatic Rarity, which was bad news all around for Applejack. “Sugar, Ah understand yer upset, but ya need ta—”
“Upset?!” the fashionista cried. “UPSET?!! Do you have any idea how long I have worked tirelessly to get where I am right now?! I am in a position to achieve something I have dreamed about my entire life and I cannot not screw it all up just because I cannot think for the life of me! That’s no excuse! If I don’t complete this on time, if I fail this golden opportunity, my potential career will go up in smoke and no one will trust me again!”
The Movers could only stand at a distance away from the screaming fit, admittedly afraid that they would be dragged down into the mess. They were not used to frantic yelling fits, let alone from their customers. Applejack, meanwhile, could see that being docile was not going to solve anything, which unfortunately meant that she had to raise her own voice.
“Okay, I git it! Yer stressed out like a field mouse bein’ chased by a garden snake!” the farmgirl huffed. “But ya gotta understand that there’s only so much we can do ta help ya. Myself and the Movers are doin’ the best we can with the stuff we got. Yer pushin’ yerself somethin’ fierce and it’s actually concernin’ me.”
“But I need to push myself to the extreme! Otherwise I simply cannot improve beyond what I know! That's a one-way ticket to being left behind in the constant rush of the industry!”
Rarity hysterics were beginning to become much more concerning, especially at how she was now bawling her eyes out as she firmly grasped her apple farmer friend by the forearms. It was a bit surprising, and the fashionista certainly had a very firm grip.
“This is the! Worst! Possible!! THING!!! TO HAVE EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!! MY FUTURE IS RUINED, AND UNLESS SOMETHING SHORT OF A MIRACLE CAN OCCUR, I’LL NEVER WORK FASHION EVER AGAIN!!!”
At last, Applejack finally lost her patience. “WE CAN’T SOLVE THIS DANG PROBLEM ‘A YERS IF YA CAN’T GIT IT TOGETHER!!!”
In a split second, Rarity buried herself against her friend with such a great heave that it almost sent both girls tumbling over themselves.
“Woah nelly, girl!” the farmer exclaimed.
She stumbled backwards at the sudden surge while the Movers rushed forward, catching the both of them before something unfortunate could have happened. Carefully, she carried her friend over to the sofa and laid her carefully on her back and her head beneath one of the pillows. Fearing she had passed out, the farmer took off her stetson and fanned it across her face.
“Woah!” Dave exclaimed. “Is she alright?”
“That did not look good,” Rich added concerningly.
Applejack pressed her fingers against her friend’s neck, thankful beyond hope that there was a steady pulse as well as a rising chest. But she felt the skin had an excess warmth to it that deeply worried her.
“Her skin’s hotter than a sunbathin’ rattlesnake,” she said.
“I’m on it,” Dave replied. He reached into his hat and in a quick motion obtained a small electric fan. Placing on the table he set it on high while aiming for the gust of the fan to not miss Rarity’s overheated body an inch. “Phew. I did not expect that to happen.”
“No kidding,” Smitty added, likewise shaken.
“It’s like one moment she was pitchin’ ta catch fire, and the next she’s passed out faster than Rainbow Dash after an entire weekend ‘a sports clubs,” Applejack sighed, hanging over the couch. “Land sakes, Ah just can’t understand why she’s so…flummoxed, Ah guess? Ah’m not a creative person in a way. Ah wanna help her in any way Ah can but there’s only so much Ah can do; we’re kinda on different tracks in many aspects. Sometimes it’s hard ta understand what she’s doin’ half the time.”
“Yeah, I understand why that would be hard,” Scott nodded. Then he realized something. “Um, Applejack?”
“Yeah, Scott?”
“I think I may know why Rarity’s acting this way. But I can’t be sure; I’ll need to check with my Wobble-Goggles.”
“Yer wut?”
“My Wobble-Goggles.” He pointed to them sitting on his forehead. “They help me see problems in a different way. They’re very useful for problem solving.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Rich said.
“I agree,” Dave added.
“Scott’s Wobble-Goggles have helped us out a ton with solving problems,” Smitty finished.
“Sometimes problems are hard to solve because you can only see them through your own perspective,” Scott explained. “That’s where my Wobble-Goggles come in: by looking at the problem in a new light, it helps you find more ideas for solutions. And that’s just what we do best!”
