//------------------------------// // A 'Day' On The Farm // Story: Stereotypical Side Stories // by JinxTJL //------------------------------// "Light Flow? What'ch'yall doin' over there?" Oh no. It was that voice again. That horrible, terrible voice that never failed to grate and tear at his nerves. It was a day to regret whenever he happened to hear it, and today was no happy exception. It was fresh and chipper and full of disgustingly cheery pep. It was the kind of voice reserved for the most happy, high-energy members of the worst dregs of vile, contented morning ponies. Happiness and jollity, eugh. Did she just have no awareness at all? Light Flow just didn't know what that pony was thinking, sometimes. The rough bark of the tree he had taken shelter behind to na- rest, scraped uncomfortably against his fur as he sidled up against its side. His face pressed scratchily against its trunk, and his hoof creeped closely around its curve. He was probably gonna have to take a bath sometime later, as loathsome the time taken would be. While he didn't especially mind the presence of dirt, his mother certainly did; and tolerance down that bumpy road was especially low as of late. Certainly not helped at all by the circumstances that had roundly brought him to this catastrophe in the making. Speaking of: why was this happening to him? Why couldn't it have happened to his neighbor, or any of the ponies at school? They all seemed pretty happy in their lives, why couldn't they deal with a terrible, disfiguring tragedy? He couldn't help it; the anticipation was killing him. The tuned call of pitched birdsong in the sweet country air should have been a blaring warning siren to his ears, but he flaunted sense, and cautiously peeked his head just out from behind his cover. Stupidly. There, not ten hoof-steps away, surrounded by apple trees for what seemed like miles, facing directly towards his branched barricade: a disaster walking on four orange hooves. No.. The noise that came instinctively from his throat maybe wasn't as cool or masculine as he'd have liked, but it was better to focus on throwing his head back behind his protective apple tree. A cover that was less than half effective as before now that she'd definitely seen him. Dumb, dumb, stupid, stupid, idiot he was! Hiding behind an apple tree... that was like jumping into water to avoid a shark! "Light Flow, git' yer hide out from behind that tree where I can see it! Y'all ain't slackin' on my watch!" It was the voice of Applejack; the pony ever marked his cruel tormentor. How had she found him, when he had so carefully covered his tracks? They were in the exact middle of an orchard, and she'd come to the exact tree he'd been hiding behind! He had to get away, now; before she made him... talk to her or something. His hoof came away from its lean on the towering surface along with the rest of his body, as he took a measured step back into a turn. Despite any rational measure of sense, his head found itself tracking upward on first instinct: to one of the many canopies of green leaves and red fruits above him. An angered Applejack was like a wild animal on the hunt; and there was only one way out that he could see. Running wouldn't help, even with all the fruited obstacles; he was going to have to climb this tree. His eyes scanned the sheer wall of bark; picking the structure apart with punity and calculation. He had never climbed a tree before, but it was looking like today was the day to learn. New skills and bettering himself and all that. Escaping, too. Ugh. Today was turning out to be so much worse than he'd thought. The morning had made out to be so promising when he'd found that dead bird on his lawn. 'What a lucky break', he'd thought. 'How fun', he'd thought. But then, of course, his mother had caught him sneaking to his room with it. A stern talking to about the line between fiction and reality had been the bitter side dish to the loss of his new research subject, followed by a prompt ban from the house for the day. Oh, but it had only gone downhill from there. Down and down and spiraling down the needle-covered slide to the howling depths of Tartarus; and he only had himself to blame for the starting shove. Sitting there on his lawn mourning the dead bird had seemed such a boring time, so what had he thought to do? Where had he thought to go? What had been his grand, master plan? 'Hey, what's Applejack up to?' How long would he spend spiraling into apparent insanity before a volcano would seem like a nice place to spend time? Well, he could bemoan all the choices he had forgone in favor of torture later. Right now he was under siege by the forces of fruit and southern sayings, so he should really get started on climbing that- "Light Flow?" A hoof: laying on his withers with only the hint of an accented warning to accompany it. "Tree!" He yelped as the nervous energy of fear carried him forward off his hooves. Pain flashed like a blinding light before his eyes as his snout took a hard impact against the aforementioned traitorous tree, and a deeply wrong feeling seized his body as his head stayed strangely stuck. His eyes drifted open from their pain-induced squeeze as he gasped dizzily, though his world was entirely shaded in unhelpful browns and greens. Who and where was he, and what was happening? Okay that joke wasn't very funny, especially to his dazed mind. He could use a lesson in tact, one of these days. Why in the world was he just hanging off the tree, though? Had something gotten... Oh. Oh sweet heavens. He bit back a horrified gasp as he braced his hooves against the unyielding wooden prison