//------------------------------// // Chapter 11 // Story: Macintosh // by TotalOverflow //------------------------------// Macintosh By TotalOverflow, '11 Chapter 11         Once inside the bakery Macintosh was rushed through the streamer and confetti filled store-front and into the back kitchen.  Within he held witness to the sight of piles of cakes, pies, fritters, cupcakes, waffles, muffins and dozens of other treats all malformed and some beyond recognition.  The stove billowed smoke as a triple-layer cake-pie-sandwich roasted within.  Pinkie quickly removed it and, looking it over and giving it a quick lick, contorted her face in disgust, throwing the abomination into the pile and opened another window to clear the smoke.  She then turned to the red stallion (whose jaw was currently hanging slack in awe) with large, pleading eyes, her eyebrows as high as they could go.         "Macintosh!  I can't do it!"         "Do what?"         "I can't think up anything new to bake!" she bemoaned as she kicked a mass of...something.         "Well, what about yer explodin' cupcake things?"         "That was just a new version!  I need something new now!  Macintosh, you're an Apple!" she said, turning to face him, one eyebrow raised.         "Eeyup."         "Apple?  Apple!  Hey, Apple!" she giggled.         "What!?"         "Can you bake?"         "Uh, what?"         "Bake.  Confection.  Creation.  Art!" she cried out, striking poses, "can you do it!?"         "Well, uh..."         "I need something!  Anything!  Something new!"         Macintosh tried to think; a task made nearly impossible in present conditions.         "Macky!" she pleaded, "think!  Apples!  Make something with apples!  Sweet, tasty, juuuuuuicy apples!"         "Why is it so important that ya get somethin' new right this second?" he asked, his voice a bit harsher than he intended.         "It's my eyebrows!" she shouted, pointing to them, "they're out of control!"  Indeed, they switched positions every few seconds: one raised, both furrowed, arched, flatlined; they even managed to do a 'wave.'  "And you know what that means!"         "Nope."         "It meeeeeans that somepony important is coming to town today!" she hopped into the storefront, bellowing, "and they want to try something new right here!"  She pointed to a particular chair.  "No, wait..." her eyebrow twitched, "right here!" she pointed one chair over.         "That's...oddly specific."         "I know!  It's only happened...six times before!  Except this pony is really important!  If he doesn't try something new, the fate of the entire universe hangs in the balance!" she pounced back at Mac's hooves, wrapping her sticky arms around them, "you've got to help me!!"         He looked down at her, spotting an odd green and black cupcake nestled within her poofy mane.         "But, why me?"         "Because you're Applejack's brother, so you must share baking genes or something!  She can bake anything great!  Except muffins.  She's not so good at those."         "But, I'm no good at cookin'-"         "Baking."         "-Bakin'."         "Please!"         "Ah'm sorry Pinkie, but that's jes' the way the cookie crumbles," he said; appropriately, a cookie fell out of Pinkie's tail and shattered on the floor.  She glared at it.         "No!  No!  Macintosh Apple, this cookie must not crumble!" she cried, gathering up the remains and rubbing her face into it.  Wait a second...Macintosh muttered, Apple...Crumble...         "Ah think Ah jes' may be able ta help ya out after all."         With Pinkie at his side (until they were able to hose down and detach from each other) Macintosh had returned home to the farm and let himself into his room, its drab colors and lighting instantly brightened by Pinkie Pie's presence.  Big Mac slung his harness over the bedpost, slowly opened his dusty closet and pulled out his cardboard box, placed it on the bed and carefully lifted its lid.         "Ooh!  What's that!  A baseball hat?  And a cape!  *Gasp!*  And a valentine from your fillyfriend~?" Pinkie sang, stuffing her nose into the box.  Mac quickly pulled it away and shut it.         "Pinkie!" he said angrily, "if'n ya dun' mind, this here box is private!"         "Quiet down with yer canoodlin' up there!" Granny Smith bellowed from downstairs, "some of us are tryin' ta sleep!"  Macintosh flushed bright pink, but Pinkie Pie wasn't perturbed.         "Okie-dokie-lokie!" she called back, spinning to busy herself with snooping through the rest of his room.  Shaking his head in annoyance Macintosh shifted through the contents of his little box until he found the recipe in question.         "Aww!  You were so cute!" she giggled, staring intently at the picture on his desk.         "Uh, why are ya wearing mah harness?" Mac asked as he stared at the pink filly.  The huge harness hung loosely on her skinny frame, touching the floor.         "You mean your daddy's harness, don't you?" she said simply, her eyes large and innocent.         Macintosh was taken aback.  "He gave it ta me," he said after a moment.         "Really?  When?  How come I've never met your parents before?" sweetly said the filly.  