//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Princess Cadance's Lonely Hearts Club Land // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// The table was short, small, and covered in food. Two slices of cake sat in the middle—two less than perfect slices of cake that had no doubt been made by a student—but they were ideal for the moment. In Furious’ eye, the only thing perfect was Crop Duster, and he struggled against the knot that his tongue kept trying to form. The pair of them were seated at one of the many tables that stretched out in all directions, covering the lush, green field. Furious was about to say something, but was interrupted by a ferocious growl coming from Crop Duster’s stomach. In response, he sat there for a time, doing the whole ‘wise dustpuncher’ thing while squinting his remaining eye. His bride looked nervous—as any bride would be at the this moment—but there was also a glimmer of fear that tried to hide in her eyes. The knot in his tongue failed to kink and he had an idea of what to say. “You sound like you're starving…” He was about to say more, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe she had one of those eating disorders that he had heard about in the paper. If so, he was confident that he could set her straight with a few kind words and maybe a little encouragement. “I haven’t eaten in a few days,” she replied, and her eyes darted downwards to look at her food. There was something hesitant in how she stared, something fretful and full of worry. She was still smiling, that never faltered, but that smile was now only skin deep. “Now, why would that be?” Furious leaned over the table a bit and he looked her in the eye, a gesture she did not return. His cauliflowered ears somehow managed to stand up straight and his head turned slightly to the right so he could focus his remaining left eye upon her. “Are you worried about being all thin and pretty?” “No… yes… well, every mare has moments where she wishes that she was a little sleeker in spots, but that’s not my problem.” She was almost stammering now and the corners of her mouth twitched up and down, not knowing which direction to go. “Actually, that is a problem for me sometimes when my problem manifests and I… oh dear, I’ve almost said too much.” “You might as well say it now,” he suggested. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough if I eat,” she replied. “Or I could find out now if’n you’d just talk to me.” When he said these words, he saw her biting on her lip, but not in a cute way. It was more of a distressed, almost panicked way, and his heart reached out to her. Something in the way she moved, something about her distress, it made him want to sweep her up in a protective embrace and fly away with her. “Telling you is the worst part, I suppose,” she began. “When I tell ponies, some find it funny, some find it disgusting, but hardly anypony takes it seriously or thinks about my feelings.” A nervous chuckle escaped her while her sides heaved just a little, and her wings made half-flaps against her sides. “I specifically asked for a disabled pony on my survey so that we could be on even hoofing. The survey counselor suggested it when I almost gave up and quit.” Again her stomach growled and she gave the food on the table a longing, lingering look. “Well, come on girly, don’t make me drag it out of you.” “You know, that’s the best part about you,” she replied and a warm, sincere smile returned to her face. “I could sit and listen to you talk all day. You talk like those crusty old dustpunchers in the movies.” “Well, I am a crusty old dustpuncher—” He never got a chance to finish because his new bride exploded with laughter and banged her hooves against the edge of the table. The fact that she liked his voice, how he talked, and that she found him funny put him at ease. He found himself focused upon the sound of her laughter, the exuberance of it, the ebullience of it, the ease with which she did it… he found it endearing. Reaching up, she wiped the corner of her eye and her ears bounced with each peal of laughter that ricocheted out of her. The glasses on the table clinked, the plates clattered, and the pastel orange tablecloth fluttered in the light breeze. Her remarkable chest scruffle was no longer smoothed out now, but instead it stood out as an invitation to come and groom it. Furious was tempted to do so too. It wouldn’t be difficult at all for him to sweep the table aside, step over the remains of lunch, and then spend the rest of the day trying to get that chest scruffle sorted out so it would behave. “Furious,” she said, and her alluring voice was as sweet as it was fetching. “I haven’t eaten in awhile because that is the only way to make the symptoms ease off for a time. It isn’t a practical solution, but there are times when it is the only solution I have.” She wiped her eye again and when she pulled her foreleg away, there was a muted dark stain in the corner of her eye, the remains of