The Last Verse
There was no shadow cast over the ground as Big Macintosh walked out of the woods; only the blue of the pre-dawn sky painted the grass in its exotic hues. The stallion took in deep breaths of air that swelled his massive chest before whooshing out with surprising gentleness.
Orderly rows of apple trees stretched behind him, each one beginning to show the fruits of the farmer’s back-breaking toil, each tree unique in a fashion that few could comprehend. He knew them all. Some of these were familiar to him by name, others in passing, but they were all his constant companions, and with this knowledge came a primal sense of pride.
This was his magic.
But it feels so... empty now, he thought as he slowed to a plodding trot. A breeze swept through the countless leaves as the trees spoke to one another, flirting with their mates and greeting those with whom their roots were entwined. They were a family and he only a friend. Will Ah have a fam’ly of mah own someday? Brow furrowing, Big Macintosh continued his stroll, the yoke around his neck swaying with every step.
Ahead, his familiar home and barn stood, their bright red exteriors painted a deep purple by the permeating light of the early morning, forcing a melancholy smile on his face. He did have a family, one composed of three beautifully spirited mares.
As the distance grew shorter, his hooves found purchase on ground that had been crushed and pounded by a thousand hoofbeats and prints. It was the great path that led to the barn, their home, and the dozens of little buildings and utilitarian shacks that surrounded their property. From there, he could clearly see one of the mares in his life.
Granny Smith was already perched on her well-worn chair, rocking back and forth with her eyes closed in an image of serenity and ageless wisdom. Big Macintosh nodded to her and shared a smile for a brief moment, knowing that it didn’t go unnoticed by the all-seeing matriarch.
He approached, trotting by the barn and taking in the thick aroma of warm hay mixed with apple cider that was one of the many constants of his daily life. With a deep sigh, Big Macintosh trotted on and cut around the red building’s corner. Ahead loomed his home where the creak of the old mare's chair could be heard from all directions. The creak slowed with every step that Big Macintosh took.
“Hello, my little Mac,” she said, using the name only she ever used on him, a precious moniker of days gone by.
“Howdy, Granny,” he replied, completing the ritual.
She smiled her old, cracked lips, which curled up to reveal a lack of teeth. She then lifted a steaming mug of cider and took a long draw. “It’s going to be a good day today. Nice and sunny,” she said as she looked up at the perfectly blue sky.
Eeyup, Ah don’ feel anythin’, he thought as he followed her gaze, an’ the trees didn’t say nothin’... and the mornin’ flowers are gettin’ ready t’ go inta full bloom. It’s goin’ t’ be a hot, warm day. “Eeyup.”
“You’re going off to that competition? The one in the town?”
Yup, goin’ t’ see Roseluck today. And Ah’m goin’ ta fight tooth n’ nail fer a victory against the wit and knowledge o’ ponies better ‘n myself as hundreds watch. All this, just t’ show her that Ah care. “Eeyup.”
“Going to see that pretty mare? The one that’s good with the flowers?”
“Eeyup.” Ah pray that Ah’ll see her, that Ah won’t make a fool outta mahself and that maybe, just maybe, she’ll see me too. A noticeable blush began to seep along the upper edge of his cheeks, and the old mare’s eyes twinkled at the sight of it.
Granny Smith chuckled mostly for the benefit of seeing the redness spread. “You’re going to treat her nice, aren’t you? I won’t have an Apple lad mistreat or abuse the heart of a young lady, it wouldn’t be right.” She lifted a hoof in caution. “But don’t let her play with your heart either. Be a good stallion.”
Ah, but Granny, she can fiddle n’ play n’ abuse mah poor heart as much as she wishes, for Ah would never complain as long as her presence is near me n’ mah eyes can be laid upon her and her mind’s intellect can skirt around mah own and spin circles around me. Ah love her, and such is final. Ah count for nothin’ in this. “Eeyup.”
Granny Smith nodded, her eyelids drooping shut as the first true rays of the sun broke through the horizon and splashed a warm, orange glow across her wrinkly skin. “You go on now, little Mac; you stink somethin’ fierce. Finish off your chores, and get soaked up. Don’t want the pretty missy to smell you coming and bolt, now do ya?”
“Nnope.” With no further need for conversation, Big Macintosh turned about and headed off, hooves shuffling along the dusty path as he made his way around his home, eyes cast toward the ground and mind floating high above. He passed one, low-hanging window after another before reaching the backyard.
There, spread out in a semicircle, was a garden filled with the spring’s blessing; croci, irises and bluebells all twisted about, ready to bloom whenever the sun reached them. In the middle of it all was an old water pump, one that had stood the test of time and had lasted many generations within their family. It stood there, waiting and primed, a dozen layers of paint visible on the edges where the last had peeled.
Huffing, the stallion marched over to the device and placed a muscular hoof on the lever, pushing down with little effort. The pump gurgled, then spat out a jet of lukewarm water that splashed against the dew-covered soil.
He sighed and pushed a few more times, allowing the water to change from a murky, slimy muck to a cool, fresh and crystalline liquid that flowed from the pump. He let go of the handle and ducked his head under the torrent, closing his emerald eyes as the water washed over and through his carrot orange mane.
Moments later, the water dribbled to a halt and the stallion was obliged to pump once more, starting the process again, but this time cleaning his forehooves. The familiar grind of the lever sounded out beside him, and Big Macintosh peeked at the machine.
Apple Bloom was at the pump, standing on the tip of her hooves to huff and puff as she worked the device and forced a constant flow out of it. Below her was a tipsy stool she had dragged over from the side of the doorway to be able to reach.
Smiling, Big Macintosh resumed his shower, clumps of dirt and grime sliding off his coat along with sweat and the pure, honest odour of work.
He waited, knowing that soon a slew of questions would escape the little filly, the second mare of his life. He didn`t have long to wait.
“Are ya goin’ to that poetry thing?” she asked. “Miss Cheerilee said that it’s a really, really important... thing, for Ponyville. She said that it was, um, ‘trade rich ya know’ll.’”
“Traditional,” he corrected, his smile twitching ever-so-slightly larger. “And eeyup, Ah’ll be goin’.”
She swung down harder, releasing another spray of water. “Will ya win?”
“Ah don’t know.” But Ah certainly hope so; little else would impress her as much.
