• Published 1st Feb 2012
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The Prince and the Workhorse - fellstorm



Prince Blueblood and Big McIntosh swap bodies to pursue their respective romantic interests

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Chapter XIV

The Prince and the Workhorse

Part XIV

Prince Blueblood found the South Field relatively easily. He’d always had a knack when it came to the cardinal directions. His special talent being a slightly more literal interpretation of the compass rose sigil that had been passed down through his family for generations. Previous Bluebloods were skilled cartographers, world travelers or explorers and Blueblood always felt being a living compass was something of a gyp. Oh well, it was nothing mares and martinis couldn’t medicate.

This stump on the other hoof…

Blueblood realized once he’d gotten to the South Field that he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. The whole orchard was positively littered with stumps. Last autumn, the Apple family challenged a pair of amateur inventors to a John Henry style battle of Pony vs. Machine. The Apples bested their antagonists, but the Flim Flam Bros. Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 contraption had already run rampant through their orchard, tearing trees up whole and grinding them down to extract the apples. Now the South Field was a mess. Several trees were uprooted completely, leaving nothing but gaping holes in the soil, but most just snapped off at the base.

He assumed there were going to be three or four stumps to move, but there were easily a dozen here! Maybe more… and they were much bigger than he imagined. Big, jagged things, not the neat little tabletops one typically thinks of when one thinks of tree stumps. Prince Blueblood hadn’t even got to the part where he remembered they also had roots.

He trotted up to the closest stump and prodded it with his hoof. Doing good so far… He opened his mouth, trying to find a good spot to get a bite on the blasted thing. He moved around for a different angle. No good.

Blueblood scratched his belly with his hind hoof. There was obviously something simple that he’d overlooked if Applejack thought he could clear most of these out before sunset. He shrugged and put his forehead on the stump’s side, pushing with all his might. It didn’t even budge.

For the next half hour, Blueblood tried everything he could think of. He tried pushing backward with his flank, lifting it from underneath, kicking it (that got the stump to shudder and he kicked it a few more times, but didn’t make any real progress) and even standing on top and jumping on it (which, if anything, actually made things worse).

Blueblood sat down on his haunches to rest. This would obviously require some outside help.

***

While Blueblood struggled down in the South Field, Banana Split limped her way up the long dirt road to Sweet Apple Acres. The hospital had discharged her in a wheelchair, but using it meant rolling herself uphill for miles on an unpaved and bumpy road. Nope, she’d just have to hoof it. Thank Celestia for painkillers.

She was in a sour mood, and not just for the obvious reason. Why hadn’t Big Macintosh visited her in the hospital? It was the least he could do after he put her there. They had much to discuss if this relationship was going to work.

***

Big Macintosh had fallen back to sleep. Tombs cleared away the tray and brought it back downstairs. Marmalade was in the kitchen, rummaging in the icebox.

Tombs coughed to get her attention.

“Excuse me, ma’m,” said Tombs “What are you doing?”

“Getting something to eat. I’m starving!” she said, pulling her head out of the refrigerator. She walked over to a nearby cupboard and started rummaging “Do you know if Big Mac has any cookies?”

“Perhaps ma’m will find the victuals at her own residence to conform more closely to her preferences,” Tombs closed the refrigerator door with his magic and plucked a box of Lemon Smacks out of Marmalade’s mouth.

“I told you, I’m not leaving until I get to see Big Macintosh,” Marmalade snatched the box out of the air.

“And as I have already informed ma’m, Big Macintosh will not be back before sundown,” the slightest edge peeked through Tombs’s voice and he levitated the box out of Marmalade’s mouth once again.

“And I already told you, I’m not leaving!” she grabbed at the box. Tombs lifted it out of her reach.

“Then you’ll just have to wait here all day without food,” he said.

Marmalade opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment, the screen door squeaked and Blueblood walked into the kitchen.

“Tombs, have you seen…” he stopped short when he saw Marmalade. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route.

“You were saying?” Marmalade stuck her tongue out at Tombs and trotted up to Blueblood.

“Oh, Big Macintosh! It’s so good to see you! I brought you some marmalade!” she presented the red and white checked parcel resting on the kitchen table.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Blueblood smiled. She moved in to nuzzle at his neck and he withdrew. Marmalade looked up at him, questioning.

