“Mornin’, Rarity,” Applejack says, wrestling her gardening gloves onto her hands.
“Good morning—”
“Do you remember…?”
“Remember what, darling?”
“When we were young, sometimes you’d try to prank me?”
“I wish you wouldn’t bring up that unladylike—”
“You’d pretend I wasn’t there, or just cut in about whatever and talk right past me.” Without raising her eyes, Applejack silently spends a good fifteen minutes at her work.
“Well, I apologize if you—”
“I dunno what made me think of that. Anyway, it’s a beautiful clear day, and… that always reminds me of you.” The weather’s turned a bit nippy, so it’s time for pansies and chrysanthemums.
“I suppose turnabout is fair play, if you feel a need to avenge old—”
“Thanks for listenin’.” The flowers arranged just so, she deposits her gloves and trowel in her toolbox before bowing her head toward the cold stone. Then she leaves for home.