Macintosh looked up to her, his eyes even and explaining everything.  Pinkie's smile faded as she looked back to the picture.  "Oh."  Macintosh looked too.  That picture was the last one of his parents.  That day out in the town...the storm started shortly after the picture was taken, and...the next day...           "Well, it's no fun being all mopey-dopey about something that happened a long time ago!" Pinkie said, "especially when we've got Apple Crumble to make!" her voice was full of energy as she hopped over to him, "did you find it?"         Macintosh had to tear his eyes away from the picture on his desk.  "Eeyup," he said after a second, passing her the slip of paper.  She spun it in her hooves, trying to make sense of the messy handwriting.         "Oh wow, this looks really weird.  I've never seen a recipe for Apple Crumble that asked for oranges, but no new recipe shall go untried!" she stepped easily out of his harness and bounded for the door.  "Will you help me make it?"         Macintosh replaced his harness on his bedpost and followed her downstairs.  "Like Ah said, Ah ain't no good at coo-bakin'.  Ya'd be better off without me takin' up space in yer kitchen."           "Okie-dokie-lokie!" she chirped in reply.  Together they treaded the path towards town, Macintosh's heavy hooves throwing dirt behind him while Pinkie bounded merrily, her hooves hardly touching the road and the recipe held in her mouth.  Pinkie started humming at one point, no doubt working on another song.  Applejack had mentioned how she would break out into impromptu tunes whenever she felt fit, with mixed results.  Apparently, one song was so bad it caused a stampede of angry buffalo.  Macintosh knew it was wrong, but...he kinda wanted to hear that song.         They shortly made it back to the edge of town.  Pinkie thanked him for the recipe and bounced away to attempt it.  Exhausted from being around the sugary ball of energy for an extended period of time, Macintosh once again found his way to the park, nestled himself into the grass beneath the same old tree and let his mind wander. ***         "Macintosh?"         "Yes Pa?"         "Where were ya this mornin'?" I looked at him.  He stood in the kitchen.  He didn't look at me.         "Ah was studyin'."         "Why?"         "Fer mah test t'day." He still didn't look at me.         "Why weren't ya out in the field doin' yer chores?"         "B'cause Ah wanted ta study." He slammed his hoof on the table.         "Dangnabbit, son!  Yer family comes first!"         "But Pa!  It's rainin' anyhow!" He said a word I didn't know.         "No buts!" he yelled, "it dun' matter if it's an ice age out there!  Y'all always do yer chores every mornin', no exceptions!"         "But!"         "That's how ya run a farm, boy!  If'n ya can't take care o' the simple things, how can ya care fer a whole family!?"         "But I don't want ta run the farm!" I shouted. Father looked at me.  He was mad.  He hit me.         "Ah ain't gun' tell ya again!  No buts!  This is tradition!  Y'all are goin' ta run the farm!  Whether or not ya like it!" He looked away.  He started talking quietly.         "Whether or not ya deserve it." I swallowed.         "No Ah ain't." He looked at me.  There was a flash outside.         "What did ya jes' say?"         "Ah said Ah ain't goin' ta run the farm!" He stepped a little closer.  I talked louder.         "Ah dun' wanna run the farm!  Ah can be whatever Ah want!" He came close.  He was really big.  I heard the thunder.         "Ah hate the farm!" He was mad.  Really mad. He hit me.  Harder than he ever hit me before. I cried.         "No good, son of a-!  Boy, you listen, an' listen well!  'Cause this is the last time Ah'm gun' tell ya!  Y'all are goin' ta take charge o' the family an' the farm!"         "But-"         "NO BUTS!" He hit me again. I heard Apple Bloom wake up.  She started crying.   I didn't like that sound. I cried harder.         "Stop cryin, Macintosh!" I couldn't.         "Ah said, stop cryin'!" He hit me again.         "No son o' mine is gun' be a no good, crybaby!" I looked at him.  I was mad too.         "Ah hate you." He hit me.  Really, really hard.         "GET OUTTA MAH SIGHT, YA NO GOOD LYIN' BLANK-FLANK!!" I ran.  I ran outside.  It was still raining.         "Macintosh!  Wait!" Mother ran after me.  She hugged me.         "Macintosh, Macintosh..."         "Pa hates me!" I cried.  I think.  It was raining.         "No, no he don't..."         "Yes he does!"         "No, he loves ya, son...He's jes' bad at showin' it." She rocked me in her arms.  We were getting wet.  There was thunder again.         "Macintosh, listen, y'all can't leave yer father like this.  Ya need ta go an' apologize."         "No!"         "Macintosh-"         "Ah dun' wanna run the farm!"         "Macintosh, ya'll need ta take care o' the family someday.  That's what yer pa wants." The family?         "Y'all can understand, can't ya?  Ta take care o' the family ya hafta run the farm." I pushed her away.         "No!"         "Macintosh-"         "Ah don't have ta run the farm!  Ah'm goin' ta prove it to him!  Ah'll get a perfect score!  Ah'll show him that Ah can be whatever Ah want ta be!" I ran.           "Macintosh!" ***         Macintosh was brought back to reality by the growl of his stomach.  It was around noon, he reasoned, so he stood and cantered out of the park.  That storm...The storm that formed hardly a week after Apple Bloom's birth was one of the worst in Ponyville history, he recalled.  Apparently there was an accident in Cloudsdale and the rogue storm clouds made their way to Ponyville.  It was the first storm little Apple Bloom ever experienced, and ever since she's been very unnerved by the loud, rainy experiences.         He rounded a turn to see the same restaurant from the other day, the 'Clover Café,' and Daisy seated out front again, alone.  Once she saw him nearing, she smiled slightly and straightened.         "Hello Macintosh," she said.         "Howdy," he replied, "here on yer lunch break again?"         "Eeyup," she smirked mischievously as she motioned for him to take a seat.  Chuckling, he did.  The waiter appeared a moment later to take their order, Macintosh just pointed to something on the menu at random.  The waiter snorted and snatched the menu back.         "So," he began, "how's that planter workin'?"         "I haven't had a chance to work with it yet," Daisy answered, "but I'm looking forward to it.  I have a nice little spot for it behind all my sunflowers.  How about you?  Anything new?"         "Not much, jes' work on the farm as usual.  Well, Ah did bump into Pinkie Pie."         "And you survived!"         Mac laughed.  "Eeyup, Ah guess Ah did."  Their food arrived a moment later, Daisy getting a pleasant looking sandwich and Macintosh a bowl filled with something green.  And wiggly.  The pair ate in silence for a bit (Mac doing his best to keep the strange meal that tasted like a mule's horseshoe down).  At one point, Macintosh noticed Daisy’s eyes narrow at a mare that entered the café, taking a seat a few tables over.  It was Cheerilee, who smiled and waved at Macintosh but kept her gaze away from Daisy.  This can't go on, Macintosh thought to himself, this will just slowly tear her apart...         "So Daisy," he said after a minute, "you an' Blues."         Her chewing paused for half a second.         "Yeah?" she said warily.         "You two okay?"         "Uh, yeah?"         "Really?"         "What do you mean, 'really?'" she frowned.         Macintosh sighed.  "The two o’ ya went out fer a while, right?"  She nodded dismissively, so Mac continued.  "Are the two of you okay?"         "Of course we are," she answered plainly, "he's a nice colt.  I enjoyed our time together."         "But he broke up with ya fer Cherry."         "So?"         "Right after ya lost the shop."         She stopped.  She slowly lowered her sandwich and sighed deeply.  "Yeah, well, it wasn't his fault," she growled as she glared over at Cheerilee, who could apparently sense it and shivered.         "That musta been hard, Ah reckon," Mac said softly, "losin' the store an' then gettin' dumped."         "Why are you asking me this?" she accused.         "Y'all need ta talk ta him.  Ya can't jes' let yer bad relationship with others sit an' fester."  She looked to the ground.  Macintosh sighed.  "Y'all think it'll jes' go away over time, that ya can jes' move past it an’ forget about it."  Her silvery green eyes looked into his.  "But it won't.  It'll never leave ya alone.  Believe me, Ah know."  Macintosh looked to the sky and sighed heavily.  "Ah'll never forget the last words Ah said ta mah pa.  An' Ah'll never forgive mahself for 'em either."         The two sat in silence for a few minutes.  Daisy opened her mouth to speak on several occasions, but changed her mind at the last second each time.  Her expression was made of stone, but her eyes darted back and forth, deep in thought.  Finally, she spoke.         "I...need to go think...alone..." she said, her eyes shaking a little as she looked to him.  A moment later she stood, placed a few bits on the table for her unfinished meal and left the café in silence.  Macintosh watched, before sighing and returning to his own meal.  I sure hope I didn't only make it worse...         After a few minutes, the waiter returned and with a snort removed Daisy's plate, pocketing her bits.  Macintosh resumed eating his own...lunch, finding it very easy to eat it slowly at the moment.         "Macintosh?"         Mac turned to see Cheerliee standing nearby.  "Do you mind if I join you?"         "Nope," he smiled as she sat across from him.         "Thanks.  What was all that about, with Daisy?" she asked, brushing her maroon mane out of her eyes.         "Personal stuff," Mac replied, "she needed some time ta think."           "Oh, I see," said Cheerliee.  When the waiter returned, she ordered a salad and passed him the menu.         "So," Mac began, "how's the class treatin' ya?"         "The little foals are doing well, thank you," her eyes lit up, "you're the talk of the schoolyard.  They're always asking 'when will Mr. Macintosh come back?'"         "Ah guess they enjoyed the field trip."         "They sure did.  I didn't think they'd enjoy the library, of all places.  None of them are exactly the 'bookish' type.  