Strive

by Croswynd

Chapter 6: ...And Braeburn is Blue

Night settled into the desert wastes outside the town, the sun long having sunk beneath the mountainous horizon. Crickets once again buzzed, though the stars were missing and the wind did not blow.

In most ways, it was entirely opposite from the night Braeburn had slept beneath Bloomberg’s branches.

Lights dimmed the sea of stars from lamps and candles and electric bulbs. Ponies danced and played, the buzz of their conversations drowning out the cricket’s songs. Scents of apple-baked pies and funnel cakes fought in the air.

Those smells are the reason I’m getting a bit pudgy, Braeburn thought critically. He poked himself in the stomach, feeling the slight give of fat instead of the muscles that he’d built up working the orchards.

He sighed, ruefully reaching in his vest pocket for another few bits. The vendor in front of him smiled knowingly, sprinkling a bit less sugar on his treat.

Buying another apple pie-flavored funnel cake would help the town, after all.

Munching on the right delicious treat, Braeburn looked around. His gaze fell over rows of striped tents, little pennants of all different colors limp in the breezeless evening. All kinds of events were being held in those tents, including one that caught his eye. He almost choked on his funnel cake when he saw who was in charge of it.

“Step right up, everypony, that’s right, step right up!” Flimity Flam gestured to the crowd with a cane, his mustache twirled so much it almost reached where it started. “Come right here and play my little game. You’ve seen these things before, no doubt, and you say, ‘Flimity, these old tests are... well, old!’ I say, you haven’t seen mine.”

The pudgy pony tapped his device with a cane. It was a large cylindrical tube with a peppermint-colored outer shell. Inside was a blue ball sitting on one end of a seesaw-like contraption. Above the noise of the crowds, Braeburn could hear a sharp whining sound.

“This right here is my patented, incredible, absolutely, positively amazing Hyper High Striker 7000!” Flimity Flam proudly stuck a cigar in his mouth and chewed on it. “Now, let me tell you, this is no ordinary Strongpony machine, no, no. It’s something almost entirely different! You see, this here tube has a fan at the top of it, blowing wind down into the bottom at high speeds! That little ball in there is being pelted, no, I say slammed into the bottom by this powerful breeze!”

Flimity pitched his voice lower, gesturing for the crowd to creep closer. “‘But Flimity’, you ask, ‘it’d be impossible to make it ring the bell!’ Well, as intelligent as you modern ponies no doubt are, you’ve never seen anything like this. It is not only possible, it is quite skill based. For, you see, the fan turns off at random intervals, giving you the chance to strike the see-saw and send that ball flying sky high! But you only have a quick, split second to act!”

The crowd’s faces grew skeptical at that, Braeburn included. He stared at the machine, glancing at it up and down to see if he could figure out the pattern. There had to be one, one that Flimity knew off hoof.

“Ah, but I see your doubting faces,” Flimity said tragically, his cigar and shoulders drooping. Suddenly, he sprang up, surprising a colt in the front row, his eyes alive and a smile plastered across his face. “But I can prove it’s possible with a quick demonstration. And trust me, audience, I’ll not be using any magic to do this. Watch my horn. It’ll be magic-free, I assure you! I could even do it blindfolded, if I wanted to!”

“Then do it that way!” A mare called out from the back.

Another mare in the front yelled, too. “Yeah, show us. Go on!”

Braeburn finished the last of his funnel cake and tapped his hoof against the ground. “I’ll do it!”

Flimity, who was just about to put on his blindfold, suddenly stopped, his face incredulous. “Say what, now?”

“I said I’ll go ahead and give it a try,” Braeburn said with a smile, determined to wipe the smug look off Flimity’s face.

“Well, well, well!” Flimity bellowed out an uneasy laugh. “If it isn’t Braeburn Apple! Nice to see you, kid!”

Grinning wider, Braeburn held out his hoof. “I’ll take the blindfold, if you don’t mind.”

Behind him, somepony gasped.

“You’ll do what, now?” Flimity asked deadpan, his cigar dropping to the ground.

“I’ll take that blindfold,” Braeburn repeated firmly.

Confusion was plain in Flimity’s face as he hoofed over the piece of cloth. Braeburn tied it around his head, concealing the world from view. His sense of sound grew sharper, but he could still only barely hear the whine of the fan in the fancy machine.

“Hammer.” He held out his hoof.

Something heavy was laid there. “I hope you know what you’re doin’, kid. This’d be mighty embarrassing for you if you missed. You can always back out, you know. No harm done.”

“Are there any tricks to this?” Braeburn asked instead of answering.

“Asking me for hints after acting so durned brazen, huh? You’ve got the guts of an ol’ bronco.” After a grunt, Flimity continued. “No tricks other than what I told the crowd. Hit the see-saw when the fan goes out and the ball’ll shoot straight up. Challenging, sure, but only a few ponies have the reflexes. I am an honest pony.”

“Hmm,” Braeburn replied noncommittally, lifting up the blindfold to find where he’d be striking. “Alright. Thanks.”

Flimity chuckled. “Your choice, kid.”

Returning the blindfold so that it covered his eyes again, Braeburn flicked his ears in the direction of the machine. If he concentrated he could hear it above the roar of the crowd. Listening for a few moments, he heard a slight catch in the whine. The catch came again a moment after, seemingly random.

But there has to be a pattern... otherwise Flimity wouldn’t be so confident.