tears of laughter. “That mustache of yours is distracting, it’s half and half.” “Ayup, it is.” Sighing, Crop Duster looked her new husband right in the eye. “I have overly excited hindgut fermentation. It causes me some irregularities, a little bloating, some discomfort and I—” “Ya fart a lot?” Furious asked, heading for the heart of the issue in the same way he went flying for the heart of tornados. “Shucks, girly, there are times when I’m camped out on the open range and eat beans and biscuits for weeks.” His words set off a fresh new attack of the giggles from his bride, and even though she was bubbling over with mirth, there was still fear in her eyes. She was giggle-snorting now, making little snorty oinks. “It’s a little worse than that.” She covered her mouth with her hoof while she tried to get herself back under control. “You talk funny and I can’t keep a straight face while I’m doing this… I’m trying to be serious because this is a serious issue—” “‘Cause yer a mare and yer afraid you’ll blow my hat off or something?” he asked while keeping a stern, straight face, the sort of face that only a one-eyed pony with an eyepatch could make. “That ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, daggum, I’d brag about you doing that to my friend, Braeburn, if’n I thought I could get away with it and not have to spend a week sleeping on some cloud somewhere.” Crop Duster let out a whoop and now her laughter was joined by coughing. “I ain’t afeared of no farting mare,” Furious said and his mustache bristled. “No, you don’t understand—” “No, you don’t understand, girly. I don’t run from wind. I don’t care if it is angry or stinky. I’ve made a name for myself because I don’t run.” “But I…” “Dusty, can I call you Dusty?” Furious leaned over the table and focused his eye on his bride. “If a little creeping death is what I have to put up with to have such a fine little looker like yourself, I’ll manage. I’ve flown into brimstone burning dust devils from Mount Maud.” Crop Duster’s laughter was gone now, her mouth hung open, and the hoof that she had covered her mouth with now rested against her chest scruffle. “It’s always been a deal breaker.” Her voice was strained, deep, and husky. “Normal farts are funny, at least to some ponies, but these aren’t normal farts. I had to do my schoolwork at home or outside because I wasn’t allowed in the school. I grew up as an outsider because of this… I learned to laugh at it, because what else could I do, but it has controlled my entire life… dominated even. I’ve tried drugs, pills of all kinds, alchemical potions, I mean, I’ve tried everything and at some point, I realised that I just had to make peace with it.” “I can’t pretend to understand that, so I won’t,” he replied. “If you want to annul this, I’ll understand.” Her voice was low, her words slow and hitching. “Consarnit, I don’t run!” “I’m just trying to be nice about this and give you the option to back out—” “Damnit, girly”—Furious shook his hoof at her—“hows about you eat this meal, all of it, and you don’t worry about the consequences. And then later, after the storm has been brewing for a while, you give me the worst ya gots to offer, and then we’ll talk about this, a’ight?” “That is the most straightforward and honest response I’ve ever had about this issue.” Shaking her head from side to side, she averted her eyes and stared down at the table while her barrel hitched. “Nopony has ever said anything like that to me… ever.” “And you ain’t in no position to lie about it with a liar fart—” “A what?” she asked, and her eyes darted upwards for a moment to glance at her new husband. “A liar fart… you know, a cute little poot that makes you relax yer guard, and then later, the war party comes creeping along, jumps up out of yonder stinky gully, and gets ya with a whoop and a holler.” Furious’ eye narrowed. “Right now, your only option is to eat everything and give me the worst ya have to offer. If’n you don’t, and we stay together, and the war party comes creeping along later to have at me, I’ll know that you wasn’t honest in your dealings with me.” “I… I… I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Her barrel still hitching, she began to laugh again, nervous laughter mixed with relief. “I want to believe that I’ve lucked out and have somehow ended up with a sagebrush philosopher that’ll somehow be alright with this. Alright with me, as a pony, with all of my problems.” Crop Duster began eating and she went right for the square of cake with a bright pink frosting rose. Furious too, began eating and he also went for his cake. His eye darted back and forth, going from his food to his bride, and then he noticed a tiny paper note on the table whose corner was tucked beneath a plate. Chewing the strange, unidentifiable cake, his eye glanced over the words written in fine, legible print. Don’t be in a hurry. Don’t rush. You have plenty of time to get to know one another and kisses can come later. Face it on a full