//------------------------------//
// Chapter Four: Visions of Farmer's Duds Danced in Her Head 
// Story: On the Horizon 
// by mushroompone 
//------------------------------//

Now that the idea was in my head, I couldn't shake it. Everytime I looked at Applejack I saw her doing… something. In the fields, or maybe the woods. Something athletic. Something sweaty.

And I didn't even really like it! Or at least I didn't think I did. I had never been that into things like that before.

But I guess I kinda did like it?

I liked looking at her, I mean.

But it wasn't because she made my heart race. In fact, Every time I saw those visions of her, I felt measurably calmer. My breathing became deeper and slower. My mind lulled. For a moment, however brief, the all-consuming blanket of dread was torn from my shoulders, its weight replaced with warmth and comfort.

The presence of Applejack in the bathroom as I tinkered with her toilet kept me in a perilously unpredictable middle zone. Too stressed to speak properly, yet too calm to just quit while I was ahead and get the fuck out. 

Even the way she sat--in the bathtub, her mane loose and sticking to the damp tile ever so slightly--made me want to just stare at her endlessly. Her back hooves hung over the edge of the tub, kicking ever so slightly, threatening to brush my side with every twitch. Each time I glanced at her, the pink tiles lining the shower walls seemed to shudder, threatening to transform into tree bark.

"Whaddya think the issue is?" Applejack asked. For some reason, I thought she had a piece of wheat wagging from the corner of her mouth. Her expression was unreadable. Statuesque.

"Er…" I set down the wrench I had been using to scratch the back of my head. "Maybe if I just check…"

I lit my horn and used my magic to feel along the interior of the pipes. It wasn't an exact science-- something more akin to seismological tools than actual touch. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm not an expert. But, then, anypony could tell you I’m not the best with magic.

No reason Applejack needed to know that, of course. No reason she had to know a single thing about magic in the first place. No reason she should.

A surging tide of confidence lapped at the corners of my mind.

"Mm…" I rolled my head around a little bit, jerked it once as if I was tugging on something. "Seems like a… a broken… er…"

I allowed the sentence to fade away into nothingness as I continued feigning my desperate search for the issue. I even shook the pipes around a bit, eliciting a sound not unlike the deep rumble of a fire hydrant about to spew water.

Applejack's expression remained impassable. She waited a nearly respectful amount of time before asking "Do you think you can fix it?" Her tone was so even. And low. And angry.

She hated me.

She really and truly hated me.

She had only pretended to be nice in the diner earlier. For the good of the customers.

The wave of confidence receded faster than I could even comprehend, and my magic faltered. "W-well, that's a-- see, if it is what I think it is, then, uh--" I shook the pipes around a bit more, hoping some disaster would overtake me and I wouldn't have to answer. No such luck, only more far-away metallic groaning. "If it's something else… well then I guess-- I mean, maybe I can-- But if it's what I think it is--"

"And what exactly do you think it is?" It was sharp, barked, almost  Applejack folded her front hooves over her chest. 

My magic was popping and fizzling now. Shit, I could almost hear Celestia's voice murmuring from the back row… failing again, just like always! Can't handle the pressure, Twilight? Can't handle the crowd? Can't take being observed like every other little pony?

I swallowed hard. "It's a stripped, uh… stripped bolt in the…" I rattled the pipe even harder, this time to cover for my shaking voice. A distant rumbling sound filled the room. "Oh, gosh, that's, uh--"

I kept shaking the pipes, hoping that Applejack couldn't tell I was stalling. 

I think maybe her lower eyelids tensed, but I can't be sure. Boy, that pony won't break for anything.

But… no. I stole another glance at her, shaking and shaking all the while. This wasn't anger or frustration. It was a far-away distractedness, not unlike that which overcame me when I looked at her. It was careful. Thoughtful. Occuring in some other reality, far away from Manehatten, perhaps far from Equestria at all. 

I decided to switch tactics. Applejack had supplied me with a whole toolbox-- a nice red one, metal, showing its age. I lifted the inset and pulled out what I could only pray was a drain snake.

Applejack made no move to stop me from jamming the thing down into her toilet, so I assumed I was correct.

"I never asked." Applejack said suddenly. Her tone was just the same as always-- low and angry.

I paused, but did not look at her. "N-never asked what?" It came out much quieter than I had intended.

"Why you booted in the first place."

I lost my magical grip on the drain snake and went scrambling for it in the toilet bowl.

Applejack cracked a smile, but did not move. Didn’t make a sound. 

"W-well, thats-- I mean, if you don't mind, thats-- it's very--" I, at last, got a hold of the drain snake. The echoes of my splashing quieted. I cleared my throat. "That is personal, thank you."