So he waited. Sweat began trickling down his face and into the blindfold, but he tried to ignored it. The thought of all the ponies staring was making him nervous. Shifting from side to side, Braeburn pursed his lips. Again the pause came.

What if there isn’t a pattern? What did Flimity say? A split second to act? He grimaced.

“Any time now, kid,” Flimity’s voice came. “I know you want to prove me wrong, but the spectacle’s beginning to die down.”

Braeburn thought about just standing there until the crowd left, but he dismissed it as soon as it came. That would be unfair, even if Flimity might not be playing by the rules either. Can’t stoop down to his level, now can I? Apples aren’t dishonest.

Drawing in a breath, Braeburn drew back the hammer. Another catch in the whine. He held himself back. Not ready for it. Be patient.

It dropped again.

Not yet...

He held the breath in. His heart pounded in his ears. The crowd around him hushed and the anticipation grew until he could feel it in the air. Another pause.

Now!

Braeburn fumbled, his hoof slick with sweat, and the hammer dropped out of control. With a heavy clunk, it landed on the seesaw. A whoop sounded from the machine beside him and trailed off almost immediately, followed by a harsh buzzer.

The crowd was silent.

Before the first snicker came, Braeburn already felt embarrassment flush across his face. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the blindfold and threw it to the ground, knocking his hat off in the process. Muted laughter around him stung his pride. Flushing further, he grabbed for his hat and began to move away after putting it on, eyes downcast.

Somepony grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Hey, kid, it’s alright,” Flimity said, his voice filled with a strange concern. “I’ve seen even the bulkiest ponies drop the hammer. Ain’t the end of the world. I’ll even let ya try again, free of charge.”

But Braeburn could only hear the mocking chuckles around him. “I don’t want none of your sympathy. ‘Twas my fault I dropped the hammer, but you don’t gotta go and rub it in. Ya already goin’ after my town.”

“Your town? Kid, I set up shop here to he—.”

Braeburn shook him off and galloped away, teeth grinding together. Anger spun around in his mind, feeding off the embarrassment.

Why is he even here? Braeburn snorted, stomping harder into the ground than necessary. The impact sent up a puff of dust. Comes in here after tellin’ us our town’s no more worth the cost than a barrel half-full of oats.

He drew his hat down so he didn’t have to meet anypony’s gazes. The way ponies were looking at him, full of concern, was just too much. Ain’t their affair. They’re tryin’ to have a good time here. I won’t go spoilin’ it just because I’m a little hacked off.

So they moved out of his way, stepping to one side of the aisle or the other. He turned randomly between a row of tents. Somepony called his name, but he bulled on, not even glancing back.

It wasn’t long before the light of the festival fell away and the press of all the ponies faded. Still he walked. He kicked a stone and nearly tripped when it didn’t move. That only spurred his anger and he let out a ragged cry.

I just wanna shout and carry on like some kind of foal, he thought shamelessly, looking up for the first time.

Around him was the boundary of the orchard. A few yards away was a cactus, its spines gleaming in the light of the festival. Out in the distance were the mesas that shielded the orchard from the worst of the sandstorms. He imagined kicking one of them like some old pony hero and sending them flying.

He sat. Slowly, the annoyance drained away.

If only Little Strongheart were here... he thought wistfully as he looked up at the sky. Stars blinked down at him, nowhere near the amount he’d usually see. Only a few more days ‘til they get here.

Something kicked a rock behind him. Braeburn looked back.

“Hey there,” Applebloom said, flashing him a smile. “Why’re ya out here all alone? We’re sellin’ apple pies back there like... well, apple pies.”

He sighed, scratching the hair under his hat. “I don’t know. Just a little stressed out. All this festival plannin’ and worry about the town... just ain’t so good with copin’, I guess.”

Applebloom didn’t answer right away, instead sitting down beside him. She tucked her tail around her legs. “Well, me an’ Babs could help you more. It’s kinda fun. Babs might not say it to your face, but she’s been having fun, too.”

“Hmm,” Braeburn half-chuckled. “Kind of ya, but y’all’ve been doin’ more than I thought ya could. Far more’n I expected. Certainly surprised your sister.”

“Yeah.” A small smile appeared at his praise. “But we Apples stick together, just like ya said back at that town meetin’. Besides, Applejack won’t need my help on the farm for awhile. I’d just be sitting around doin’ nothing with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle on vacation.”

Smiling despite himself, Braeburn pulled his cousin closer into a hug. “You’re a good pony, Applebloom. I wish everypony were like you.”

She snorted. “Applejack says there ain’t no pony like me better than getting into trouble. If everypony were like me, I’d be scared!”

Silly, he thought and let go of her. You know what I meant.

Ruefully, he stood and turned back to the lights of the festival.

He was just in time to watch part of the orchard explode.

Comments

[djthomp]

Ah man, poor Brae.

Ruefully, he stood and turned back to the lights of the festival.
He was just in time to watch part of the orchard explode.

Hmn, the actual reason that the Flim Flams were at the festival? Or maybe just the scary fireworks pony?

[Croswynd]

3060777

There's only one Flim Flam in the festival and that Flim Flam is Flimity Flim Flam, father of the Flim Flams, Flim Flim Flam and Flam Flim Flam.

Capisce?

[djthomp]

3061194 Whoops, totally missed that.

[Croswynd]

3061652

It's alright. This time. :P