Apple Bloom eventually became tired from running and settled for prancing alongside Rara as she led them down the semi-paved roads of northwestern Ponyville. Far from the concrete, brick, and steel of Ponyville’s core, these northern farmlands were a place of serenity; the air was clean and clear and there was the sound of birdsong coming from the trees that lined the streets. They passed by Berry Punch’s Vineyard: over the low fence, they could see Berry and her wife, Minuette, out gathering grapes along with the help of a few hired hooves. Berry’s daughter, Berry Pinch, was waiting beside the gate. The gate had a white arch over it, from which hung a low sign that read “Berry’s Vineyard.”
“Hi, Berry!” Apple Bloom called, trotting up.
“Hi, Apple Bloom!” Berry replied, adjusting her backpack as she ran up. “You ready for that pop quiz?”
Apple Bloom’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. “P-pop quiz?! Miss Cheerilee didn’t say anything about--”
Berry laughed loudly. “Ah, you’re too easy,” she snorted, shaking her head and falling into step alongside Rara. “Hi, Miss Coloratura.”
“Hello, Berry,” Rara greeted her, waving to Berry and Minuette as they walked past. “How’re you?”
“Pretty good,” Berry said. “Mom says we’re gonna have a…” She frowned in thought. “...bummer crop this year.”
“Bumper crop,” Apple Bloom corrected her.
Berry Pinch stuck out her tongue at her. “Little Miss Smarty-Bow.”
“Jelly Face,” Apple Bloom shot back.
“Apple Breath!”
“Grape Sucker!”
“Seed Spitter!”
“Girls!” Rara cut in.
“We’re just messing around, Rara,” Apple Bloom said, grinning at Berry Pinch. “Right, Berry?”
“Apple Bloom tells me that you and Miss Applejack were pretty…” Once again Berry paused and frowned while she struggled to figure out the right word. “...’drowsy’ kids when you were our age.”
“Rowdy,” Rara giggled. “And yes, I suppose we were pretty good at getting into trouble when we were together at Friendship Camp.”
“Did I tell you this one story Applejack told me about when they tried to sneak into the freezer where they hid the ice cream?” Apple Bloom asked Berry, giggling.
“Oh, no, Apple Bloom, please…” Rara protested, blushing.
“So while everypony was doing their free time activities, Rara and Applejack snuck on over to the back of the chow hall,” Apple Bloom narrated. “Rara climbed up on top of Applejack’s shoulders and she started trying to shimmy herself into the window. Just as she managed to squeeze partway through, though, Applejack slipped and landed on her face in the mud, and Rara got herself stuck! They made so much noise that a counselor came running, and found AJ covered in mud and Rara stuck in the window, with her hindquarters sticking out into the air!”
Both fillies laughed as Rara felt her entire head flush crimson. “The counselors made us wash the dishes for three days,” she muttered, mainly to herself, as neither filly was capable of listening to her at the moment.
Once their laughter died down, the two fillies walked ahead of Rara for a while longer, then Apple Bloom turned. “Say, I never asked,” she said. “How did Applejack find you and get you to come down to the farm?”
“Yeah, weren’t you happy being the Countess?” Berry Pinch added. “I’d have thought it’d be a dream come true for you, getting to sing to a massive crowd every day, being a big...uh, ‘celerity,’ having your picture in the newspaper all the time…”
You mean being paraded around for everypony to see and bartered and sold like some cheap harlot? Rara almost said aloud. Having almost no privacy, being forced by your manager to wear a mask and read from a script every day, having your creativity stifled day by day ‘for the good of your career’ until the only time you feel in control of yourself, the only time you feel good is when you’re higher than a kite, even though you know you’ll just end up puking and passing out on the bathroom floor? Yeah. Yeah, it was a dream come true.
“Miss Rara? You okay?” she realized Berry Pinch was asking.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Rara donned a mask of a contented smile. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
She looked up and spotted the schoolhouse around the next bend. A remnant of days long past, the single-story schoolhouse was constructed of bright red wood with a bell tower and clock atop the structure. Foals and fillies, their ages ranging from 6 to 18, were filing into the front doors. Beside the doors stood an earth pony mare with a purple coat and light pink hair, smiling as she greeted her charges.