Of course, since he had to examine Rarity’s physical appearance, it was a lot more different than looking at walls and objects; it would be very rude to examine a person without expressing given permission.
“Well, uh…i-if that’s okay with you, that is,” he sheepishly added.
“Oh, uh…yeah, sure. Go ahead,” Applejack replied.
“Thank you.”
With that out of the way, Scott slid down his Wobble-Goggles and clicked the buttons, once again emitting those telltale flashing techno blue lights. He aimed them directly at Rarity’s peacefully sleeping face, and just like that, something caused his vision to warp and display something that wasn’t there before. Underneath Rarity’s eyes, behind who knows how many layers of makeup, were two sets of heavy bags.
“Oh, yeah. I was afraid of that,” Scott commented.
“Wut’s the matter?” Applejack asked, worried. “What d’ya see?”
“Right now, I’m seeing some of the heaviest eye bags I have ever seen on a person.” Scott clicked the buttons again, shutting down the Wobble-Goggles for another use sometime in the future. “Ooh…that is not good.”
“That’s right,” Smitty agreed. “Usually, heavy bags under your eyes means you haven't been getting the right amount of sleep.”
“That happened to me one time,” Dave added. “I was so up late pouring over some of my new inventions that I was so tired for a while after that. And every time I looked in the mirror, there were these heavy bags under my eyes.”
“I had that too,” Rich said. “This one time, I couldn’t sleep because my mind was full of all of these exciting new songs! After I calmed down after listening to some calm and slow music, I finally relaxed, but my eyes had bags under them for a few days.”
“So, yer sayin’ Rarity hasn’t been sleepin’ well?” Applejack surmised. She then sighed and slumped forward. “Why doesn’t that surprise me in the slightest?”
“Maybe that’s what she needs!” Scott enthusiastically suggested. “Maybe she just needs some well needed rest so that she has the energy to get around her Creative Block.”
“Yeah, that could work,” Smitty nodded.
“Yeah,” Dave and Rich added.
Applejack looked down on her sleeping friend. One part of her wanted to scream at the top of her lungs for the fashionista being so idiotic to run herself so plum ragged enough that she would be as tired as a Big Mac’s workhorse after a long day of good farmwork. And yet…what would be the point in getting upset over something like that? Besides, it could happen to anyone.
“Alright. If a good night’s sleep’s all it takes.” The farmer rounded the couch and carefully lifted her sleeping friend with one arm across her shoulder. “I’m gonna take her home and make sure that she gets the sleep she needs. That alright with y’all?”
Dave took off his cap and dug out an old-fashioned alarm clock, and was surprised by the time on its face. “Oh, wow. It’s quitting time already.”
“Yeah, sure, that’ll work,” Rich replied. “But, if it doesn’t work in the morning, then come back and we’ll brainstorm some more.”
“That’s right!” Smitty added. “We’re the Imagination Movers, and we don’t ever give up on any sort of a problem.”
Applejack nodded, smiling gratefully. “Alright, thanks fellas. Ah’m gonna take her home and make sure she gets a proper night’s rest.”
“Like a sleepover!” Scott exclaimed.
“Yeah, Ah guess it’ll be like that. Ah’ll be sure ta let ya guys know by tomorrow of any developments. Thanks again fer all yer help!”
“Bye!”
“Goodbye!”
“Goodnight!”
“See you tomorrow!”
The Moves all waved goodbye as the apple-farmer carried her sleeping friend out the front door, and soon enough all that was left in the Warehouse were the four Movers…and Warehouse Mouse, but he had decided to turn in early for the night. Already, he was wearing his sleeping cap and turned off his nightstand lamp.
“Well, that’s it for today then,” Dave remarked.
“Yeah,” Smitty sighed. “I just wish we could’ve helped Rarity more with her Block.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Smitty,” Rich replied. “We helped as much as we could and that’s all that matters.”
“That’s right!” Scott chimed in. Then, something manifested inside his brain. “Hey, why don’t we have our own sleepover, right here in the Warehouse? That way we’ll be up and ready the moment we hear the news from Rarity!”
“Hey, yeah!” Rich smiled.
“That’s a great idea, Scott!” Smitty agreed.
“Yeah, I’m so down for this!” Dave added.
“Well, let’s get our sleeping bags out and have ourselves a sleepover!” Rich declared.
“Yeah!” the rest of the Movers agreed.