holding him captive, and a slight, testing tug brought sobering verification to his named nightmare. Pressure in the form of pointed resistance above his eyes. His horn had gotten stuck in the tree! This was it. He was having a living nightmare, and next would be the part where the world exploded and he died horribly. There was no worse thing that could've happened; no, this was the worst possible thing. A firmer brace and a firmer tug left little doubt as to what had happened, as tiny splinters served as the grotesque confetti heralding his horn's freedom. The immediate loss of a squeezing feeling in his gut that he hadn't even noticed was yet more tactile feedback, though even greater was the feeling of promptly falling onto his behind. The butt pain didn't matter, though; how was his horn?! His hooves leapt up to nestle into his mane, gently creeping towards and around the space where- for all he knew- his horn could've sat chipped and broken. No blood... maybe some wood chips in his mane.. was his horn always just there? His eyes leaped and fought against their limits at his eyelids, while his hooves frantically searched every redundant inch of his forehead and its surrounding areas. The entire world around him sucked itself self-consciously away to leave him in somber privacy for pre-emptive mourning. His horn was broken! No, he was being paranoid; it was perfectly fine. Touching his hoof to the surface sent back nothing but happily pleasant feelings ending in an unbroken point. Not even any scratches, though he should really get to a mirror for an in-depth check. He was fine, everything was okay. Everything; except for one country thing. The subtle sound of snickering dropped his expression from panicked concern to annoyed anger, and he whipped his head around to its source just behind him. Out of the corner of his eye: it was her. Lanky and freckled and orange and- urgh, so dumb! Golden blonde pigtails around either side of her neck like the most stereotypical goody four shoes in any children's novel, with the reading comprehension to match. Hoof raised to cross across her obviously grinning mouth: what did she think she was laughing at?! Fury the likes of which the world had likely never known filled his veins with the urge to aggrieve, and he kicked himself onto four hooves to spin around with prompt decision. He locked his angry brown eyes onto puke green shades full of mocking mirth. "It's not funny, Orange Hooves!" He screamed, before lifting one hoof to point at his still-sore head. "Do you even know what a big deal that was?! I could've been seriously hurt!" He pouted, and stomped his hoof back to the even, grassy ground in a deliberate contradiction as Applejack's own limb raised to scratch at her hay-like mane; showing a toothily grinning smile that said nothing of regret. "Aw, don't y'all get yer precious lil' horn in a twist, now; was just a fall'n'a scrape." His mouth fell open in an offended gape as Applejack let out a peaking, squeaky chuckle. Her voice had been breaking more recently; and as cute as that was, it didn't undercut that she had just called his horn small! His horn was well within the average for a colt his age! Applejack should know better; that was just being a bully! Why was he even friends with her- augh! He had barely worked enough steam to really blow his lid before Applejack was already moving briskly on, though the insufferably enraging laughter in her eyes didn't do much to abate. She regarded him with plain, disgusting ease in her air, as her eyebrow fell to leave a one-sided quirk. "Now, about all that work y'all said you'd help with." Both eyebrows down now, but she was still smiling. "How'd that go? Looks to me like y'all been havin' bout as much work done as a plow in a snowdrift." Oh, yeah. Anger simmered into wisped smoke in a near instant as his expression smoothed into chagrined indifference. His eyes drifted away from Applejack's smugly smirking face in a way that most certainly didn't have any relation to the crawling feeling in his gut. "Right, the uh- the chores. That I.. definitely, absolutely was going to help you with... Uh-" He coughed out something that could have been a laugh as his mouth rose in an uneasy, lopsided smile. "I'm uh- Of course I certainly already..." His eyes flicked back to Applejack's big orange target of a face. Not smiling anymore. His stammering leapt up another notch of uncertainty as his tail instinctively pressed down between his legs. Not good, he was showing prey instincts. "Well, you see! I was- I was just taking a quick rest-" Her jaw clenched. Bad word, bad word! Recover, quickly! "No, wait- Orange Hooves, you see that I- I would never just- I-I'm a model worker, I'd have you- uh.. I- I-" His stammering skyrocketed into a whole other level of frantic as his body tensed in an urge to run that he'd never be able to deliver on, as Applejack just stood there. Menacingly. One eyebrow crept slowly upward, much unlike her previous quirk in its skeptical burn. It was too much. Her patented stare of dry derision capped the excess on his abnormally low pressure tolerance, and with what he could have sworn was an audible 'crunch': something broke in his head. "I- I- I- I- I- I-" he stammered, stuck on one relentless word like a record with a bent needle. His jaw formed each single syllable on automatic reflex, despite the frenzied pounding he was applying to his behind-the-scenes vowel lever. Why, oh heavenly why could he not just come up with one good excuse?! He sprained his hoof. There, now say it. Just tell her: 'I hurt my hoof and I was taking a short break.' Why was he still not