"More personal than being fetlock-deep in my toilet?" Applejack tilted her head downward, allowing her bangs to fall down near her brow. "Why would I ask about that kinda thing if I wasn't ready for somethin' personal?"

I was silent for a moment. Still, I would not look at Applejack. "I don't exactly feel like sharing something personal just now." I said.

That was a lie. I wanted nothing more than to talk to her about my woes. About anything. About everything. An altogether stupid feeling, but one that I could barely talk myself out of.

Applejack nodded. "Alright. Understood."

I went back to mindlessly plunging the drain snake into the depths of Applejack's toilet. The sounds of disturbed water and muffled metal-on-metal scraping filled the room once again. Something told me I was supposed to be doing something differently, but Applejack wasn't correcting me, so I figured it must be close enough. She seemed like the type of mare who would correct other ponies. Whether they liked it or not.

She kept staring at me. I wondered, idly, what version of me she was seeing. Was I a farmer, too? Did I have my mane done in pigtails? Was I wearing a neckerchief?  Was I harvesting berries? Oranges?

I cleared my throat.

Applejack looked away. She seemed embarrassed, but maybe that was just a projection of my own strange thoughts. Her face still did not seem to change.

As if prompted by Applejack’s apparent embarrassment, other visions of myself flooded my mind. Considerably more racy ones. I pushed them out as quickly as I could.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Applejack was a telepath, and she was the one zapping these pictures directly into my brain.

That would explain how she could sit so quietly just staring at me. My brain never shut up.

Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to talk.

"W-what're you doing for the Summer Sun Celebration?" I asked.

Applejack scoffed. "Ain't that a bit personal?"

I shrugged. "Well, I dunno. Is it?"

Applejack looked up and her eyes refocused on mine. I thought I registered the slightest hint of shock. Maybe pride.

She buried the feeling well, though. "Drinking. It's the one day a year I have an excuse to drink while the sun's still up." She smirked to herself and crossed one back hoof over the other. Her right hoof brushed my barrel ever so slightly, so gently that she may not have noticed it herself.

"Mm." The sound escaped me involuntarily.

"What about you, Chunks? Something tells me you're not the drinking type."

Applejack had gotten a lot more comedic mileage out of this whole vomit incident than I had anticipated.

I scoffed. "I-I drink. I drink plenty."

"Never said not drinking was a bad thing," Applejack said. "You're underage, aren't you?"

I nodded. "I'm eighteen. Are you not underage?"

Applejack shrugged. "I'm twenty. My, uh… well. I have some cider connections."

"Oh."

"How old did you think I was?"

I blinked. "I dunno. I thought-- I dunno. I guess I just figured we were the same age."

Applejack waved one hoof dismissively. "Close enough."

"Yeah. Close enough."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What are you doing for the celebration?"

Brilliant. Another question I didn't want to answer.

I continued to wiggle the drain snake around, though very slowly and without much thought.

"Well, I'm from Canterlot," I said. "That's where the big… y'know, all the carnival stuff and ceremonies are."

Applejack nodded. "So you're going back to the city, then?"

"That's not--" I shook my head. "I dunno just yet. I might stay here."

"What's there to do here?" Applejack asked. "Don't you wanna go home for the celebration? See the princess and everything?"

No… no, I really didn't want either of those things. 

"Yeah, maybe." I nodded. "Wouldn't you wanna be with your family, too?"

Applejack grew very quiet. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

I guess I had made a wrong move, but the way that Applejack stared at the inner surface of the tub told me I wouldn’t find out why any time soon. 

There wasn't much left to say. I went back to tinkering with the toilet, this time as quietly as possible.

Of course I didn't want to go home. What was there at home? A celebration of the one pony I hated more than anything, surrounded by a bunch of other ponies with happier, more successful lives.

I'd have to see my brother, a high-ranking member of the royal guard. Love him to bits, but it just hurt to see him be adored while I was left in the dust.

I'd have to see my parents, of course. We had left things in a less-than-good place.

I'd probably have to see all those Gifted-Foal clique mares. The ones who'd made it into the program, and who would not hesitate to remind you. 

And, of course, at the end of it all, I'd have to stand in a crowd and watch the mastermind of my rejection be applauded uproariously by every pony in Canterlot. Princess Celestia-- the pony who had once held my fate in her hooves, and who really couldn't have cared less about it. Who had failed me, a tiny filly, for being incapable of completing a massive magical task.

I jammed the drain snake down far enough that my hooves splashed in the water. I hadn't realized how much more violent my thrusting had become.

Applejack glanced at me, but decided not to comment.

That somehow made me even angrier. Applejack commented on everything. Did she feel sorry for me? Was this a pity silence?

Whoa, girl. 

You don't know a thing about this mare. Where are these assumptions coming from?