As the Movers all gathered their sleeping bags, dressed up in their respective pajamas, and all around prepared themselves for a long night of all sorts of things that they would do late into the night—brushing teeth and taking showers and the like—they sang yet another rocking song this time about their sleeping bags of all things. Rich took the lead vocals this time as each Mover was at their respective instruments as Scott took turns providing backup vocals to the call and response sections of the song, all the while providing backup snoring and sleeping noises to the beats.
They all rolled out their sleeping bags on the floor in the main room during the first verse, then danced upright in their sleeping bags during the refrain. Dave then returned with fresh popcorn, much to the delight of the others—including Warehouse Mouse—as Smitty inserted a DVD, the rest sitting upright and excited about the picture.
After that, they played around as if they were flying airplanes, making airplane noises and laughing all the while. Then they marched around like soldiers in a marching band, complete with marching band instruments to fill the mood. After which, Rich grabbed a glass of warm milk as they all gathered around a simple board game of Sorry—Warehouse Mouse paired up with Smitty; Scott seemed to have the worst luck with cards while Dave smoked the entire board. They then all gathered around a flashlight, taking turns telling scary stories. Scott had his teddy bear to hug whenever something in the stories caused his body to jump.
All in all, they enjoyed their little impromptu sleepover, as they always enjoyed the nice moments they shared together as friends. It was really a nice break from the constant hustling across the Warehouse, not that they did not mind it, rather they were grateful for the rest they were getting from the day’s work; problem solving really takes a lot out of you.
As the song wound to a close, the rest of the Movers and Warehouse Mouse had all fallen fast asleep—that is except for Rich, who got up to put away his empty glass of warm milk in the sink, and Scott, who was rather curious. As Rich laid down in his sleeping bag, Scott turned to his friend.
“Hey, Rich?”
“Yeah, Scott?”
“You ever wonder what we would be like if we weren’t the Imagination Movers?”
Rich was appalled by the notion, but intrigued. “Huh…I guess since we’ve been the Imagination Movers for so long that I haven't really thought of that.”
“I know. I feel the same way, but…I can’t help but wonder.”
“Hmm…well, I guess I would be a professional track runner.”
“I could see you running in the Olympics.”
Rich quietly laughed at that. “Me in the Olympics. Yeah, that’s just about every kid’s dream. I used to dream of being in the Olympics. Sometimes…I would imagine myself alongside some of the best runners in the whole world, and then I would beat them across the finish line, and my dad would be there to give me the gold medal and he would say: ‘I’m proud of you, kid. I never stopped believing in you.”
Scott smiled at that. “That sounds wonderful, Rich.”
“Thanks. What about you, Scott?”
“Well…this may sound weird, but I’ve always wanted to run my own burrow farm.”
Rich silently grinned, shaking his head. Strange indeed.
“And I would care for them every day—groom their fur, brush their manes, feed them, give them baths, maybe even knit them their own shawls.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And each burrow—tall, small, young, old—would have their own shawl that would make them stand out from one another.” Whenever Scott had burrows on the brain, he would always have this wonderful smile of reverence, like a burrow was his spirit animal. “I would name them…what would I name them? Rich, Dave, Smitty…”
“Scott?”
“But there’s already a Scott?”
They both laughed at that.
“How about Marcus?” Rich asked.
“Oh, that’s a good one. And…Peter.”
“Victor.”
“Vincent.”
“Lucas.”
“Nick.”
“Little Timmy.”
“Judy.”
“Big Al!”
Just the thought of the name “Big Al” was enough to cause both friends to have quiet chuckle fits. They calmed down quick enough, then Rich noticed the time on the clock.
“Wow, it’s late,” he said.
“That means we had too much fun today,” Scott smiled. He then rolled over, hugging his little teddy bear. “Goodnight, Rich.”
“‘Night, Scott.”
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Wow, this takes overdramatic from Rarity at a whole nother level.
Honestly been so long since I've seen an old fashioned Rarity breakdown.
So that's why Rarity has a Creative Block! She hasn't been sleeping well! Cause due to her lack of sleep her brain can't function cause she's so tired. Without any sleep she can't think clearly! And drinking all that coffee during the night has made it worse! Cause the coffee has so much caffeine in it that it's making Rarity staying up so late. So yeah! All that this time the Creative Block was caused from the lack of sleep. Why hasn't she seen that coming?