Except maybe for Twist."         "An' is Apple Bloom givin' ya any trouble?"         "Oh, no, of course not!" she chuckled, "she's very well-behaved, although I do feel badly for her.  She is the only one in the school without a cutie mark now."         "Ah know what it's like ta be the last one ta get it," Mac said sadly.         "I remember.  It was very hard for you."         "How are the school bullies?"         "They've been leaving her alone, thankfully.  There was an...incident the other day."         Mac's head shot up.  "What happened?"         "Oh don't worry, nopony was hurt.  Snips and Snails came by during recess and started teasing her about being a blank flank.  Well, Apple Bloom didn't stand for it and pushed Snails into the mud.  The fillies and colts didn't want to mess with her after that."         Mac chuckled.  "Li'l Apple Bloom is a fighter, all right.  She loves practicin' her kung fu an' whatnot around the house.  But those two colts-"         "They're not really that bad," she interjected, "in fact, I think they have a crush on Apple Bloom and her friends.  Snips and Snails are a little older than the Cute Mark Crusaders, and they used to be students of mine until last year when they switched schools.  They're good colts, they just don't know how to act around fillies."         "Ah see," Mac nodded.  He could identify; he never had any luck with fillies either, growing up.  The waiter arrived with Cheerilee's meal, which she happily started on.         "I'm very glad that Apple Bloom was able to make some friends her own age.  But I do worry about what might happen when one of those three finally earn their cutie marks.  I hope they can all stay together through it."         "Ah'm sure they'll stay friends," Mac said with conviction, "gettin' yer cutie mark can change a lot, but those three are best buds."         "I remember..." Cheerilee said softly, "you...when you got your cutie mark.  That was just after..."         "Eeyup."         "You stopped coming to school."         "Had ta.  Ah had a family ta take care of."         "I'm sorry..."         "S'okay, it was a long time ago.  Ah do regret never graduatin', though.  Ah wasted so much time in school."  Mac looked at her suddenly.  "How're Apple Bloom's grades?"         Cheerilee started a bit at the sudden question.         "Oh!  Quite good.  She's having a little trouble in math, but her grades are all still very high."         "That's good.  Ah know she'll go far.  She don't have ta be stuck on a farm her whole life.  She's still got so much potential."         The two sat in silence, eating their meals and glancing around the open-air restaurant.         "Cheerilee," Mac said a few minutes later as he finished his meal, "y'all seem ta know a lot about cutie marks.  Do ya think...do ya know of anypony who's gotten a cutie mark they didn't want?"         She stared at him, then furrowed her brow in thought.         "Not that I know of.  That's not the way a cutie mark works, after all.  There's only one mark for every pony, and that mark reflects their true passion and special talent.  Some ponies get them later in life, but that's only because they haven't yet discovered it; everypony gets theirs eventually, though, once they use their special talent for the first time."         "Really?" Mac asked, interested and a little saddened by the information.         "Well, sometimes not the very first time, if they only did it with the wrong intentions or out of spite or something.  It has to be the very first time they do it out of a pure passion and love for it.  The mark itself is just symbolic, really: it just verifies that which the pony should already know, proving to themselves and others that that's what they love."  She glanced down happily at her own mark, the grinning flowers smiling back.  Macintosh looked down at his in bitterness.  An apple...Of course it would be a stinking apple.  Pa was right; I was destined to be stuck on the farm for my whole life.  Cheerilee sighed in satisfaction.         "I don't think anypony's ever gotten the wrong cutie mark.  Like I said, it just doesn't work that way."         "There's a first time fer everythin'..." Mac grumbled.         "Hm?  What was that?"         "Ah guess Ah should get goin," Mac said, standing and tossing his money on the table, "It was nice ta see ya again, Cheerilee.  If'n ya need any more help with yer class, ya know where ta find me."         "All right, thank you!" she smiled and waved as he left.         'It just doesn't work that way.'  Bah...I'm living proof that it can.  Macintosh mumbled to himself as he marched down the road.  Special talent...stupid apples.  Down the road he noticed Applejack running her apple stand, enthusiastically smiling and advertising her assortment of apples to the small line of customers she had.  AJ loves what she does.  She loves working with apples.  Her cutie mark makes sense.  Three, shining, imbecilic apples.  He looked down at his own, the large, green apple half, a small cluster of black seeds exposed.  He glared at it: the wretched, hateful branding upon his flank.         "An' of course," he growled, "Ah would get the same cutie mark as Pa."