saying it?! Was it that hard to just stop saying 'i' you idiot?! It was no use, he was stuck; and Applejack was shaking her head at him while he experienced a full system crash. Her eyes closed, and she let out a mixed bundle of sighed mutterings that he didn't quite catch. '..Buncha hooey...' or some such thing, it could've been. Regardless, none of the embarrassment or fumbling could have changed what came next, as Applejack approached him casually and terrifyingly. Though his head was pretty firmly stuck on internally screaming in fear of the apple vendor who undoubtedly wished him harm, his mouth continued to persistently skip: as if just continuing for the sake of persistence itself. Though, it was hard for the habit to keep perpetuating itself when Applejack firmly shut his runaway face with her hoof. "Alright smooth talker, let's get on and get you to work 'fer a change," she said dryly, before reaching to pull his ear down painfully so that he was staring wide-eyed and lopsidedly up into her eyes. "And don't you even begin about thinkin' you can run off again. I'll be watchin', y'hear?" The clear 'I will hurt you' tone in her voice promised to brook no argument or bail, and nodding his agreement seemed the only real action given that her hoof had a death grip on his precious implement. Innuendo that would've usually made him blush to think about seemed a little stale given he was staring the pony in question in the eyes. He could giggle about naughty bits later, when there was less of a chance that Applejack could actually kick him there. A precarious and instinctive lean forward from the insistent grab was thankfully cut off as his ear was promptly released on probation. Applejack seemed pleased with his wordless compliance, though it was a little hard to really focus or care about what she was feeling as he rubbed his bruised ear cautiously. A flick here to there, and everything seemed fine. Applejack was so rude; first he'd hurt his horn, and now she'd hurt his ear, too. How much more abuse was he going to suffer at her brawny hooves today? Applejack had turned to trot briskly away, and though he made to 'get on' to following her, he felt safe enough to mutter an indeterminate, foul curse at her unfortunate name. One orange hoof stopped mid-air, and his body halted the beginning of a disgruntled lumber forward. "Y'all say somethin'?" Her voice floated out over her shoulder, though she didn't turn to look at him. That might've been scarier. "Nope! I- uh, I didn't say anything, Miss!" he stumbled out through a wavering jaw and a shaking, mid-air hoof. The 'miss' might've been laying it on a bit thick, but he didn't think he could've stopped it from coming out if he'd cared to try. It was just a frightened reflex of weird respect, so that he could avoid a cuff around his already aching ear. He never should've come here, Applejack was even testier than normal. Maybe it was his fault for trying to weasel out of something he'd already promised to do, but it was still basically uncalled for. Okay, fine: he was being a real donkey's donkey, sure; but violence was never the answer. He was so gonna tell as soon as she left him alone. Regardless of plans made to betray, it looked as though Applejack bought that he was scared and obedient. Which he was, to be fair. Her halted hoof that may have been ready to whip around into his jaw set itself passively on the ground, and he breathed a silent breath of relief as she continued off into the rows of trees without another word. He could run the other way... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I know y'all ain't spacin' out on me while I'm explainin' what you're gonna be doin' here!" What was he doing here, truly? Was it too late to run away? Light Flow's hooded eyes drifted back to the exasperated face staring pointed little daggers at him. Eyes like beautiful little green jewels, he'd say on a good day. Eyes like acid and lasers, today. "Hmm?" he hemmed questioningly, as he blinked lethargically. Such a subtle sound, but it made Applejack's face turn so red. Little white freckles colored grey on cherry, kinda like ice cream. Ice cream'd be good right now, as would anything else in any other place. An orange hoof flew up to impact heavily against flushing fur; self abuse brought harder than he thought was probably safe. His immediate look of genuine concern melted away as the hoof fell to reveal smoldering eyes that spoke much of their owner's feelings. "Now, Light. I'm gonna say this real slow-like for you. You got that?" she ground out through the grinder that her teeth had become. He didn't say anything, and he didn't need to, because she was already moving on: placing one hoof tersely on the rim of the wooden basket they sat on opposite sides of. "I'm gonna run around buckin' apple trees, right?" She paused with a meaningful look. It was easy to see that meaning was something of pain, so a complacent nod was the answer he found. Her head bobbed once in tepid response, though her eyes stayed on him. "Now, all's you gotta do is run around after with this here bucket," she tapped the rim of the ball-sized bucket again, for emphasis. "-and gather up all'a apples that'll fall when I do. Simple as simple can be." Quite simple enough, he'd heard her the first time, after all. "And then you want me to empty my bucket into one of the bigger buckets in the wagon?" He turned from Applejack's shameful display of an explanation to the harnessed wagon that sat in the clearing behind them. Surrounded on all sides as they were with determinably spaced apple trees, it was a wonder Applejack had known where she'd