The filly remained quiet for a moment, then hopped off the stool to sit in the soggy grass. “Sis says that you’re only doin’ this for somepony she calls ‘beige flower-pick’r’, is that true?”
His smile faltered a little, but remained. Mah, poor, poor sister Applejack; she doesn’t yet understand love. Not yet. “Eeyup. One day you’ll know,” he cautioned.
She sighed, a sound so sad, so disheartening that the older brother could do little else but turn to his sister and watch as her tiny shoulders slumped and her mane slid before eyes filled with grief. “What’s wrong?” he asked, approaching her and casting his long shadow over her shivering frame. “Why’re you cryin’?”
Through her sniffles, the filly made herself understood, “AJ says that ya wanna marry that lady, but if you marry her, you won’t be ‘round here no more, and then Ah won’t see you, and then Ah’m goin’ to miss you a lot.”
Big Macintosh huffed, both in indignation that she was crying for such a thing, and at his own stupidity for not foreseeing this eventuality. “Ah’m not goin’ nowhere, Apple Bloom. Ah’ll be right here, wantin’ to help ya, forever,” he said as he crouched down and touched her forehead with his muzzle.
“You promise?” she asked, sly eyes peeking out from beneath her mane.
“Eeyup. An’ when colts come ‘round to court you, Ah’ll be right there, waitin’. An’ when you make a ruckus with yer friends, Ah’ll be right there, glarin’ at ya.” He shared a smile with her, a real, heartwarming one that pierced through his stoic demeanor. “You’re the most specialest lady in mah life. But Ah think we have place for just one more... you think you can handle that?”
“Ah think Ah can.... Are ya gonna marry her?”
“Mmaybe.”
“Did you two try to make foals yet? Ah really want a lil’ sister.”
Not for the first time in his life, Big Macintosh thanked Celestia above that his red coat disguised his embarrassing blushes. “Nnope. Wouldn’t be proper.” Not that Ah haven’t thought ‘bout it. His blush deepened. He was going to need more than a red coat to hide it, he realised. “Go get ready; you’ve got school.”
“Nope. Miss Cheerilee says that we’re going to that poetry thing, the one you’re in. I’m going’ to watch mah big brother kick some flank! The whole entire town’s gonna be there, all watchin’ you and judgin’.” She beamed proudly up to her brother. “Maybe we could become Cutie Mark Crusader Poets?”
“Eeyup. Ah’ll see ya there.” With a pat on her head he turned and began trotting away. As he walked by his home and past the iconic barn, his coat began to dry itself with the constant thumping steps and the aid of the warm sun.
The glowing orb decorated the sky and air with jovial light. All around him, Big Macintosh could hear and feel the earth rising to greet its warmer friend. Plants shifted an imperceptible amount to catch the brightest rays. Shadows skirted off and hid where the light dared not shine. The few animals that had not yet woken startled into consciousness; birds chanted, and critters crawled out of their dens.
Apple trees shaded the path off the barn that led to Ponyville. Without a second thought, Big Macintosh dove into the passageway and began the long descent towards the one he cared for.
Humming a happy tune, the stallion made quick work of shortening the distance. Soon, the thatch-roofed homes of the town were visible through the leaves and branches.
An aquamarine and yellow blur zipped by Big Macintosh, followed a half-second later by a powerful wake of wind. His brows furrowed and he stared after it until it faded in the distance. Shrugging, the stallion went on his way with bigger worries clouding his mind.
A few ponies waved at him as he marched into the town proper, some even calling out well wishes and congratulations for the competition. He answered these with simple ‘eeyups’ and ‘nnopes’. Others, especially young, unwedded mares, waved shyly at him as they tried to hide their blushes.
As he rounded a corner, the stallion heard another faint whisper: that of feathers fighting against the pull of the wind. Four hooves thumped against the ground at his side, accompanied by the flutter of wings snapping shut.
Twisting around, Macintosh stared into Raindrops’ baby blue eyes. Her mane was a mess, dirt and mud stains climbed up to her calves, and the dark bags beneath her eyes did nothing to conceal the twitch she had. “Howdy,” he said, greeting the mare who was not acting quite normally, even considering her normal behaviour.
“Hiya, Big Mac,” she greeted him, face splitting in a grin. “I was wondering if I could ask you a bit of a favour. Could you help me?”
He sat down and let his eyes waver over and around the mare as he worked his patience to hear what she had to say. “Eeyup.” Any friend of Rose is a friend o’ mine. Even Raindrops. And maybe she can help me get closer to her.
“Coolbeans! Ya see, Roseluck’s kinda in a scuffle with these three big mean stallions; there was some screaming going on. One of them pushed her, I think. So I figurafied that you might be able to help?”
The mare hadn’t finished her sentence when Big Macintosh started charging down the road. Clouds of dust rose up behind him while homes and businesses became blurs along his side. The thunder of his hooves was all that warned those ahead of him of the oncoming storm of masculine fury.
What happened? he wondered. The competition’s gonna start soon. Is this related? Did somethin’ go wrong? Raindrops wasn’t worried. Is it a trap?
He spun around the last corner, a few ponies jumping out of the way while he focused solely on the colourful storefront where Roseluck worked. There stood three burly stallions, just like Raindrops had described. Two pegasi with yokes around their necks were standing near a boxy carriage while the third, an earth pony almost as large as Big Macintosh, leaned towards Roseluck’s shivering form. Most of his bulk came from thick flabs of dangling flesh.
“So, little missus, you going to pay, or you going to let us pass? No in between,” said the earth pony.
One of the pegasi stepped up, hoof rubbing at the chafe marks left by his yoke. “Hey, Collateral Damage, don’t you think you’re going a little heavy on her?” he asked.
“She’s been dodging her bills for the past three months! I won’t let her talk us out of this again. She owes us the bits, and if she can’t pay, then we’ll take the equivalent.” He turned and glared at the beige mare. “You’ve got to understand, miss; we can’t just let you get away with not paying anymore.”
“Nnope,” Big Macintosh said as he ended his gallop not twenty paces from the group. His coat glowed with the thinnest of sweaty sheens. The three stallions turned and stared at him, uncertainty mixed with their curiosity at his presence. “Nopony’s doin’ nothing to Miss Roseluck,” he said before cutting the distance at a brisk pace. “Not on mah watch.”
Collateral Damage blinked, then, in the time it takes for a chicken to mention Rainbow Dash, his expression became stern, revealing a fierce glare as he puffed out his chest defiantly. “What in Celestia’s name are you talking about, sonny?”
