//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: Auntie Tia's Matchmaking Service // by Shaslan //------------------------------// Zap Apple spent the weekend at Sweet Apple Acres, as he frequently did. He was enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon lounging in the sun on the porch of the main house when the ageing postal mare Derpy Hooves delivered a letter to him. He stretched up to take it from her, and as she flew hastily away, he examined the envelope. The paper was thick and rich, sealed with a large red wax stamp bearing a sun; Princess Celestia’s cutie mark. He heaved a sigh. He hadn’t expected her to produce any results quite so soon. He inserted a primary feather under the flap of the envelope, rather like a letter-opening knife, and tore the paper. He drew out a sheet of heavy parchment. Dear Zap Apple, it read, in a script so old-fashioned and flowing it could have come right out of a period novel, I believe I have found a good match for you. Thornstone is a stallion your own age, athletic and independent, not too fond of the company of other ponies, like yourself. Also like you, he is from an old farming family, the Pies. I believe your mothers know his parents Maud Pie and Mud Briar. He is solid and reliable, like your parents wished, but I found that his humour has quite an edge to it, which I think you may appreciate. His photograph and profile are enclosed. He will be visiting his aunt Pinkie Pie in Ponville on Saturday, and will meet you for a coffee in the town square. I hope you enjoy getting to know him. Please do let me know how it goes. Yours Sincerely, Auntie Tia (Princess Celestia, Ruler of the Day, Diarch of Equestria, Princeps Solaris, Sol Invictus, The Sun Eternal, etc, etc). Zap Apple snorted and tossed the letter onto the floor beside him as he rooted in the envelope for the other bits of parchment. Auntie Tia’s inclusion of all her other titles seemed a little like overkill. For a ‘retired’ princess, she certainly liked to remind everypony of her previous status. His questing hoof finally connected with the photograph and he drew it out. Thornstone was a stallion with a slate-grey coat and a glossy purple mane. A very small smile played at one corner of his mouth, and his blue eyes had something of a sardonic expression. A suggestion of the humour Princess Celestia’s letter had hinted at. Zap Apple stared at the photo for a long time. Thornstone looked like a reasonable enough stallion…but that didn’t change the bizarre nature of looking at a photograph of a complete stranger and wondering if this would be the pony you would marry. He skimmed over the profile. It was laconically short, every answer brief to the point of terseness. It said little that the Princess’ letter didn’t already cover. Zap Apple eventually let the parchment fall. He wouldn’t get anything more out of these scraps of paper. The only real way to find out was to meet Thornstone in person. His heart thumped a little harder at the thought of that, and a sprinkle of sweat broke out across his forehead. What if the meeting somehow went all wrong? It was all well and good considering if he would reject Thornstone, but what if the earth pony got one look and rejected him? Zap Apple wasn’t sure he could take the pressure. Zap Apple squirmed from haunch to haunch, the metal of the chair cold beneath him. He glanced again at the menu he held, took another apprehensive sip of the flavoured water in front of him, and looked anxiously at the identical glass and empty chair opposite him. Thornstone was late. The sun inched higher in the sky and Zap Apple continued to fidget and sweat nervously into the collar of the polo shirt he had put on especially for the date. He read the menu cover to cover at least six times, and sent the waiter away three times. He was just reaching the stage of wishing he had bought a book — he was not a pony who was big on reading, but even one of his mother’s ten-penny trash novels about Daring Do was better than this eternal waiting. He cast another fearful look at the waiter, who was hovering near a different table, apparently taking their order. Zap Apple felt almost sure that they were all laughing at him. Just like always. Pathetic little Zap Apple, not quite an Apple, not quite a Dash, not quite filling the enormous horseshoes of either of his mothers. Not quite good enough for anything. A crow cawed on the roof of the cafe and Zap Apple abruptly decided he could bear it no longer. He jumped to his hooves, the chair scraping harshly over the cobbles, and spread his wings, ready to take off. “Are you Zap Apple?” A voice asked suddenly. It was flat and without intonation, and certainly without menace, but Zaps flinched