Dat's Our Ragamuffin!
by Present Perfect
One
Applejack took off her boot and rubbed her sore heel, hoping none of her family members had heard her pained cry. So much for her hypothesis that super strength would let her kick apples out of trees, the way Sunset had said it worked in Equestria. And now the darn tree had a big chunk taken out of it, too.
Well, Twilight would be proud of her for trying science, anyway. Not that Applejack was likely to tell anyone about this little mishap.
"Ow!"
...Maybe she'd been too hasty.
Sure enough, a ripe red apple had fallen out of the tree, conking her on the noggin. She took her hat off and rubbed at the new sore spot as she observed the apple lying on the ground. She was gonna end up in traction at this rate if she wasn't careful.
Putting one hand on her hip and shading her eyes with the other, she gazed up at the tree, as though daring it to drop more on her. Its other fruits seemed content to remain in their branchy homes for the moment, at least. Thank goodness for that.
Chuckling to herself, she donned her hat and put her boot back on. No sense wandering around the orchard half-undressed.
She smiled down at the apple. "Least I got somethin' fer all my trouble."
But just as she reached down to scoop it up, a hand the same shade as her own darted in and swiped it.
Reeling, Applejack nearly toppled over as she tried to get a look at the apple thief. Who could have possibly snuck up on her like that on her own farm?
The answer was a boy around her age, thin, orange-skinned, with short blond hair and bright green eyes. He wore a starched white uniform with a black star and green swash logo that seemed somehow familiar.
The boy whisked the apple up toward his mouth. Applejack was suddenly struck by the thought that the apple hadn't been washed yet. Not that the ground was particularly dirty. But as Rarity might say, there are some things that are simply not done, darling.
The boy bit the apple.
Which is not to say he bit into it. This also struck Applejack as odd. Who bites an apple without taking a bite out of it? And for that matter, how? It was too early in the darn morning for her to be pondering questions of material existentialism!
"What in the sam hill?" was all Applejack could think to say.
"Dat's real apple, dat is!" exclaimed the boy in an accent at least as thick as Applejack's own.
Applejack stared for a moment. The boy stared at the apple, a vapid grin on his face. She smacked her forehead.
"Congratu-human-lations," she deadpanned. "You can identify an apple by bitin' it."
The boy tossed the apple blithely over his shoulder. "Oi'm Ragamuffin!"
Applejack, staring shook her head. "Okay?"
Ragamuffin leaned in closer to her. His smile, plastic, never wavered. "Oi'm Ragamuffin."
And with that, he about-faced, arms akimbo, and tootled off.
Applejack stared after him.
"What?"