“Yer tryin’ to take Miss Roseluck’s possessions?”
“Yeah, we are. That’s what happens when ya can’t pay up. Got it, bud?” The repo-pony took a long step forward until his breath washed onto Big Macintosh’s coat.
“Ah can’t let you,” the larger stallion replied, shaking his head for emphasis. That these ignorant beasts dare to hurt Miss Roseluck’s feelings is unforgivable! Ah’ll never live down the shame if somethin’ bad were to happen to her while Ah was right there. And Ah’ll be damned if these mongrels touch a hair of her head with their dirty paws. “Nnope.”
“Macintosh, I can handle it,” Roseluck said, her voice calm and firm. The stallions ignored her.
The two pegasi circled around, wings beating at the morning air with restrained intensity. Macintosh kept his focus on the large earth pony, but was aware of their movement around him. The air was thick with hostility and the electric tingle of future violence. “Look, buddy. She might be your mare and all—”
“No one owns Miss Roseluck,” he interrupted. “She’s a self-made mare, and that’s what Ah love ‘bout her.”
Collateral Damage rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, self-indebted too. Now, missy here promised that if she won that poetry thingy, she’d give us our bits. She didn’t.”
“Then Ah will.”
“Hah! Maybe, but until then, we’re going to waltz in there and take what’s rightfully ours. There’s a greenhouse installation in there with my name on it. And unless she finds a way to get bits in my pocket or—” he put on a dirty smile “—finds another method of making us all happy, we’re leaving with it.”
Big Macintosh took another step and towered above the repo-pony, his deep glare piercing into the fat stallion’s soul. “What’d you say ‘bout Miss Roseluck? Ah’ve got the impression that you were implyin’ something unkind.”
“Boys,” Roseluck protested again, but her feeble glares and furrowed brow did nothing to the stallions. “Stop this horsing around. You’re making yourselves look like idiots.”
“I’ll say whatever I want about her ‘till she pays me.”
“Watch yer tongue.”
“Bring it, farmcolt. We’re three to your one fat hide.”
Big Macintosh stared down the unflinching repo-pony while the two pegasi watched warily, shifting their weight from side to side.
Raindrops fluttered to a landing above their sky-carriage and watched them with wide, giddy eyes and a huge, cruel grin. Ponies that would usually be talking and laughing were now staring at the circle of testosterone. A cool wind, uncommon for so late in the spring, whistled by them all, rustling manes and sending shivers.
The stallions stared each other down through narrow eyes, not daring to blink or look away. Muscles became tense, then loosened, ready for a fight while their heartbeats raced under the calm surface.
“Oh, for Celestia’s sake,” Roseluck muttered under her breath. In half a second, she was between Big Macintosh and Collateral Damage. She pushed hard on both their chests. “You two will shut up, and sit down. Right, now!” she barked.
The two stared at her, blinking dumbly. “Both of you will sit down and listen to me. Understood?” she demanded, voice filled with venom. Her green eyes alternated between the two before finally settling on Big Macintosh. “Let’s start with you, Mister Macintosh, shall we?”
The stallion swallowed hard and managed to nod.
“I appreciate you coming,” she said, a blush crossing her features. He wondered if it was caused by embarrassment or anger. “But really, Macintosh? Defending me like that? I’m not some little filly that needs pampering. In fact, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. The thought was nice and all, but I don’t want a coltfriend who can’t act civil every time another stallion walks by.”
With a huff, she turned to the repo-pony. Whatever love had snuck into her eyes faded as she reached up and pushed a stray hair back into her mane with a sigh. “And you, Mister Damage. I know your mother.” The mare stepped up to the fat pony and stabbed at his chest with her forehoof. “She’s a beautiful, kind mare who buys flowers here every single week, and I’ll be sure to tell her the whole truth next Saturday, when she asks why I can’t give her a bouquet of marigold and tulips. Oh, and let’s not forget your wife!
“If I recall, I was the one that furnished the decor for your wedding. What will she say when you tell her that you ruined my store without even giving me one more little chance?” Face burning, Roseluck jabbed at him again. The stallion began to stumble back.
“I-I don’t wanna hurt you, missus,” Collateral Damage mumbled.
“Hurt me? Hurt me! Look around you, bud! We’re three, you’re three. If you want to pick a fight, now’s the time. Heck, I’ll take the bunch of you swine on my own if need be!” Roseluck stomped a forehoof onto the cobblestone street. “You want your bits? Well, you’ll get them! Just as soon as my little Macintosh wins.”
Two stallions spoke at the same time. “What?”
Roseluck turned to Big Macintosh, flushed and exhausted, but her eyes sparkled with an enticing joy that he would have done anything to share with her. “That is, if you’d be will—”
“Eeyup,” he replied without thought. Anything for you.
“Perfect, then it’s a deal.”
The repo-pony stared between them, then let out a low, long sigh. “Fine. You two love birds can enjoy yourselves. But I’ll be back, tonight if I have to, to rip those pipes out if you fail.” Collateral Damage turned around, his gait making him wobble as he moved back to his carriage with his tail twitching sporadically. The two pegasi followed behind before making a beeline to the carriage and hooking themselves to the front.
Raindrops hopped down from the carriage and skipped over to her friends with a wild grin on her face. “Oh, that was some awesome stuff! Awesome like a... possum. You should go all dominatrix on ponies again, Rosey! I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Um, thank you?” Roseluck said, unable to wipe neither the proud grin nor the concerned look from from her face. She turned to Big Macintosh and lowered her eyes, averting them to the ground. “I’m sorry about that. I just thought that it would be best not to gang up on them alone. And I can take care of myself. But I appreciate it. Truly.” Leaning forward and tipping up onto the end of her hooves, Roseluck planted a peck on his cheek. Then she kissed him again.
Big Macintosh blushed the fiercest of pinks as the mare’s lips entwined with his own. Her warm, succulent breath escaped her in a ragged gasp that he swallowed up hungrily. A deep, guttural moan rose from his chest as she pulled back slightly with a light nibble on his lower lip.
As suddenly as it had begun, Roseluck shied away and stood near him, blushing and looking away before patting her foreleg against her lips and licking them. “Yes, well, thank you....”
“Eeyup.”
“Yes, well, um, thank you,” Roseluck repeated as her hoof pawed at the ground. Big Macintosh scratched the back of his neck and focused on those hooves.