and stumbled backwards anyway. “What—?” At last, he took in the speaker. An iron-grey stallion, tall and skinny, with a steely purple mane cut straight across his forehead. He was wearing a long-sleeved purple jumper, but his cutie mark was just visible, peeking out from under its edge. A weedy little thornbush, growing out of cracked, barren soil. A strange cutie mark; Zap Apple wondered what talent it could represent. “Are you Zap Apple?” the voice repeated, exactly the same as the first time, and Zap Apple realised he had been staring mutely at the stallion. He blushed slightly. This date was already off to a horribly awkward start. He wanted nothing more than to flee, but he was in too deep. “Yes, I am,” he said hastily. “And you must be Thornstone.” “I knew you were Zap Apple,” Thornstone replied flatly. “I recognised you from your photograph.” Thornstone seated himself, resting his wool-clad legs on the table, and Zap Apple reluctantly reclaimed his own seat and refolded his wings. “R-right,” Zap Apple said cautiously, searching Thornstone’s face for any sign that the statement had been a joke. It didn’t appear that it had been. “Of course. I recognise you too.” Thornstone nodded, as though there was simply nothing more to be said on the subject, and Zap Apple scooped up his menu again and ducked gratefully behind its scant shelter. He heard the rustle of card as Thornstone copied him. The silence stretched on for long minutes, and Zap Apple felt that nervous sweat from before break out anew. The pause was becoming too long to cope with. He stumbled for something else to say. “So…uh — what do you think you’ll have?” “Perhaps some plain rye bread,” Thornstone said, in that same toneless voice. “I am partial to its flavour, or lack thereof.” “Great,” Zap Apple answered, forcing a smile and peering out from behind his menu. “I can’t decide what I should get. There’s so many great options here. My family grew the apples in the apple cobbler dessert, so you could always try that, after your rye bread.” Thornstone looked at him, quite calmly. He didn’t speak. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Zap Apple’s neck. “What do you think I should get?” He tried once more. The answer was swift and merciless. “I recommend that you sample the plain rye bread.” Zap Apple barked a laugh. That had to be the aforementioned ‘edge of wit’, right? But Thornstone’s only response was a very slight widening of the eyes, as though he couldn’t understand why Zap Apple would be so uncouth as to laugh. The bead of sweat reached Zap Apple’s shoulderblades. “Right,” he said again, closing the menu with a snap, laying it down on the table, and then immediately wishing he hadn’t surrendered his only shield. “I guess I’ll get the rye bread then. And maybe we can share the apple cobbler for pudding?” Thornstone shrugged. “I suppose that would be fine.” Zap Apple fished for more potential talking points. His mind was as blank as an Appleoosa sky on an August afternoon. Nothing at all. He gulped. What had Celestia’s letter said? A rock farm? “Tell me about your parents’ farm,” he suggested. Ponies usually liked to talk about themselves, didn’t they? This should hopefully be an easy avenue to get Thornstone chatting. “It’s a rock farm,” Thornstone said. Zap Apple stared, aghast. Four words? Come on, he snarled internally. You have got to give me more to work with than that. Thornstone eventually blinked and added another sentence. “My father added stick farming to our repertoire, as well. We have a couple of stick fields now.” Zap Apple nodded, trying to put on his most interested expression. That was more than Thornstone had said in one go until now. This was good progress. “Do you mean…trees?” he asked, cautiously. “You farm sticks from trees?” “No,” Thornstone said, and did not elaborate. Zap Apple wanted to scream. Finally, the clop of hooves on the cobbles announced the approach of the waiter. Zap Apple turned gratefully to meet him. Where before the waiter had been a terrifying scourge to be resisted and driven away, now he was an ally. A saviour. “Are you folks ready to order?” The waiter asked, his voice like the singing of heavenly pegasi choirs. “Yes!” Zap Apple gasped. “And what can I get you both?” “I’ll have a loaf of rye bread, unbuttered,” Thornstone said. “And a glass of plain water. This fruit-flavoured water is a little…much for me.” “And you, sir?” Zap Apple sighed. He was stuck with it now. “A loaf of rye bread for me as well. I’d like butter on mine though, please. Maybe some more raspberry water too.” “It’ll be right out,” said the waiter, and turned to leave. Zap Apple wanted to beg him not to go. Not to leave him with this terrible, insurmountable