stomach! Blinking, he hadn’t even thought about sealing their union with a kiss. His bride was more concerned with her conjurations of demon wind, and while he didn’t understand what the big deal was, he did understand that she was terrified of what might happen. Licking his lips, he cleared away smears of frosting from his magnificent mustache, and then he decided that a change of subject was in order. “So, what do you do for a living?” he asked in between bites. “Oh!” Crop Duster raised her head and there was a dollop of frosting stuck to her snoot. She chewed for a moment, swallowed, and replied, “I am a fertilisation and pest removal specialist. I work out of doors because the Safety Council passed a regulation that prohibits me from taking work indoors.” “Fertilisation?” Furious’ eyebrow lifted and he gave his mare a meaningful stare that made her blush. “Just south of Tall Tale, nestled in the sheltered valleys of the Smokey Mountains, there is a farming community. Everything that Vanhoover needs for its beer and grain liquor industry is grown there. These are some of the most valuable farms in all of Equestria because of the unique soil composition and growing conditions. I help keep the ground fertilised and we fight a constant battle against pests.” The entire time she spoke, there was a twinkle in her eye and her rose blush remained upon her cheeks. “I have a nice little aerie that has been carved into the side of the mountain. It’s quiet, remote, and secluded. Nopony wants to live too close.” “I don’t even own a house,” Furious said around a mouthful of some kind of fruit salad made with whipped cream. “I’ve been living in the same rented room in a boarding house for… I don’t even know. Never been motivated to find anything better.” So distracted by his bride and the fine meal, Furious failed to notice how relaxed he was, or how easy it was to have this conversation. He took another bite and had himself a good, thoughtful chew while he watched his new wife eat. She was a hearty, boisterous eater, and he liked that. Pausing between bites, Crop Duster’s lips pressed together and formed a tight, thin line while her ears angled out over her face. After a moment, her ears pivoted, pinned back while pushing against an overabundant mass of curls, and her violet eyes burned with a strange intensity. “My parents held tight to their high hopes that I’d find somepony. My dad helped me buy my aerie and he kept telling me that one day, I’d have a family there. I didn’t believe him, but I wanted to. I’ve worked hard to make an inviting nest, but only because my dad wouldn’t leave me alone about it.” Lowering her head, she took a few shy nibbles of her own fruit salad, and then she tore into it when it became obvious that she liked it. “What do yer parents do?” Furious asked, because it seemed like the sort of question he should be asking. When the pretty she pegasus across the table from him raised her head, her muzzle was covered in whipped cream and a bright red cherry peeked out, half buried in froth. “My father, he’s an inventory specialist. He flies over the farmland and gets a rough idea of how much will be there early in the season. As the season progresses, he develops a more and more accurate count, and keeps various concerned parties in Vanhoover informed of projected yields. My mother is a pricing specialist, and somehow, she keeps track of what everything should cost. We’re agricultural pegasus ponies and we’re much beloved by the earth ponies of our community. We have a harmonious balance that we take a lot of pride in.” There was a brief moment of panic when Furious realised that he would have to meet her parents. He took his worry out on his food and tried something new, some kind of savoury pastry filled with potatoes, peas, corn, and carrots. It was still warm, a little gooey, and left his muzzle a mess. Every part of the meal was messy and had Furious been paying attention to this fact, he might have wondered if there was a reason. There were a number of things that Furious failed to notice, one of the most important being the fact that he was stricken with his new bride. His brain failed to register just how much he was already infatuated with her, how perfect she was, how smart, funny, and pretty she was. Oh, in his opinion, she wasn’t big city beautiful, but she was the kind of beautiful that one looked for in the prairies and deserts around Appleloosa. Stocky, strong, well muscled, Crop Duster looked like the sort of mare that could wrestle a varmint, pump her own water from the well, pull a plow, haul a wagon, have a hoedown, and at the end of the day when the night had come, offer up a comfortable place for a stallion to rest his head. City beautiful didn’t last long in Appleloosa. “Mister Mustache,” Crop Duster said, and then she licked her muzzle clean before she tried again. “Mister Mustache, I’m glad to have met you. This has been nice. You’re not what I expected, but then again, I don’t know what I