“Yer welcome.... Weren’t nothin’,” he said.
Raindrops’ eyes spun a wide circle in her head as she sighed. “Okay, it was cute at first. Now it’s just creepy. Can you two hurry up and either make out for reals or get going? The show’s going to start without you. ”
Both looked at the aquamarine pegasus and blinked dumbly, their overheated brains straining to make sense of the situation. “The show?” Raindrops tried to explain. “With the poems and the bits and the bet that you just made.... Very important.”
Big Macintosh shook his head, trying to clear the plethora of cobwebs marring his mind's vision. Course. Ah have to get goin’. And win too. Ah made a promise, and Ah intend to keep it. “Eeyup, we should go.”
With a slow reluctance, and much urging from Raindrops, the trio began to trot along. Ponyville seemed to fade from their surroundings, becoming only a backdrop to the quick and furtive glances the two enamoured ponies gave each other. The road seemed to melt away beneath them as their light hoofbeats carried them ahead at a pace that was both too fast and too slow.
Like two moons in orbit, the couple were drawn together until they practically stepped on each other's hooves. Roseluck hummed a long, wordless song inspired by the simple joy of living, while Big Macintosh listened with glee.
Along the road’s edge, wildflowers bloomed with sudden vitality, the grass became greener on their side of the fence and the sun’s bright light bathed them in a warmth that soothed and calmed.
Ahead and around a final bend was the stage, where not much had changed from the previous day. It was still an ornately decorated platform, surrounded by banners and bedecked by a sound system that seemed keen on tearing through the eardrums of any nearby ponies.
Mares and stallions were milling about at the foot of the stage. Smiles were being traded as a joyous cacophony droned about, grabbing any within earshot and pulling them in. The bouncers were running about, making sure that their lines stayed secure, but they did so with smiles and kind gestures. They too were excited.
Big Macintosh caught sight of Miss Cheerilee and her band of school foals on a nearby hill. With an inpony amount of patience, the teacher herded her children like a hen and gently brought them towards the show-grounds. He caught sight of a bow hopping up and down amongst the group. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple noticeably moving as his throat began to dry out, but he didn’t let it show... or at least, he tried not to.
“Don’t worry,” came Roseluck’s sweet voice. “Everything’s going to be fine. Even if you lose....” She looked away, and he knew that it was in shame, not of him, but of her own failure.
Roseluck, you’re such a silly, naive filly. How can Ah lose, when Ah’ve already won? You’re here, and Ah’m here. Mah family’s here and we’re all gonna have a good time. Of that Ah’m sure. He smiled down at her, eyes locking until Raindrops hopped between the pair and broke the magic.
“C’mon! I wanna win already! It’s going to start in, like, twenty minutes! And it takes a whole two to get onto the stage!” the mare whinnied.
“You know you could just fly there, right?” Roseluck deadpanned, her expression a painfully obvious sign that she did not quite wish to deal with the pegasus just then.
Her friend smiled and rubbed at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, but it’s more fun when we’re all together, no?”
“Nnope. Go along now,” he said, adding just enough playfulness to his deep tone that the mare could understand.
“Sheesh, fine. I’ll go bug Inky or something.” With a final roll of her eyes, Raindrops spun around and darted away.
They watched her leave, wings beating at the air as she soared above the crowd, cat-calling and beaming proudly at her quasi-celebrity status. She stopped a few times, kissing signature books and signing foals. At his desk, Inkius groaned aloud and thumped his hoof against his face.
Roseluck allowed another kind of smile to crack through as she watched her friend’s antics; it was a half-cocked grin that was both sly and knowing... the sort of smile, Big Macintosh reasoned, that could drive a sane stallion mad.
Ponies cleared out of their path, nodding and waving in recognition as the couple neared the stage and were easily allowed into the cordoned-off area. There, they found ponies of the more elusive sort: those that could pay for their seats. With civility and the ingrown sense of gentleponyship that had been hammered into his skull from a young age, Big Macintosh moved aside and let Roseluck find her seat first before sliding up beside her.
Their coats brushed up against one another’s, sending electric tingles up along their backs. This is so perfect, he thought. What could a stallion want more’n a beautiful mare by his side, flashin’ him timid smiles, and a bright, big show to let her see and to impress her with? Eeyup, life is beautiful.
A soft hoof caressed his own, and Big Macintosh blushed as he stared down at Roseluck. “It’s going to start soon,” she whispered, as if afraid to startle the moment away.
Tearing his attention from her, he looked and listened to the crowd. Mares and stallions shuffled in place, moving their haunches to a more comfortable position as they paid rapt attention. The solid thumping of hooves on hollow wood drew Macintosh’s attention back to the stage. There, Inky Scribeswell was moving toward the centre with the long stem of the microphone held firmly in his greying jaw.
The racket of the older gentlepony screwing the stand in place was enough to end the last of the conversations and commandeer all the respect that the crowd had. A sharp, piercing screech escaped the sound system, as if somepony had stepped on a banshee’s foot.
“Excuse me.” The stallion placed a hoof on his throat and let out a hearty cough. “Excuse me ladies and gentlecolts! The final part of our wondrous show is about to begin!”
With a grand wave, Inky pointed at Derpy Hooves, then Big Macintosh, then finally at Raindrops, who happened to be sitting upon his desk and biting her tongue like a stick of moldy chewing gum.
“Three ponies remain and the prize of a grand total of ten thousand bits!”
Polite clapping and hums of contentment filled the area.
“Now, without any further ado, let us invite our three final contestants onto the stage.” Inky, with a last flurry of movement, took a long step back from the microphone and sat down, a sly smile adorning his features as he scanned the crowd.
Raindrops hopped to the air and beat down with a powerful stroke of her wings, sending out a gust of wind that battered the ponies around her. With a smile splitting her features across familiar lines, she spun through the air and alighted on the very tip of the platform with an almost dainty tap of her forehooves.
Derpy Hooves was next. The grey mare surged out of a group of fans like a dragon roaring out of its cave. Loose feathers and beads of sweat decorated the air as the pegasus twisted around in a tight barrel roll and slammed onto the stage to skid to a halt.
She turned, the aviator goggles adorning her face catching the dawn’s light and splashing over the crowd. None cheered, but the adrenalin-fueled hype was felt by all like an electric tingle right below their ribcages.
