//------------------------------// // Buck Luck // Story: The Apple Of Her Dreams // by Plonq //------------------------------// Even though the wooden buckets hanging from it were empty, the yoke weighed heavily on Applejack's shoulders. She was tired and a little sore from a full day of harvesting apples, but it was the kind of aches and weariness that felt right for a working pony like herself. The burn of her fatigued muscles reminded the mare that she had put in an honest day's labour. The last tree of the evening loomed before her with its lush leaves rustling in the wind, and its branches drooped slightly under the weight of ripe, red apples. The pony halted a few steps from the trunk and knelt before it, not in reverence, but to shimmy out of her yoke. She wiggled free of its grip and then stood again, twisting her neck to elicit an appreciable pop from its joints as she rose. "All right, tree," said the orange pony. "Here's the way I see it. I'm about out of bucks to give today, so there are two options; you drop your apples now and save yourself some bruised bark, or we can do it the hard way." She pawed the ground with a hoof and finished with, "Ah aim to end this one way or the other ... if you catch my drift." The tree responded by standing firm and mute, as trees are prone to do. The nearest thing that Applejack could interpret as a reply from it was a rustle of wind through its leaves, and a dapple of late-afternoon sunshine shimmering through its canopy. The pony snorted and cocked her hat forward on her head. "Ah figured that would be your answer," she said grimly. "Okay then, it looks like we'll have to do this the hard buckin' way." The farm pony reached out one of her mud-encrusted hooves and scratched an almost imperceptible X in the bark near the base of the tree. After a quick inspection and nod at her choice, she turned and expertly unloaded a thunderous two-hoofed kick to the centre of the X. The tree shuddered under the blow, and though it rained down a few leaves, all of the apples remained firmly attached to their branches and merely bobbed tantalisingly over her head. Applejack frowned with disapproval as the shaking tree gradually stilled, and a single apple partially detached. The lone fruit looked for a moment like it was going to drop, going as far as to slowly twist around one-hundred and eighty degrees on its thread of remaining stem before it stopped. "Really?!" Applejack cocked her head and grimaced up at the lone, taunting fruit. She wanted the other apples as well, but this one had made it personal. The pony sighed and wound up for another kick. "Ah just want this done with so I can go have myself a nice, hot shower," she said wistfully. As the mare readied for her next kick, Applejack closed her eyes and imagined the steamy heaven under a jet of nearly-scalding water. She could almost feel it already blasting away the aches and muck of a long day. It was Rarity who had introduced the orange mare to one of the few decadent indulgences that the farm pony allowed herself. The unicorn had all-but kidnapped the earth pony one day and dragged her - protesting the whole way - to the spa in town where they had (in the unicorn's words), "The most glorious showers. Trust me, dahling, this shower will leave you feeling - and smelling - much better than washing in the creek like an uncivilized churl." Rarity had spoken truly, and the next day Applejack had marched into town and returned with a contractor pony that specialized in shower installation. Granny Smith had objected at first ("What next - flush toilets? Don't go soft on us, Applejack!"), but the elderly mare came around quickly, and showed that she could drain the hot water tank like nopony else on the farm. Applejack could picture the shower in her mind's eye. Rarity was there. The white unicorn was standing under the hot blast of water with her head thrown back, and her pert mouth opened daintily in absolute bliss. Strands of purple mane draped alluringly over her silken white shoulders, while rivulets of water coursed down through the thick, foamy shampoo on her chest. A cloud of steam rose up around the white mare and time slowed down as she shook her head, fanning out her lustrous mane and sending up a spray of water. The ivory pony glanced over at Applejack out of the corner of a shockingly blue eye and beckoned the other mare over with a shy smile. In her time-dilated vision, Applejack saw herself slowly sliding into the frame from the left, with hooves gliding effortlessly along the tile, plowing a row through the standing water. She watched herself gracefully hip-check the white pony and send her sailing out of the frame with an adorable expression of shock and despair as her perfectly-manicured hooves scrabbled for traction. "Applejack!" "Sorry, Rarity, but this is a one-pony shower," cooed Applejack as the gloriously sweltering blast of water knocked the hat from her head and hammered on her tired shoulders like a hot masseuse. "Applejack!" repeated the voice that, on further reflection, sounded nothing like Rarity. "Not now, Apple Bloom. Yer big sis is havin' a moment," said Applejack without opening her eyes. "Can you have yer moment later? We need ya at the house," insisted the filly. "Miss Rarity is there." Applejack turned to address her sister. She blinked when she noticed that Apple Bloom seemed to be occupying the same space as the tree had been earlier. "She ain't usin' our shower, is she?" "What? No," said Apple Bloom, casting her sister an odd look. "Leastwise, ah don't think so - why would she be doin' that?" "No reason," said Applejack quickly. She rubbed one of her aching shoulders. "So why is Rarity at the house?" "She came out to do some final fittin' on yer dress for tomorrow," said Apple Bloom in a tone that made it clear she didn't think she should have to be explaining this to her sister. "She's fittin' my... what now?" The shower in Applejack's imagination abruptly turned cold. "Why would Rarity be fittin' me for a dress?" Apple Bloom let out a short groan of frustration. "Ugh. It's for the family hoedown at the school tomorrow. You remember; the one you promised you'd go to with me because Big Mac ain't much for wearin' dresses these days?" Applejack frowned. "Ah remember the hoedown," she said, "but not the part about it bein' tomorrow." The mare pushed her hat back with a hoof as she thought. "Ah don't remember nothing' about a dress. You know I ain't much one for gettin' up all fancy and stuff, and ah don't think I'd have agreed to that." "It was all right in the waiver you signed," said Apple Bloom. Her voice cracked in frustration. "The one I brought home from school for you to sign so that me an' you could go to the hoedown." "What waiver? Ah didn't sign no waiver ... did I?" "Wrong, sis, wrong," said Apple Bloom tersely. The filly whipped out a coiled scroll and gave it a shake to unfurl the lengthy waiver. The impressively long parchment unrolled between Applejack's legs and continued unrolling behind her. The filly popped on a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses and two-hoofed through the scroll before stopping to point at a section near its middle. "Under Section Thirty-Seven B of the waiver, signed by one Applejack, it states quite clearly that all mares shall dress appropriately for the hoedown." The filly jabbed a hoof further down on the scroll. "You can read it for yerself sis, in this facsimile copy: 'I, the undersigned, shall agree to wear a froufrou dress to the hoedown in accordance with and as governed by the school fashion committee, et cetera, et cetera ... fax mentis incendium gloria culpum, et cetera, et cetera ... memo bis punitor delicatum!' It's all here!" "Whoa now, hold up there little sis," said Applejack, glaring at her younger sibling. "You know darned well I wouldn't sign no waiver sayin' I had to wear a dress, and especially not a froufrou dress." The mare tilted her hat forward combatively and harrumphed. "There ain't no dress, is there? There's no hoedown, no waiver, and you ain't even my sister. Ain't that right ... princess?" Apple Bloom tossed the scroll into the air where it vanished into a cloud of dust with a muted "pop." The filly's expression turned cool and she eyed her big sister critically for a moment before a flash of light gleamed in her left eye... ...and Applejack found herself lying in bed.