expected. Falling in love with a dustpuncher was not a dream I had growing up, but now that this is happening, now that we’re together…” her words trailed off into a breathy squeak as a furious hot blush conquered most of her face. Furious’ cauliflowered ears now felt too hot and his scarred cheek just below his missing eye felt tight, too tight for comfort. His stomach felt like it was full of parasprites and his wings twitched just a little against his sides. “Any mama with a lick of sense don’t let their sons grow up to be dustpunchers. And smart mamas keep us away from their daughters. We tend to grow ugly and mean and most of us don’t live to see old age or respectability. We get sandblasted and smashed in the face. Our teeth get knocked out and we get maimed. But there is a romantic tradition that we keep alive, and that is the fight against the old, ancient enemy of the pegasus pony tribe.” “I really could listen to you talk all day,” Crop Duster said in satisfied tones. “My mother, Cloud Cusser, she’s in the guard. She’s a lifer, ‘cause she’s not the bright type that knows how to do much else.” Furious’ surviving eye grew unfocused and distant while he considered his coming words. “When I told her that I was leaving home to go and fight the wind, she paddled my ass pink with a hairbrush… she tore me up and she let me have it and the cussing that come out of her mouth could be heard all over Ponyville. I couldn’t sit down for a month and I looked like one of those baboon critters that I done saw in a book. She was angry with me, said joining the guard was safer and I’d live longer.” “That’s awful!” Crop Duster cried. “I done deserved it.” Furious hung his head and shook it from side to side. “I done broke that mare’s heart and scared that goodly soul almost to death. No mother ever wants to hear those words come out of her son’s mouth, and I had it coming. She was pissed. I coulda told her I was into colts, and she’d’ve been fine with that, she’s tolerant. I could’ve told her I was joining the Fancy Foreign Legion, and everything would’ve been okay… but I told my mama I wanted to be a dustpuncher, and she popped me a smart one in the kisser before she laid into me.” He sighed and shrugged a bit. “I bet she’ll be relieved to know I retired. I done did this job longer than any pony has a right to. Pure luck, that’s all. It’s time to do something else.” “Yes… I’m going to take you home with me and you’ll be doing something else. I bet my dad could find you work… one of those liquor companies would probably love to have a dustpuncher, a real one and not just some actor as a spokespony for their whiskey or their bourbon.” “Ya really think so?” Furious asked, intrigued by the very idea. “Look at you!” Crop Duster became quite animated and she bounced around on her hindquarters. “Listen to how you talk! You… all of you… every inch of you… you are the wild prairie… everything you just said to me… the whole, ‘mamas don’t let their foals grow up to be dustpunchers’ story. That would make ponies rush out and buy liquor so they can be like you.” “Really?” Blinking, Furious was baffled by everything that his still-blushing bride had just said. This was, perhaps, one of the most confusing realisations of his life. He had always been rather disconnected about his own celebrity, content as he was to live on the fringes of civilisation. There had been books, but he had never read them. The movie had been a smashing success, a blockbuster, but he never much cared about it. There were trading cards that foals collected, little bits of glossy, cheap cardboard that had pictures of famous tornado wranglers, salty old buckaroos, both the lucky ones that lived and the many who had died. He never understood any of it and he had let what might have been a great fortune slip away because at the time, he was terrified that such a thing would complicate his life. Working as a wrangler, he was just doing his job, and the world’s seeming interest in everything he did just seemed silly. “Dusty… when we get done eating, would you like to dance with me?” he asked, somehow managing to ask a mare to dance with him for the first time in his life without spitting and sputtering over the words. He gestured over to where a large group of ponies were already dancing. “Oh!” Surprised, the mare sucked in a deep breath, her barrel expanded, and her chest scruffle burst out with renewed vigour, demanding some kind of attention. Furious gulped and felt a fire ignite in his guts. She was a looker… A coy smile spread over Crop Duster’s face and using her hoof, she pointed at the spot where Furious kept staring. “Your eye keeps ending up down here… and my eyes are up here.” She pointed at her face for a moment and then laughter bubbled out. She grinned, she grinned so hard that it made her eyes scrunch up. “I like the way you look at me, it makes me feel special.” It occurred to Furious that he had the rest of his life to look at her and make her feel special.