Big Macintosh pushed himself out of his seat and looked at Roseluck. She smiled, nodded, then urged him on with a timid sweep of her hoof. He smiled back and lifted his head up high.
Eyes closed, the stallion absorbed the midday’s sun as it caressed his back and coat. The wind, silent and lonely, shifted about the crowd, carrying with it the scent of a hundred ponies, all eagerly awaiting for him to act.
He moved one leg at a time, hooves tapping and crushing the ground in a luxurious pace until he reached the staircase leading onto the stage. Raindrops and Derpy Hooves were trading smile-disguised glares as he climbed onto the stage proper and trotted over to their side.
“Now, to our three contestants, I ask: who should start?” Inky asked as he faced away from the microphone. His voice rang out, muffled by his distance to the crowd. “Please, pick amongst yourselves.” A slow, crawling tear of sweat began to slide down his balding forehead as his anxious eyes hopped from Derpy Hooves to Raindrops.
The aquamarine mare hummed then tapped her chin in thought. “Well, I’ll be going last. ‘Cause I’ll be coming in first. It’s only fair, right?” she asked. With a twinkle in her eye, she gave Derpy Hooves a great and innocent smile. “You don’t mind, do you, Miss Hooves?”
The grey mare’s brow furrowed and she glanced back at the growing crowd with the look of a dog sniffing out the traces of a predator. “No, it’s okay. I’ll go second.”
Four eyes fell upon Big Macintosh. Welp, Ah guess they wish for me to go ahead of ‘em. Ah’m not one for goin’ first, but it’s the stallion’s duty to respect the wishes of mares. Nothin’ Ah can do about it.
With three long and sure strides, Big Macintosh crossed the stage and stepped up to the microphone. Upon seeing his approach, Inky spun around and left the stage. A stray bolt of telekinetic power flicked the Clop-o-Meter on before he circled his oak desk and plopped himself down on his seat.
Macintosh brought his muzzle within a centimetre of the phone and took a deep breath.
All sense of meter and rhyme flew away from him like leaves on autumn winds, in that terrible moment when he opened his mouth to begin. His poem had been perfect; he had slaved over it in the quiet hours before dawn for months with painstaking care: his eloquent magnum opus that would make the world right and solve the problems and get the girl. It was gone, and for a moment he stared at the crowd in utter blankness, jaw working soundlessly as if on a hinge. His mind was empty, but his heart was full and it flowed over from the depths of his chest with the force of a broken dam.
He was supposed to be Quiet Macintosh, stallion of few words, who doled them out with economy and thought. He was supposed to be Dependable Macintosh, who planned ahead as any farmer does, who usually took time to consider things, working them over in his mind like a field being tilled. He was supposed to be Polite Macintosh, who had been raised right and didn't speak out of turn or line.
"The first time Ah met you, you smelled like manure," he stated with a halting, hoarse voice.
Somewhere within him, his mind kicked back on with faint 'danger, danger, danger' signals, but it was like the rusted pump behind the farmhouse. His heart frantically worked the lever, but there was no stopping it, even as he stared at Roseluck's growing expression of bewildered mortification. The pump was primed, and words streamed from him in a cleansing torrent.
“Ah liked it. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t beautiful. It was... earthly and fresh and so, so real.” His voice broke, as if he was once more a foal fighting through his growth spurts—a child.
“You were timid, then strong, but so weak. Like a flower that stands up after bein’ trodden on, or a rose that’s so easy to break, but whose thorns are enough to make anypony think twice before trying.
“Ah remember your anger, like the sun on my face but with no warmth, just a cold passion that drains the blood. And your happiness, tiny sparks of bubbly cider that sweep through mah every vein as you smile and laugh and try to hide your tears.”
One of his large hooves ran along the edge of the microphone. Its cold side reminded him that he was trotting right beside the edge of a precipice. Yet as he looked up and met the perfect eyes of a certain mare, he knew that jumping off was something he would do, even if it only made her happy but for a moment.
“Ah want to make you happy,” he said. The uncertainty that he saw in her evaporated and was replaced by the shining strength of pure joy.
“Granny always told me that there was no price to happiness.” The stallion looked down, tearing away from the overbearing contact with the mare and ripping apart the tendons of his heart in a single gesture. “She was wrong. There is a price, but it’s not in bits and cents; it’s time.
“Every second Ah spend with you is like a glimpse at bliss. A peek at what it’s like to be happy. You’re different, Miss Roseluck. You’re wild and strong and pretty and could hurt me with a single turn of your head or make me beg ‘n grovel with a tiny smile.” Still staring at the natural grain of the wood beneath his hooves, Big Macintosh smiled. “Ah always thought I was rather tough. You proved me wrong in all sorts of ways.”
What am Ah doin’? part of his mind asked. Ah’m making love, another answered. Still another, one that had once been tiny, minuscule but was not permeating and expanding across every part of him, spoke; it said, Ah’m making her happy.
“When Ah first met you, you were tryin’ ta save the trees around the town’s square. Miss Pie had buried all sorts of implements under the roots. The Mayor said that it was pointless. A bunch of ponies had given up trying. But you were different. You were new to the town, we owed you nothin’, but you still wanted to save the trees.”
With a wispy smile of remembrance, the stallion looked to the sky. Only two clouds floated in the silent blue ocean, both circling each other as long white tendrils mingled.
“Ah saw you covered in dirt and sugar and firecrackers, diggin’ patiently between the roots and whisperin’ to the tree, tellin’ it that it was gonna be okay, that you would fix it, that everythin’, in the end, would be all right.
“Every blossom on that tree sprung to life, every woody vein pumped and pulsed, every root shivered in contentment, and it’s only then that you stopped. Ah’ve always loved the earth. Ah’ve always felt Equestria’s pulse under my hooves. Ah could hear the trees whisper and laugh and feel when they were ready ta blossom. But you, you knew t’em. Ah didn’t think it was possible. But you had a magic. And when you climbed outta that hole, smellin’ of manure and smilin’ at the sun as if it was an old friend... I loved you.”
He wiped a hoof past his eyes. “And that’s all Ah have ta say about that.” He didn't even wait to see Roseluck's reaction, for he turned his head to Inky Scribeswell. The organizer’s mouth was ajar as his brain attempted to process all he'd just heard. “Ah’m sorry, Mister Scribeswell, for ruinin’ your show. ”
With a light step, as if Equestria’s gravity held no real grasp against the floating of his heart, Big Macintosh stepped around the microphone and hopped off the stage.
