Lemon wakes to the rooster crowing as morning breaks over the Carrot House. She yawns, hopping up in her bed as she stretches first one foreleg, then the other. She glances over to her sister Applebaum's bed, the four year old filly still sound asleep. Lemon's eye twitches; her desire to bounce over to her bed, bounce up, and keep bouncing until she wakes up is tempting, but it didn't wake her the last time. And Daddy told her not to bounce on the bed. Silly Daddy! Beds are made for bouncing!
Instead, she merely glowers at her snoozing sister while she completes her morning calisthenics, and quietly opens the door. Lemon saunters to the kitchen, muffled chatter coming from Daddy's room but the house otherwise silent. She scampers over to the pantry, pulling out wheat flour, baking powder, sugar, and a tiny pinch of salt. Daddy likes the salt in his pancakes, but most of the rest of the herd preferred to keep their wits about them. The main ingredients balanced on her back, so she grabs the chocolate chips, moving to the fridge for the eggs, and she freezes.
Something isn't right.
Her eyes trace around the room before she spots the figure who most certainly was not there when she came into the kitchen. Standing on the counter, shrouded in shadow, is Meringue. Standing still as a statue, Lemon would have sworn it is a mere trick of the light if not for her eyes tracing over one of the recipes Daddy wrote down; he didn't have the best memory for that stuff, not like dam or Applejack. How did she get there, and silently? Lemon snorts - maybe she tunneled there, and just popped out of the dried hay on the counter. Ooh, she should make some hay pancakes too, not just the wheat!
Lemon smiles, bucking her hind legs, the various ingredients neatly sailing up to land on the counter next to Meringue. "Morning, Meringue! You want to help make breakfast?"
While Meringue doesn't say anything, Lemon notes the briefest of pauses in her eyes. Looks like a yes! Wohoo! She turns as the front door opens, Hedge coming inside with a basket of eggs around her neck. Mm, fresh eggs! Maybe she'll have to try some Doug style, but even her dam's stomach had difficulty with the meal. Well, maybe not difficulty, but Pinkie doesn't care for the taste, which coming from her speaks volumes.
Speaking of volumes, she better finish gathering the toppings for everypony! Some nuts, a bit more chocolate, and some bruised apples from the not-for-sale basket each find themselves tossed to the counter, a growing pile next to Meringue.
"Commencing preparations."
Lemon glances up as Meringue steps away from the cookbook, pulling out more mixing bowls than necessary. Lemon pushes over one of the chairs so she can climb up to the counter and help. Maybe Meringue has some weird plan that requires making at least six of everything, but it seems redundant. Hedge slowly hovers up, flicking on the burners, and grabs a bit of shortening for the pans.
As if on cue, a yawning Applebaum comes out of her room. Upon seeing that breakfast is well in hoof she moves to the table, sitting down and staring at the fire as Lemon gathers plates and glasses, pouring a bit of apple juice for each of them. Some hay for snacking goes on the plates to start, followed by a couple of the better looking pieces of apples.
"Preparations complete. Commencing combinations."
Lemon stares as Meringue begins moving between the various ingredients and mixing bowls. If she wasn't watching, she would have sworn the filly had, like, six forelegs by how efficiently she is moving between them all, and yet her languid pace never moves past the glacial rate her dam would quantify as 'Fluttershy'. Hmm, maybe Rainbow Dash would call it that instead. As well?
"Poor essence. Little value."
Lemon sighs as Meringue inspects the bruised apples, though her sister never stops moving between bowl and frying pan. "Well, we can still eat them, even if they aren't as scrumptious as everything else around here, you know?" Lemon shrugs, "Unfortunately, we have to make do with what we've got." Meringue glances over at one of the worse looking apples, picking it up and scrutinizing the worm breaking the surface and slowly crawling through the core.
"Not good enough. Can improve."
Lemon brightens, "Ooh, I think we'd like that! Is that why you're making lots of different pancake batters?" Meringue continues staring at the worm writhing inside the apple; Daddy would probably call it free protein, the monster. Though it's not like she's never gotten a pony with the half a worm joke. "To improve on what is already a prize Apple recipe?" Lemon sniffs, frowning and glancing over at the pancakes on the stove, "I think you might want to check the pancakes you're cooking, though."
"Unacceptable! Unacceptable."