“Good morning, Miss Cheerilee,” Rara greeted her as she approached with her two charges.
“Hello, Rara! Hello, girls!” Cheerilee sang, smiling at them all. “How are you?”
“We’re not having a pop quiz today, are we, Miss Cheerilee?” Apple Bloom asked, the worry clear in her voice and eyes.
“That depends,” Cheerilee said. “Did you read the material?”
“...yes?” Apple Bloom squeaked. Rara had to stifle a giggle behind her hoof.
“We’ll see about that,” Cheerilee said. Apple Bloom and Berry Pinch both slumped in disappointment, groaning.
“Now, come along, you two,” Cheerilee declared. “We’re going to be late for class.”
“Have a good day, girls!” Rara called as the fillies trudged inside. With a final nod to Cheerilee, Rara turned and started to walk back up the pathway towards the street.
A young foal was standing at the street corner, waving a newspaper in the air, one of several that he was carrying in a pair of large saddlebags that made his shoulders seem much smaller than they actually were. “Foal Free Press! Foal Free Press! Read all about it!” he shouted.
Extracting a bit from her purse, Rara walked up and handed the foal the coin, receiving a smile and a newspaper in exchange. She perused the headlines of the paper as she started the walk back to Sweet Apple Acres.
The front page today declared that the Phoenix Housing Projects had fallen behind schedule due to arson. A photograph of the project’s benefactor, the business mogul Monopoly, looking over the scaffolding of what would be a two-story condo, was splashed across the page. Rara scowled at the sight of the large (fat) stallion giving a small smile underneath his hard hat as another construction worker spoke to him.
Flipping the paper open, Rara scanned over the three-day forecast and the other headlines. She learned that there was an uprising of muggings in the Financial District, a mom-and-pop store that Granny Smith loved going to was going out of business after being bought out by a large brand store (one that, surprise surprise, was owned by Monopoly), the police had no leads in the investigation of an unidentified body that had turned up on a dead-end road in the Dockside, the next three days would be sunny and warm, and the Ponyville Manticores had a shot at the Equestrian hoofball playoffs for the first time in nine years.
Rara became enwrapped in the coupon section and didn’t notice the sign in her path until she bumped into it with a loud thump. She squeaked in pain and surprise as the impact echoed momentarily through her skull and wound up sitting on her rump, holding her forehead as the newspaper’s pages spilled onto the ground around her.
A voice giggled from the gate. “You okay?” Berry Punch asked, striding forward to help Rara up.
“I’m fine,” Rara said, picking herself up and shaking her head.
“See, that’s another reason I don’t read the paper,” Berry snickered, gathering up the pages of the Press and stuffing them back into one another. “Not only am I much happier that way, I don’t get distracted and walk into stuff.”
Rara took the paper back. The pages were all rumpled, some of them were coated in mud, and they were all out of order. Several were upside down or backward. “Thanks,” she grumbled.
“Don’t mention it,” Berry Punch grinned.
“Could you please think about raising that sign a bit?” Rara asked. “It’s honestly dangerous.”
“Not if you’re watching where you’re going,” Berry countered. “Besides, as you just demonstrated, it’s attention-getting.” She snickered.
“Right,” Rara grumbled, scowling.
“Hey, just pulled some new vintage off the shelves,” Berry said, reaching around into her bag to extract a glass bottle filled with a dark purple. The label around the bottle read “Pinot Noir 1941: Berry’s Vineyard.”
Rara was suddenly aware of an itch in her abruptly dry throat. The bottle seemed to glow in the bathing light of the sun, like a small, irresistible jewel.
Just one sip, a voice seemed to whisper. What’s just one sip?
She shook her head. “No thank you,” she said, walking past.
“You sure?” Berry Punch called after her. Rara’s answer was to quicken her step slightly. “Well, okay then. See you around!” she shouted, walking back into the vineyard.
Rara bustled back to Sweet Apple Acres with the newspaper tucked under her foreleg, her quick steps crunching on the gravel and mud beneath her hooves. She forced herself not to look back; it was not until she passed beneath the white arch and the sign with the simple shape of an apple burnt onto the wood that she felt free of the magnetic pull that lured her back towards the vineyard.