I stabbed with the drain snake again. The toilet responded with an absolutely unholy sucking sound, so abrupt and extreme that I yelped aloud.

Applejack's eyes narrowed.

I made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. "Th-that's good! It's the… the clog is clearing."

"Mm…"

"Grrrrrrrargh" the toilet added.

Applejack, with great effort, managed to push herself into a more upright position.

"If you can't fix this, it's alright. I've got a plumber."

"No, no!" I blurted. Stupid. You had an out, stupid. "It's okay. I've got this."

"Huh," Applejack said.

Our eyes stayed locked for a moment; hers glaring at me with the hoping of drawing out an admission, mine desperately trying not to blink or flicker about. I know that wasn't exactly the name of the game, here, but it seemed like the thing to do.

Applejack broke eye contact with me to look into the toilet bowl. I returned to snaking, very slowly. It sounded a bit like a distant saw… sht-sht.

"So, you like the Summer Sun Celebration stuff they do in Canterlot?" Applejack asked.

Sht-sht. “What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just making conversation, Chunks."

Sht-sht. "It's… not really my thing. Maybe when I was little. Not so much anymore."

"Tsk." Applejack blew her frizzy bangs out of her face. "Shoulda guessed you were one of those."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. 

Applejack unfolded her front legs and tucked them behind her head. She closed her eyes as she did, and I got another flash of her sitting just like that, just so, under a tree. The sunlight gathered in golden pools along her chest and stomach. The breeze ruffling her mane. In fact, even in this tiny bathroom, her bangs seemed to float on an impossible breath of wind. There and gone in the blink of an eye.

"I mean that city mares like you go one of two ways: you either love all the hokey tourist junk, or you think you're above it." The ghostly piece of straw waved at me from the corner of her mouth. "With that mane cut of yours… well, I bet you think of yourself as quite the rebel, don't you?"

My cheeks burned.

She was wrong, in a way. But also very right, in a way. 

I didn't like the Summer Sun festivities because I didn't like looking at Celestia. Didn't like the glimpse I got of a better life, one where I worked directly under Celestia like that Moondancer unicorn, being coddled and cared for, living in the royal library and probably seeing my own brother a lot more often than I did.

But I was kinda proud of the fact that I hated it.

"Isn't doing things your own way a good thing?" I asked. Quietly.

"Well, sure," Applejack added. "But real rebels do things. City rebels just don’t do things."

My eyes narrowed.

"Never mind," Applejack said, waving away my confusion with one hoof. "Forget I said anything."

I growled to myself and shook one of the pipes around again, this time hoping it would burst. "What are you, then? Staying inside and drinking all day. Is that a real rebel or a city rebel?"

Applejack shrugged. "Never said it was a rebellion."

“Neither did I.”

“Manecut says otherwise.”

Long before I could form a response, the toilet made another hideous and indescribable sound; this one loud and terrifying enough that Applejack was scrambling against the inside of the tub, struggling to look down into the toilet at the problem.

The two of us started down into the porcelain bowl as every drop of water drained out of it, leaving behind a marbled surface that was less white and more gray-yellow. The further the water receded the louder the sound grew-- until it was suddenly silenced.

We were frozen for a moment or two, wondering idly what might happen next. Was this  what a fixed toilet looked like? After all, it was clear that neither of us knew what we were doing.

But we didn't wonder long. The sound returned, like the roar of a lion, and every single drop of water came rocketing back up through the pipes.

Applejack hit the deck as fast as she could, hiding behind the edge of the tub as I was drenched with public toilet water.

I didn't know whether to scream, cry, or puke.

The water stopped. Applejack peered over the edge of the tub.

I wiped my mouth with a dry patch of fur on the back of my foreleg. "I don't think it's fixed," I muttered.

"You can say that again."

"I'm sorry, I know I said--"

"Do you wanna use my shower?"

I blinked. A few drops of toilet water flew from my eyelashes.

Applejack made a sound that seemed to be a suppressed chuckle, though it could have been a cough.

“If--” more water flew from my upper lip “--if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Applejack shook her head. “Nope. No trouble.”

She leapt, gracefully, from the tub and squeezed behind me.

“I can pay for--”

“Just take a damn shower, Chunks!” Applejack shouted, kicking the bathroom door shut with her back hoof.

I sat still for just a moment more. Something about being drenched like this made me feel… strange. Sort of blue, I guess. Not a sad blue-- a bright, shocking blue. Electrically blue. 

Oops, I guess I overdid it. Um-- uh-- how about this? My very own, patented Rain-Blow Dry! No, no. Don't thank me. You're quite welcome.

I shook my head to clear away the abrasive voice. Toilet water splattered across every visible surface.

My heart stopped.

I jumped in the tub.