Lemon snorts at the burst of emotion from Meringue, the filly scowling as she flips the slightly burnt pancakes. Meringue divvies up the lightly blackened pancakes on a few plates before starting the next batch, Lemon taking the pancakes to the table. She smiles as she looks at the toppings, cutie marks drawn in nuts and chocolate.
The door to the bedroom opens, though it takes a minute or so before Pinkie Pie steps out wearing a weird hat and disguise. She pronks over to the table, scarfing down an unclaimed pancake and smiling at the taste, the next one getting drenched in syrup. Pinkie Pie glances over at Hedge, the filly nibbling on her own pancake and frowning at the burned sections; Pinkie Pie whispers, "You gonna eat that?"
"Morning! We hope you like the pancakes!" Lemon smiles up at her dam, pointing a hoof at Meringue. "Which one do you think is best? We've got a couple different mixes coming up!"
"Hmm," Pinkie Pie says, adopting the airs of a fancy Prench connoisseur, the image ruined by the arrow sticking out of her head, "A delightful blend of smoke and syrup, the slight char leaving one grateful for the smothering chocolate, though it could have used more candy. Wait, no, less candy!" She grabs a plate of plain hay, quickly devouring it as she watches the next batch like a griffon.
A relatively quiet explosion shakes the house; a loud, exasperated shout comes from outside, leaving Pinkie Pie smirking. "Well, that's my cue to exit," she says, hastily getting to her hooves. She pauses as Meringue hops down from the counter, Applebaum taking over the cooking. Pinkie Pie smiles, "You coming with me? It's a little early for school."
"Yes."
"Okie Dokie, little Mokie!" Pinkie Pie pronks out of the house, Meringue following behind.
Lemon watches the door, waiting with a smile for Daddy to come through, but he never does. She frowns; where did he go? Why didn't he say good morning before starting his morning run? Lemon grabs a towering plate of pancakes, skipping to the Apple farmhouse. She smiles at Applejack, the mare looking through the pantry for more than just hay, apples, and juice to start the day. "Morning, Applejack!"
"Morning, Lemon." Applejack eyes the plate of pancakes hungrily, "Those for me?"
"Yup! We can make more, if Granny Smith or uncle Mac wants some." Lemon bounces to the table, the plate flying off of her to neatly land on top. Her smiles briefly drops as she rubs her forelegs against each other, "Um, I wanted to talk to you about Daddy."
"Oh?" Applejack says, half a pancake sticking out of her mouth. "What's that?"
"Well, he was kind of short with us last night. Didn't want to play any games. And then I saw him running instead of eating breakfast with us." Lemon glances up, "I hope nothing's wrong with him."
"Mm," Applejack says, stuffing another pancake in her mouth. "Ah'll talk to him. Thanks for the grub."
"Okie!" Lemon says, smiling as she grabs the now empty plate.
Applejack sighs, looking out over the orchards, then the barn. They would need a lot of extra baskets and crates for all the apples growing. Maybe she can get Doug to help with making those, though she'd need to get Big Mac to make a whole heap of bands, and spend a bit of the morning collecting wood.
Later that day, Applejack looks over at Doug as she lifts another twenty metal rings out of the wagon, the foot and a half wide bands of iron to form the bottoms of their apple baskets. "You've been awful quiet, Doug," she says, dropping them down next to him, "Something on your mind?"
Doug grunts, his hammer pounding another circular base into position. He sighs as Applejack continues watching him, "Just thinking about nothing."
"Sure don't sound like nothing. Want to talk about it?" Applejack unloads a large set of short boards, the walls of their baskets made by reducing miss cuts and broken planks. She drops down next to Doug, helping slot pieces of wood around the base.
"Not really."
Doug and Applejack continue putting together baskets in silence for several minutes before Doug sighs. "It's just this dream I had." He goes silent again, only the sounds of hammering echoing around the barn. Applejack kicks one finished baskets onto another, making the fourth of eight large stacks. She loads them into the cart, preparing to leave as Doug says, "Applejack? Why did we have so many foals?"
Applejack turns, regarding Doug from the doorway to the barn. "We as in me? Three ain't that many. More'n most, sure, but Pinkie Pie's one of four off'a one mare." Applejack pauses for a few seconds before she shrugs, "If'n you're talking about the herd, eight's about normal. Shucks, Rarity's planning on having another next season, Ah'm pretty sure."