Ponies scuffled away with wide looks of both concern and curiosity as the stallion landed with a trot in their midst and made his way toward a beige mare. Her brilliant green eyes served as a pole to his heart’s compass.
Pushing herself off her seat, Roseluck took a few timid steps toward her stallion and the two let their lips meet halfway under the canopy of a thousand cheers.
This, Big Macintosh thought as his breath and hers became one and their bodies intermingled under the awed stares of many, this is what Ah want. This is love. This is mah mare n’ Ah’m hers.
“Just wait one Luna-darned second you two!” a hoarse, strongly accented voice called. The breaking of the silence was like a cascade as ponies gave way to sighs and groans as the lucky couple exchanged another deep and passionate kiss. “Hey, stop snoggin’ mah brother!”
Big Macintosh, as reluctant as he had ever been, pulled away from the tender lips of his mare. Their eyes met, emerald in emerald, until they both turned to the one that had interrupted their moment.
Applejack was there, hat perched above her furrowed brow while she stood seething. “Big Mac, we have to have ourselves a talk, now.”
“Applejack, Ah don’t think this is the time.”
The cowmare’s forehoof thumped against the ground. “Ah think it is the time.”
“Nnope,” Big Macintosh said as he shook his head from side to side.
“What’cha mean, ‘nope?’ Brother, you’re comin’ home with me, pronto, and we’re gonna talk about yer... situation.”
Before Big Macintosh could react once more, a firm hoof was placed on his forehoof. “Let me handle it, okay, Little Mac?” Roseluck said in a soft whisper that carried to the ears of other ponies. She batted her eyebrows at him and any thoughts of refusal melted away. This mare is awful dangerous.
With a quick, bouncing step, Roseluck trotted by Applejack. “Enjoy the show, Macintosh, I’ll return in a moment.” With her unwavering smile, the mare stared right at the Element of Honesty, sparks littering the air between them. “Come on, let’s have that talk of yours.”
Two mares left the arena, one grumbling under her breath and the other walking with the brisk confidence of a pony on the cusp of victory. As they disappeared around the stage, the crowd returned to its usual self: calm, composed and ready to hear some fine, elaborate prose.
The Clop-o-Meter’s arm was still ticking away at the mark of two before gravity pulled it down to nothing. Inky, who was standing with two hooves on his desk, and shared a look with Big Macintosh. Understanding passed between the two stallions in the form of quick, curt nods. With a silent groan, Inky hopped off his desk, stood and marched onto the stage, ponies parting out of his way.
“Ladies and Gentlecolts, a round of applause for Mister Macintosh who has made it this far,” he said as he reached the microphone. Clapping followed as ponies young and old joined up for a last chorus to the big red stallion. Blushing beneath his coat, Macintosh lifted a forehoof and saluted them, vaguely aware of the growing number of fanmares circling him, all with defeated looks of resignments. Sorry ladies, I already have a special somepony.
“Please welcome, in silence, Miss Derpy Hooves!”
The grey pegasus moved to the stage’s edge, locks of blonde mane sliding over her eyes as she looked at the ponies nearest the side. Taking a long draw of air, she brought her muzzle next to the wire-mesh of the microphone and sighed. “This is a little something for the ponies that deserve better.”
Once upon a summer day,
I came upon a thorny vine,
A gnarled message of my life,
And the source of my aggression.
I asked myself, “In what way,
Does this old bramble entwine,
The harbinger of such needless strife,
To learn this painful lesson?”
Around me its terrible grasp did grip,
And lesions it did cruelly form,
Squirm as I would, I never could,
Escape from this hateful prison.
But lo! in the embrace of this whip,
A comforting presence I felt born,
I felt a kinship with its wood,
And great life in this fission.
I felt the echo of the sad and alone,
Who will never be loved and never be known,
A life that is dead and never grown,
To be embittered and turned to stone.
I harshly screamed and I blindly cried,
But not out of senseless fear,
For this great friend that I had met,
had always been sought with a frown.
And down, down it writhed,
A valiant attempt to disappear,
For it had sympathy and regret,
For this stalwart it tried to drown.
I begged and pleaded,
To my friend gave all I had,
But still it fell and lost itself,
In wallowing depression.
The only thing that it needed,
Was to be made whole and glad,
And instead it gained a wealth,
Of its own shortsighted confession.
To support is to strengthen,
To nourish is to lengthen,
To help is to awaken,
And to fail is to be taken.
“Thank you.”
Ponies clapped. not for the beauty of it, or the awe, but for the simple elegance and timidity of the piece, the unobtrusive prose that took so little and meant so much.
Big Macintosh hummed to himself, gently adding to the drone of the ponies seated around him. His gaze wavered and slid to the stage’s side where the drapery ended and the edge bent around the corner, where Applejack and Roseluck had headed. Again his thoughts circled back to the mare on the clockwork that had been running his life for the past few weeks. Is she going to be all right? he wondered as the clock struck twelve.
Applejack can be a little... rough, but Ah’m sure she’ll be considerate. His chest puffed out and a burstl of air escaped him. No, Ah have other problems.... The bits. Where am Ah going to get the bits? He slapped himself in the face, adding the the polite cheering.
We have some at the farm, but they don’t rightfully belong to me. Or Ah could let that no-good bit-hugger take the hoses down... Ah’m sturdy with mah hooves, buildin’ something to replace it would be a breeze... and Ah’d have to spend the day at Roseluck’s... maybe a few days, buildin’ can take an awful long time. Eeyup, everything’s going to work out.
Derpy Hooves bowed, her eyes only ever focusing on the rising and falling of the Clop-o-Meter’s dial as it hovered around the mark of eight. She said something under her breath that curdled the ears of every mother within earshot before standing tall, unfurling her wings and beating through the air until she reached the far end of the stage.
Inky climbed back onto the platform. “Our next and final contestant,” he said, his shoulders slumping as if massive weight was being deposited on him at the very thought. “Miss Raindrops.”
A yellow streak raced up and around Inky, butting the old stallion out of his spot and revealing a grinning Raindrops. “Howdy, everypony!”
A hush fell over those gathered, only punctuated by the taps of Inky’s hooves on the hollow stage as he made a prompt exit with his tail and ears twitching.