“So…” said Blueblood “It was really great having you visit and all, but I’ve actually got a lot of work to do…”

“That’s okay,” said Marmalade, downcast “we can hang out later…”

“Oh, uhhh.”

“I was thinking we could go for a walk up to the Ponyville Hydromagical Dam and look at the mist, it’s really lovely. I’ve always wanted to take a date there,” she smiled.

“A date? Err… that’s not really going to be possible…”

Marmalade stepped back.

“Oh, well I didn’t necessarily mean today,” she pawed at the ground “you know, soon though.”

She looked at him with hopeful eyes.

“Well, you know… let’s put a pin in that…” Blueblood tapped his forehooves together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Blueblood looked over at Tombs, who was washing dishes and refused to make eye contact.

“Well, umm…”

“I dunno how this relationship is supposed to work if we’re not going to spend time together.”

“Well, you see… Tombs, did you say something?” Blueblood cast a pleading glance over Marmalade’s shoulder.

“No, sir.” He didn’t look up from his washing.

Blueblood looked back down at Marmalade, whose expression was starting to darken.

“So, listen, Marmite…”

Marmalade gasped. Over by the sink, Tombs shook his head.

“I mean Marzipan!” Blueblood grinned wide. Marmalade slapped the silly grin right off his face.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” she demanded.

Blueblood rubbed his cheek.

“Now, see here.”

“What am I to you? Am I a joke?” she yelled “Am I? Huh? Is this how you get your kicks, you sick freak?”

“I wasn’t…”

“What was last night? You just think you can screw me and then just toss me aside like a Kleenex? You mount me and you don’t even do me the courtesy of remembering my name?”

“No, no no! I swear…”

“Ohmygosh! And Banana Split! I bet you screwed her, too! Huh? Didjya? Didjya ride her, wipe yerself off and then realize ya still had some spunk left to pump out?”

“She came onto me…”

“Well screw you!” she sniffed, her eyes were watery with tears “Screw you and your stupid dumb idiot face!”

“Well maybe we could date a little… see how it goes…” Blueblood reached out to comfort her. She knocked his hoof away.

“Save your pity for someone who gives a damn!” she huffed “And just for the record? Just. For. The. Record: having a big, stupid dick doesn’t mean you’re automatically great at sex, you lazy asshole! You hump like a drunk teenager on prom night.”

Blueblood gasped. That was behind the belt! Of all the nerve. Still, probably not the best time to get indignant…

“I hope someday you get gonorrhea and die!” she sobbed.

Really!”

Marmalade stormed out of the kitchen, kicking the table hard on her way past so that the jar of Marmalade she brought jumped and fell to the floor with a sloppy crash!

“Just wait until every mare in town hears about this!” they heard her yell from the barn.

Blueblood and Tombs shared the kitchen in silence for a few seconds. Tombs grabbed a pan from the dirty pile and started scrubbing.

Blueblood watched Tombs through narrowed eyes.

Tombs scrubbed.

“You know, I blame you for this,” said Blueblood.

“I’m sorry to hear that, your majesty,” said Tombs, not looking up.

“You’re supposed to run interference.”

“As you say, sire.”

Blueblood pouted in silence. Tombs put the pan in the dishrack.

“Is Mister Macintosh around?”

“He is resting upstairs at the moment, sire.”

“Not anymore, I ain’t” snuffed Big Macintosh, stepping into the kitchen. He’d been resting peacefully and was actually feeling much better thanks to Tombs’s ministrations, though he still had a persistent sniffle and a general malaise.

“What in tarnation is all this yellin’ and smashin’ about?” he asked.

Blueblood looked about, innocently.

“Yelling? Smashing? Don’t know anything about that. You must’ve dreamed it. How’s your fever?” Blueblood moved to feel Big Mac’s forehead, but he backed away.

“Did I dream that?” Big Mac pointed to the sticky puddle of broken glass and marmalade that was spreading under the table.

Blueblood blinked at the mess for a few moments. Tombs continued to wash.

“Oh… that. Yes, there was a little accident.”

“And the shoutin’?”