task. Keeping this conversation going was like trying to scoop water with a fork. Or like trying to herd cats, as Applejack would say. Zap Apple turned back to Thornstone’s merciless silence and unblinking gaze. “My family are farmers too,” he offered weakly. “We farm apples.” There was a pause. Then Thornstone shook his head. “I don’t like fruit. It’s too frivolous for my taste.” “Right.” Zap Apple wished he could stab himself with the butter knife and end all this. “Well, what do you like? Is that a…thornbush, on your cutie mark?” “Yes, it is.” By the Princesses, this was like rowing a rowboat up a cliff. “Right. And…what does that mean? What’s your special talent?” “I can grow thornbushes." Zap Apple suppressed a sigh. “Okay. So…do you?” “Do I what?” “Grow thornbushes on your farm?” “Only a few at the moment. Mother thinks we should mostly stick to rocks. They’re our traditional crop.” “It’s good to branch out though — my family has always farmed apples, but when my cousin’s wife arrived she bought some of her family’s orange seeds with her, so now we have a little orange orchard too.” There was no response, and the silence yawned like a black hole before Zap Apple once more. Then waiter reappeared, carrying two plates balanced carefully on his back. Zap Apple wanted to hug him, he was so grateful. He placed one in front of each of the stallions. Zap Apple looked with distaste at his plate of dry bread, the butter clumped unappealingly in the centre of the slice. He glanced across at the neighbouring table, where four mares were being served with huge slices of chocolate gateau, each one oozing with chocolate sauce and cream, and his stomach rumbled audibly. Across the table from him, Thornstone picked up his rye bread in both hooves and began to take small, delicate bites. Like some sort of repellent chipmunk. He barely chewed his minuscule mouthfuls, and swallowed repeatedly. How could he even taste the food? Zap Apple took a bite of his own rye bread and nearly retched. By the stars! No wonder Thornstone wasn’t savouring the flavour. There was no flavour. For one horrible moment, he pictured himself and Thornstone, both wearing tuxedos and standing before the ancient Mayor Mare. He imagined bringing Thornstone home to Sweet Apple Acres, or back to his little flat in Appleoosa. He imagined waking up to that blank, dead-eyed blue stare every morning, and he shuddered. A fate worse than death. He looked up, and flinched — those same blue eyes, flat and lifeless as buttons, watching him unblinkingly. Zap Apple’s pulse thudded loud in his ears. Thornstone said something, but Zap Apple couldn’t make out what it was. Those flat white chipmunk teeth flashed behind the grey lips, and Zap Apple gasped. His mothers, the Princess — all of them trying to push him down the aisle with somepony, anypony — he wanted nothing more than to be away from them all, safe in Appleoosa, where there was nopony to expect anything of him, nothing to think of but the wind. His breath hissed in his lungs, and he caught himself. His nerves were getting the better of him, and if he wasn’t careful he’d end up completely losing it. It had happened too often for him to miss the warning signs. But there was a way out — another option. He did have a choice. Abruptly, he stood up, and pulled out his wallet. He had promised to meet with Thornstone, not to spend hours with him. He put some bits down on the table, enough to cover both meals — if they could even be termed ‘meals' — and Thornstone’s face swam back into focus at last as he looked up from his nibbling. “Is something wrong?” “Sorry, Thornstone, I just remembered—” Zap Apple fished for an excuse. “—Uh, its the last day of apple-bucking season. I really have to go home and help. So sorry to go when you just got here. But I, uh, I really gotta dash.” Thornstone appeared unfazed. “Shall we reschedule?” Zap Apple’s ears flattened. “Uhm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Apple-bucking is going to keep me pretty busy for a while. And then theres the sorting, and the pickling, and the pressing, and…” He waved a hoof in a vaguely circular motion, trying to suggest the endless tasks associated with an apple orchard. Never mind that he didn’t actually do any of the farm work, and most of his time was spent whipping up whirlwinds in the deserts outside Appleoosa. Thornstone didn’t need to know that. He straightened. “Right — well, bye. It was great to meet you.” And with that one last lie, he was trotting, then cantering, then flapping hastily away from that dreadful cafe, relief washing over him like a cool shower on a hot day. As he set his course for home, he was already composing a very terse letter to Princess Celestia in his head.