The mare reached around and poked her muzzle under the crook of her right wing. After a moment of rummaging, she twisted around with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses which she pressed onto her nose with a touch of her forehoof. A few more seconds were spent with her yanking a rolled up scroll from the down of her left wing. “All right. Ladies and Gentecolts. This poem is a little something for the best of us. This is a little something for those that deserve far worse.”
Life was a jest, but still the very best
Until I found a friend, who made me suspend,
Feelings I had repressed and who set me to disclose;
to possess and to address
my growing distressed:
Of apples and roses and thick purple proses
She fell in love, they fit like a glove
A quick little blend, and some enemies to fend.
Feelings she was sick of, the need to impose;
to possess and address
Her growing in love:
With apples and roses and thick purple proses
Now they’ll get hitched, or maybe ditched.
No thoughts of floating, only of soaring,
feeling bewitched, a need to enclose
to possess and address
Their growing enriched
With apples and roses-- and thick purple proses.
Together for life, stallion and wife
I’m just the crony, of a little beige pony
That will face strife, this everyone knows
to possess and address
her growing rife
with Apples and Roses and Thick Purple Proses.
Raindrops backed away from the microphone, nodded to the crowd, then to Inky, and waited.
The applause began from the most unusual source. Inky Scribeswell clacked his hooves together, an easy smile plastered across his features and intermingled with the soothing relaxation of one that had just surmounted a challenge.
Big Macintosh soon joined in the noise, even humming an ‘uh-huh’ as the applause grew louder and louder.
Raindrops took a modest bow, twisting her wing about with a rapid swoop before ducking her head behind it and lowering her forehooves. The cheering continued as she rose up, flashed them a smile, then gave a less-than-subtle wink to Big Macintosh before blowing a kiss to Inky.
The old stallion froze mid-clap and glared at her. With a huff that was heard even above the cacophony, he took note of the Clop-O-Meter rating and made his way onto the stage, a noticeable limp in his step.
Raindrops backed up to sit near Derpy Hooves, a gloating smile adorning her lips. The two turned their attention to Inky, but still found the time to whip their wings at one another.
Inky’s tapping at the microphone was enough to kill off the last of the enthusiastic fanfare as a peal of screeching thunder echoed forth. “Ladies and gentlecolts. It is with great joy, jubilation and excitement that I bring our event to a close,” Inky said with a stone-hard face.
“It was a close competition in many respects; still, in the end, the singular winner was quite clear and concise.” He paused, allowing the gathered to wait with bated breath for the stallion to reveal the one they had chosen as winner.
“I am proud to announce, the the contestant that has paved the way to... new and, um, interesting forms of poetic freedoms this year, is Miss Raindrops!” Twisting around, Inky waved at the lucky pegasus.
With a skipping step, Raindrops made her way to the microphone and to Inky’s side under the eyes of all, including Macintosh.
Something orange and brown and beige moved on the stage’s side, prompting the stallion to look that way. Roseluck and Applejack were coming around. The farmpony’s hooves were trembling and a sheen of sweat was pouring down her mane, as if she had been working the farm all day long. Roseluck, on the other hoof, was resplendent. Smiling, maroon, eyes narrowed as they took in Big Macintosh in his entirety.
“Mister Macintosh,” she said crisply as the three converged. Her tone, at the time all-business, somehow carried a tiny underline to it that made the hairs along his back rise. “Your sister and I had a discussion; it was very... fruitful. Wouldn’t you say, Applejack?” Roseluck asked the muscular mare.
Applejack nodded, her loosened mane drooping down her shoulders. “Ye-yeah. We, uh, sure did,” she said, her voice rattling about like a hog-tied rooster.
Ah’ll have to have a talkin’-to with Roseluck ‘bout this later. In the meantime.... Big Macintosh leaned in toward the shorter mare and touched her cheek with the barest nudge of his muzzle. “Hello, Miss Roseluck.”
“Um, brother, Ah think Ah’m gonna head on over to the house,” his sister said, her attention noticeably riveted on the trampled grass below. “So, right. Ah do hope you two have a good time. And, um,” she raised her eyes and affixed them to his own. “Ah love ya, brother, but so does she. Now, you take care of her, all right?”
Was that the issue? She was afraid that Ah’d be rude to Miss Roseluck? Or, was she worried about me all along? “Eeyup,” he said while the corners of his lips twitched up.
“Well.... that’s that. Ah’ll see ya tonight brother.” Turning, Applejack shook her head, removed her hat, and wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead before heading out through the attentive crowd.
Roseluck began to walk away. Her tail swished under his chin and flicked at him, luring him after the young mare. “We can head back and... talk in private. I’m feeling very affectionate towards a certain stallion right now. Shall we get going?”
“Eeyup.”
Filling his nostrils, Big Macintosh took in the thick scent of ponies held too close together, the overpowering cologne of some stallions and the faint, almost imperceptible, aroma of flowers emanating from Roseluck, before he followed.
As they made their way up the pathway between lawn chairs, the toneless drone that Inky spoke with assaulted them from behind.. “Miss Raindrops, it’s with much incertitude and irresolution that I present to you, the grand prize of ten thousand bits!”
A sparse clacking of hooves filled the field as the attention of the masses were on a heightened buzz but still flagging after the long morning of competition. “Miss, if I may ask,” Inky began as he pushed a wide check across the stage, “what do you plan to do with your winnings?”
She shrugged and hugged the check close. “Oh, nothing much,” the mare said as a slow smile made its way across her lips. “I have always wanted to mount an insurrection, though....”
Roseluck and Big Macintosh reached the outskirts of the inner area just as a flabbergasted Inky tried to reason Raindrops out of rebelling against the current institution and imposing her own tyrannical government.
“So, Miss Roseluck?” Macintosh asked.
“You can just call me Roseluck, or Rose. What is it?”
“What’d you tell mah sister?”
Roseluck winked at him. “I told her that every poem starts with one verse.”
The two poets marched under the bright sun with their eyes gazing at one another in a vain attempt to stave off the times when they would not be together. But, as birds flitted by and insects chirped and ticked and buzzed their calls, the two knew that time was on their side as long as they had each other.
The End-ish
This chapter was mostly (as in, they addded bits and pieces) edited by:
-Nova Force
-Scootareader
-Just Another Timelord
-Loeden (Who really helped with Big Mac's poem)
-StapleCactus
-Frederic The Saiyan
-Gurumane
-Cpl Hooves
Basically these guys: The Misfits
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Good, that sounds like there is more to come.