"Mm." Doug has set his hammer down into the basket he is working on, staring into the center as if it holds the answer to all of life's problems. Which, given that it isn't yet filled with apples, probably isn't true.
"Though, if'n you mean why didn't we space 'em out more?" Applejack shrugs off the cart's harness, moving over to stare into the basket with Doug. Maybe he sees something in there, besides the roughly sanded apple wood, crude cast iron bands, and fraying rope, but she sure ain't seeing it. "Ah wanted them to be close together. Playmates for each other and all that. Ah suppose Ah always thought one foal per pony was a good number. And with three mares, you, and three foals? Ah sure wanted more. Then Fluttershy joined, and she was okay waiting; and Pinkie Pie joined, and she wasn't? Well, Ah suppose Ah saw my chance for another, and if more'a them are earth ponies, it don't bother me none."
Applejack glances over; Doug is still staring into the basket, though his knuckles are white with how hard he is gripping the wood. She nuzzles him, trying to find that ticklish spot where his neck meets his shoulder, whispering, "Why? You want to practice making more?"
The chuckle she was expecting comes out as more of a choked sob. Applejack redoubles her nuzzling, nearly bowling her stallion over as her gentle teasings become forceful strokes of muzzle on ear. Her tongue flicks out, Applejack grinning as she finally gets a reaction, grunting as Doug swings an arm around to wrap around her neck. She lets herself get flipped over, keeping her forelegs loose as Doug tackles her to the floor. She can always dust her hat off, though it stays pinned against the ground by her head.
Applejack smirks as Doug spreads her legs, though it turns to a gasp as Doug's hands find her belly instead of, well, where she was expecting. She wriggles at first, her laughter escaping earlier than usual. Her playful struggles turn to a frantic writhing as he doesn't let up, his hands finding that sweet spot between roughly digging in and long, vigorous strokes along her muscled sides. Applejack whinnies as his hands go further up her barrel, but lets loose an exasperated sigh as he abruptly gives up.
His chest drops down to rest on hers, his head finding the nook under her neck. He buries his face into her mane, a single choked breath before Doug whimpers, "Applejack? If we didn't have as many foals, would Celestia still have been at the farmhouse? Would... would..."
Applejack grips her forelegs around Doug's neck, loosely pulling him up so her lips can meet his. At first she is the only one putting in any effort, Doug merely sighing as she kisses him again and again. His head drops down, Applejack now finding the side of his face and ear, though she doesn't relent in her ministrations. After too many kisses, or maybe not enough, the lug finally realizes Applejack can keep this up for as long as necessary; his hand finds the back of her mane and directs her head to his.
Applejack happily sighs as she feels the tension leave his body, one hoof leaving his neck to push past his arms, resting on his chest. She smiles as she breaks away, saying, "Doug, Ah know you. You'd'a helped Princess Celestia out no matter how many foals we had. And we'd'a kept having foals, even if helping out the Princesses weren't a consideration. It ain't your fault, or her fault, or anypony's fault, that this happened. Ah know you went through a lot, but you can't keep dredging this up and beating yourself with it."
"But..."
Applejack shifts her hind legs, flipping Doug onto his back. She adjusts her hat as she grins down at him, "Ain't no buts about it, mister, unless you're talking 'bout my flanks." She wriggles her hips back and forth, wiping a bit of the sweat and dirt off of his belly with her own. "Besides, some good old-fashioned physical activity is supposed to be good for helping get through this kind of thing. So, unless the next words coming out of your mouth are, 'Rainbow tired me out too much already', we can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"There's just one problem," Doug says, his sigh only slightly tripping Applejack's deception detector.
"And just what-" Applejack says as she glances at Doug, not expecting his arms tightening their grip around her as his legs push off the ground.
"We're in the wrong position." Doug flips Applejack over, his arms pinning her forelegs to the side, his hips forcing her hind legs apart. He smirks down at her, finally free of the funk that had pervaded all his activities that day.
"Looks like somepony chose the hard way," Applejack smirks right back, her forelegs writhing around Doug's arms, trying to get purchase to wrestle the human back to her favorite position.
"Applejack? Doug?" comes the hesitant call from the doorway to the barn, followed by a series of sniffles. "Are you in there?"