“Must’ve been the record player.”

Big Mac looked over at the record player in the corner. It was off… and there was no record in it… and somepony had set a stack of newspapers on it.

“Ah huh…” he said.

Blueblood changed the subject.

“Uh listen… Glad you’re up. I’ve hit a little snag with moving the stumps… I was hoping you could help.”

Big Mac sighed.

“Alright, sure. What’s the trouble? Did the harness get twisted again?”

“Harness?”

“For the chains.”

“Chains?”

“Tell me you brought the harness out with you…”

“Well,” said Blueblood, sheepishly.

Big Mac konked a hoof to his forehead.

“Well what did you expect to do with the stumps once you got them dug up?” he asked “Were you gonna haul ‘em around in yer mouth?”

“Dug them up?”

Big Mac started pounding his forehead on the doorpost. His horn knocking into the frame above.

Thok. Thok. Thok.

“Well what do you expect? It’s only my third day as a farmpony!” Blueblood huffed, he turned to Tombs “Tombs, do you know anything about removing stumps?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“And you can cut that out,” said Blueblood, turning to Big Mac. Big Mac wasn’t pounding his head against the doorframe. Tombs cleared his throat.

“I believe that would be the front door,” said Tombs, exiting the kitchen into the barn. There was an exchange of muted conversation and Tombs returned.

“Sire, a Miss Split to see you…”

Bluebloods eyes goggled and his pupils contracted to pinpoints.

“Ohshit!” he yelped “Everypony hide!”

Big Mac bared his teeth.

“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded.

“Oh nothing, that crazy mare is probably here because she wandered out of the hospital in a delirium. The brain freeze must be worse than we thought.”

“Why would Banana Split be here to see you, Blueblood?”

“Well, you see…” Blueblood raised his hoof as if to talk, then turned tail and sprinted out the back door. Big Mac snorted and charged after him.

***

Blueblood galloped as fast as he could for the orchard, hoping to reach the tree line before it was…

Too late.

Big Macintosh was galloping after him and closing fast. Damn! He was really regretting all that time he’d spent working on his cardio. Big Macintosh’s body was big and powerful, but not very lean and not very fast. He even had the tiniest bit of a paunch. Not a problem except the added weight made it that much more difficult to evade twelve hundred pounds of angry unicorn. Tipped, incidentally with sixteen-inches of sharp horn. Blueblood would argue seventeen but he always cheated with the tape.

“It was just some harmless fun!” Blueblood called over his shoulder.

“Harmless?” yelled Big Mac. Blueblood looked back. Yikes! Big Mac was a lot closer than he thought and gaining fast.

“Yes, I didn’t mean to hurt her! I was just- OOF!”

Big Mac tackled him, wrapping his forelegs around the Prince’s waist and pushing him to the ground.

Blueblood rolled over on the ground and put his hooves on Big Mac’s shoulders, stopping him just inches from skewering his belly with his horn.

“What the hell did I tell you about dickin’ around in mah body?”

Big Mac shoved forward, Blueblood held him off. This Big Mac fellow had some surprising strength in his hind legs…

“Nothing! You didn’t tell me anything until it was too late!” yelled Blueblood.

“Ah didn’t think Ah needed to tell you not to go around fuggn’ everything that moved!”

“That’s not fair! You’re using my body to go after mares!”

Big Mac stopped pushing.

“No Ah ain’t!”

“Well, a mare! What’s the difference?”

“What’s the difference?” asked Big Mac “The difference is that what yer doin’ is… is hurtin’ them!”

“Well I rather fancy that’s more your fault than mine, you never warned me about your-”

“Not that! I mean the way you’re treatin’ ‘em! Mares have feelings ya know!”

“I know that. I can’t help it if a few mares have unrealistic expectations…”

“Oh yeah, a few, huh? Tell me, how many mares have you slept with?”

“Well, that’s hardly proper…” he fidgeted with his hooves.

“How many?”

Blueblood tried to count in his head.

“One hundred and… something-ty?” he offered.

Big Mac boggled for a moment, trying to imagine having sex with so many mares that he could lose track. He shook his head. Focus!

“And how many of them are you still on speaking terms with?” he asked.

Blueblood thought about it.