Really interesting read. I'll be honest, I have never been one for poetry. Still not. But, this was a very enjoyable story.
I decided to read this because it was on the home page saw it was featured and began with "Of" and went, "Oh, RavensDagger must have put out a new story."
What is this world coming to?
Okay, I LOVE this fic. Great poetry, nice humor and a beautiful love story. Hopefully there will be more. I really wanna hear what Roseluck told Applejack though.
And, wait, is Raindrops going to over throw the Government? 
2638572
Haha!
It works!
Bravo! Encore! Great way to end-ish a story. Rapidly awaiting the reason why this is end-ish.
Sorry, couldn't help myself!
'The end-ish', huh? Guess we got an epilogue to come now, with three stallions who need a beat down, and quite possible an explanation as to why Derpy was a complete and utter bitch throughout this story. It's just one thing I could never work out!
2638652
That reminds me of a joke I heard.
A man walks into a store in 2013.
He asks the man at the counter what year it is.
The man at the counter responds with "2013, why?"
The first man replied with, "YES! IT WORKED!" and ran out of the building laughing maniacally.
Really likes this fic. Hoped for an even more happy ending, but I appreciate and understand the one you wrote.
Still want to punch Raindrops, though. So annoying…
I'm thinking 'Of Rainy Revolts" should be the next issue of this madness, no?
seriously, this was loads of fun, and Raindrops' finale kicked butt. can't wait to see what you've got planned next
End-ish... i feel an epilogue in the works.
But even if it weren't to appear, after the literary wonder you have weaved, i couldn't be angry.
So thank you for your rhyme,
For your time,
And for the words that have entertained me so.
--- One Psychopathic Maniacal Fox
2639218
I was thinking more:
"A Rainy Day for an Insurrection."
2639821
...
Guys, Raven is planning a story that doesn't start with 'Of'
Riot with me now: GET THE CHANGELING!!
2639847
and once again AJ gets left out.
That was a very beautiful end-ish to this story. A great story that I will most likely re-read.
Thank you.
i3.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/549/612/e5a.jpg
That was great!
I like that Mac didn't win. No poem that starts off with the line...
....deserves to win anything, even if the rest of the poem is really good. This is the same as saying, "when I first met you, you smelled like cow shit."
At least, Raindrops won and she'll most likely give the cash to her best friend. As for the rest of the story, it would've been nice to see the fight/discussion between Roseluck and Applejack.
I do hope there is more.
You didn't address everything.
Oh well, it was fun, this lyrical romance that it was.
Excellent work, dear author.
"Burstl" should probably be just "burst".
2642871
I made a mistake?
Inconceivable!
(No, don't change your profile picture or I'll look like an idiot.)
Well, that just made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
AHHH TOO FUZZY BLAJRHGHFHHBRHGHB
*applauds*
I seriously hope there's more to come. It says "Incomplete", so there should be more.
Raindrops is best best friend!
Does that mean that the next part is about Raindrops' insurrection?
This fic makes me happy and all dawwww-ish inside, and I especially like that you avoided the obvious route and didn't have Big Mac win the bits for Roseluck but they'll have to do something else instead.
(poor Collateral Damage, he was never going to become a ballet dancer with a name like that)
Hell of a Freudian slip there. Mac's kids would be Apple Bloom's nieces and nephews, but I guess she just sees him as that much of a father figure. Or it's a typo. Either or.
In either case, a very sweet and heartfelt conclusion. Reading between the lines, I suspect that even if Derpy won, she'd give Rose the money. After all, where's the fun in a rivalry if your rival's destitute?
So, barring some absolute catastrophe of an epilogue, I enjoyed this story. I was hesitant to pick it up since I don't like poetry (and that's really the nicest thing I can say about it), but thankfully the poems were a more minor part of the story than I expected. There are definitely two things I'm going to remember about this story though.
1) You made Derpy the bad guy. I'm sure it's been done, but I haven't seen it. And what's even better, is she's the bad guy BECAUSE she was more or less the same character she normally is, except that she KNOWS she's inherently sympathetic. That's clever.
2) Then there's this little bit here...
Dunno' if that's a reference to, or a lift from, something, but that's a very pretty thought.
2664438
I have a few jobs that involve lots of menial tasks. So I think, a lot... Sometimes I scribble the ideas down. That was one of them.
When that final poem started, I got goosebumps. This was absolutely glorious. Thank you Raven and all the editors for taking us on this adventure in verse.
That was a great story. Really great. I absolutely LOVE poetry and it was great to see it mixed in with prose. Two things though:
1) Why are the proses thick and purple?
2) Is the story marked incomplete on purpose?
2696135
I like thick prose.
There's a epilogue missing. But it's going to be silly and more for comedy than anything else.
The only thing I'm confused about is the fact that at the beginning of the competition you said the prize was 500 bits, how did that become 10,000 at the end?
2818039
I couldn't find the number again and didn't feel like re-reading all of the story.
2818125
Okay then, well thanks for being honest at least.
2818165
Hey, no problem!
I hope you liked the story. And you can expect the epilogue eventually!
If you have any other questions just comment around. I'll get to it eventually.
2818182
I really liked the story. It had just the right mix of comedy and romance. Also, thankfully the romance wasn't too terribly over done or cliche either. It was thoroughly enjoyable read and you wrote both Roseluck and Big Macintosh very well. I look forward to reading the epilogue.
A fitting end to such a story. [dont really get poetry much but it was a bit more enoyable than i thought] really liked the fact that big mac didnt win but rain drops did instead. And i really liked the
lines
Forrest Gump ref. Love it.
I wonder just what Roseluck said to Applejack that would cause her to react in such a way. I also found this interpretation of Derpy, as a passive-aggressive and manipulative pony, to be interesting.
2818125
I am 16 weeks late, but I found it for anyone who is confused.
About 2/3 the way down in Chapter 3.
Ten thousand bits seems to be the better option, because bits are worth very little, but it would take a lot of bags to carry that amount.
Amazing story: I'll admit I tried it after asking for recommendations for a Roseluck fanfic.
The characterizations of main characters were very good, and I loved the character you gave the formerly background ponies.
Also, Princess Raindrops: we are doomed.
You. You used the correct plural of crocus. I like you you.