Remy looked around as he ran through the forest, wincing a bit as he stepped on rocks and such. He came out of the woods and saw a large red barn, with a clothesline beside it. He ran forwards, aiming to take a set of clothes so he could ward off the cold. As he pulled off the shirt, he was met was a large barrel chest. His eyes trailed up to meet dark green eyes. The perso- pony in front of him had dark red fur and short blond hair, chewing on a straw of hay.
“Watcha doin there?” He asked in a deep voice, crossing thick arms over his chest. Remy chuckled nervously and tried to turn on some Louisianan charm.
“Just… tryin’ ta ward off de cold, sir” he said. Normally it would work, but his voice cracked after not being used for so long. It sounded like he was a teenager again. Dammit…
“Nice try,” the larger pony said, grabbing him by the back of the neck and carrying him to the barn. He tossed him in. “Ya gotta work for them there clothes” he said, closing the door for privacy. “Get dressed and we’ll talk about how you’ll earn your keep. You ain’t got a place to go, dontcha?”
Remy sighed and got dressed, replying in a defeated tone. “No, sir…” he spoke, sliding on the shirt after the pants and lacing up the boots. He noticed the pants seemed to shimmer and change, the tattoo on his hips appearing in the exact same place on the pants.
~~
Remy opened the barn door with a soft grunt, looking at the taller stallion. “So, what’s my job gonna be?” He asked, wishing he had a cigarette at the moment.
“You’re gonna meet my sister and she’ll teach you the ropes. We’re apple farmers, and our trees need to be picked. Good thing you came along, we could use an extra pair-a hands” he spoke, nodding to the large, white house, which was at least twenty feet from the barn. Remy moved forwards, making idle chatter with the farm pony.
“What’s your name, sir?” He asked, his accent still as thick as it was the day he left New Orleans. He wondered what the Equestrian equivalent was.
“Big Machintosh. Big Mac by everyone else” he rumbled, walking beside the mutant-turned-pony. “And yourself?” He asked, raising a brow. “What’s your story, stranger?”
“Remy Lebeau. But you can call me Gambit” he said with a slightly exaggerated bow. He then snorted a laugh at the look Big Mac was giving him. “dey call me dat cause I’m good at gamblin’” he said, wishing he had his deck of cards. “I was born in New Orleans an-“ he was cut off by a female voice with a southern accent.
“New Horseleans, ya mean,” He looked up and his jaw dropped at what can only be described as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was tall, with a magnificent bust, and her entire body was shaped like an hourglass. She had light orange fur, emerald green eyes, and long blonde hair tied in a braid. She was wearing denim short shorts, cowgirl boots, a white tank-top with a red plaid shirt over it, the front tied together. She was every man’s dream girl, if she were a southerner. “Mah name’s Applejack. Good to meetcha, Mister Lebeau” she said as she shook his hand hard and fast.
He bared through the pain, wincing the slightest bit. “Pleasure ta meet ya too. Tell me, where am I? And what year is it. Any events coming up I should know about?” He asked, before smiling sheepishly at the raised brows and looks of ‘are you insane, or just dumb’ on their faces. “I seem ta have amnesia. I only know my name and where I came from. And that I can do… t’ings…” he said, shifting his feet a bit.
“What kinda things?” Asked Applejack, crossing her arms and raising a brow.
“Got a pack-a cards that you don’ use?” he asked with a smirk.