“Well, I dunno if…”

“How many?”

“Well… I… does it count if they’re asking you how much starch you want in your collar?”

Big Mac narrowed his eyes. Blueblood rolled off his back onto his side.

“So how many mares have you been with, if I might ask?”

This time, Big Macintosh was the one who fidgeted.

“nrmbrmm,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

Big Mac let out a deep breath.

“None, okay? None!”

Blueblood boggled for a moment, trying to imagine living his whole life up to that point without ever having felt the warm caress of a mare.

“You mean you’re…”

“A virgin, yes.”

Blueblood snorted. He tried not to, but the laughter built up behind his cheeks and finally burst out in Big Mac’s face.

“Whut exactly is so funny?”

Blueblood calmed his laughter and wiped a tear from his eye.

“Well, you’re not any more, are you?” he laughed.

Big Mac growled.

“Well, now that I think about it… I don’t know…” Blueblood pondered the metaphysical ramifications of having sex in another pony’s body.

Big Mac started to say something, but ended up chuckling a little, too.

“Damn,” he said.

Blueblood moved to right himself and Big Mac helped him up.

“You know, I should still kick yer ass. You still done wrong by Banana Split. Applejack’s not gonna be happy when she hears about this.”

Blueblood hung his head.

“But she’ll be even madder if we don’t clear out those stumps. Come on. If we work together, we can make up fer all the time you’ve wasted,” said Big Mac.

The two stallions walked together back up to the barn to grab the harness and shovels.

***

Deep in the Everfree forest, Zecora was in deep concentration. She meditated, balancing with her nose on the tip of a narrow staff. The pulses and rhythms of her body slowed to a crawl as her mind worked furiously. The fog of time and memory stripped away, layer by layer.

Tombs’s questions the night before put her ill at ease and sparked memories she thought long faded. After he left, she checked on the golden horseshoes. Somepony had switched them. They were not the same. She didn’t doubt that he had them or at least knew who did. More likely, it was the Prince.

The Prince. Celestia’s nephew. She could smell it on him. She’d smelled it before. Celestia’s niece in the jungle the night her god died. She smelled it on Cadence when she stood over her, that pink muzzle still dripping with Ananse’s ichor. The tiny buds of wings already sprouting at her sides.

A blur of agonized ponies. Writhing, moaning. Shredded, twisted. A parade of faces flashed before her, too fast. Too fast. She concentrated. Calmed herself. The faces slowed. Tombs was there, on his back and bloody. His insides were trying to become outsides. They all thought he was going to die… Even then he didn’t scream.

Zecora opened her eyes. She was back in her hut.

So, after all these years, the weavings of fate brought them close once again. What did the universe have in store? Whatever it was, she would keep her eyes and ears open. She got the feeling that if something was to happen with Tombs, she was meant to be present for it.

She dismounted from her staff and began to gather her things. Deciding carefully what she was going to pack. A gourd of potion, some berries, a bowl, a needle and a spool of thread…

A needle and thread.

She put them down and went to her bed, lifting the mattress with her hoof.

Of course.

She and Tombs were not the only things to come into Ponyville from that battlefield.

Beneath the mattress was another spool of thread, this one gleaming with its own silvery light. It seemed to whisper softly to itself in the darkness. Zecora gathered it up and the black needle that lay beside.

***

Up at the barn, Tombs had let Banana Split off easy. She wasn’t pleased to make the painful walk all the way back without even seeing Big Macintosh, and she definitely had some questions for him. She’d passed Marmalade on the way up, but her friend only stuck her nose in the air and harrumphed as they passed. What was that all about?

Big Mac wasn’t in, Tombs told her. He was off on business with the Prince and he didn’t anticipate either of them coming back anytime soon. No, she absolutely couldn’t stay and wait, they’d left town and wouldn’t be back for at least a day. Yes. Sorry. Thank you. He’ll be sure to contact you. Good day.

She limped back down the hill towards Ponyville. Had he run away because he’d hurt her? She only wanted to let him know she was alright and that she wasn’t mad at him.

She had to stop and rest. She eased herself down and sat at the side of the road for a while, staring up the hill at Sweet Apple Acres.The End of Part 14

To be Continued…