left the darn thing. Following her as she'd turned and twisted through the monotone walls of brown was a challenge in itself, though Applejack navigated the endless space with seeming ease. It was a short trot to return to the spot where Applejack had first brought him to help with the day's work; though he hadn't run very far back when she'd first gone to find the smaller basket, so it wasn't too surprising. She should have known better than to leave him alone, anyway. Sure, he was the one who suggested using a smaller bucket as a facilitator, but it was more her fault for falling for the obvious trick. But, in the end: he hadn't been able to find his way out of the orchard, and she'd found him, and now he was back where they'd started. A big fat oh well. Regardless, he turned back to where they were both sitting in front of a bucket a little less than half their size, and to Applejack's pleasantly surprised face. "Well, yeah, actually." But all too quick: pleasant surprise turned to accusing suspicion, and he recognized the tilt her head took as a familiar stand-in for a pointing hoof. "...So you were listening the first time." He cast his eyes aside, to the very interesting apple tree he'd been studying out of the thousands around them. "To be fair, I never said I wasn't listening," he said distractedly. A butterfly flit into view, before perching on the side of the monolithic provider. "You just decided to start again, for whatever reason." In retrospect, he wished he had been looking at Applejack: because then he wouldn't have flinched so hard at the loud smack that rang out into the calm, country air. A cautious peek away from the fluttering wildlife afforded a view of a wrinkled frown and an angry red mark perched above heated green eyes. She sure did know how to express, didn't she? With a frustrated sigh and what was probably a great deal of control on her part, Applejack stood up. "Les' just get to work, already. Ah can wring yer neck later once we've chewed through some'a this harvest." she groused, as she stretched her legs out behind her. Perhaps in spite of himself: his bored eyes were immediately drawn to watch the muscles in her thigh flex and contract. Strong, thick tendons moving like beautiful clockwork beneath tightly pulled skin; the action spoke so loudly of her physique that the entire world deafened around him for a moment as he stared. But it was only a moment that he spent unabashedly staring at Applejack's legs. A hot and carefree moment that ended abruptly with the realization of a heated flush on his face, and a dense fog swirling around his head. He coughed to hide a heavy swallow as he stood up, and busied his traitorous mind with lighting his horn to bring the basket up to his side. Applejack had a nice form, that was all. It was respectable, commendable, even. She worked hard for a living, it was easy to tell. The work she put in was admirable, and he was impressed with her. That was all. Anyway, Applejack was trotting away to the cart with an askew glace shot over her shoulder at him, but he turned away in favor of inspecting the bucket that floated just in front of him. Painted white with red lines... of sturdy, Apple family make... not too big, as he'd asked; though it was still a little heavy in his magical hold. He'd adjust, probably. He spun it around its axis in the weightless grip like a ball, though regret set in quickly as the motion flashed a feeling of world-turning nausea behind his eyes. He stumbled blindly forward, though kept the basket floating just in front of him: stopped in its foolish spin, now. Holding something with your magic and spinning something in your magic were two very different things. Easy to forget, sometimes. "Don't you wear yerself out a'fore we even get started, now. We've got a heck'n a half'a work ahead of us." Applejack called out from behind him, and a glance her way showed that she was done with whatever fiddling she'd been doing with the cart. Though, uneducated as he was in cart maintenance, she could've just been standing and staring at it. Not too like her, though. She may slow down, but she'd never just stop. "If I wear myself out, can I go home?" he shouted back at her as she made her way to a nearby tree. Her pace stopped for a moment, and what he could see of her face from this distance scrunched in consideration for a moment, before settling into a thin line. "No, now get yerself over here." Slave-driver. Just because he showed up on a harvest day didn't mean he was free to put to work. Maybe he could talk Big Macintosh into starting a union with him? Dreams of fair pay and fairer treatment danced in his head as he made the trip to Applejack's side, bucket in tow. She was staring up at the tree she'd chosen first, though it was probably just to occupy herself. Kicking trees didn't exactly require calculus. He let the bucket settle to a rest on his back as he came up to her side, and joined her in looking up at the tree. Imposing, like all trees were. Brown and dirty, though far from unhealthy; it was a bit thought-provoking to consider their different standards of wellness. From the corner of his eye, he could see Applejack shooting off a side-eye of her own. "You ready fer a bit'a honest work?" The easy drawl of her accent was, as it always was, grating to the cycling point of charming. He sort of resented the implication that his work wasn't honest, though. There was plenty of consideration in reading books and thinking about dead things! It took real focus and real work to keep a level head, sometimes. Why, just the other day, he- He was glaring at the tree now, which Applejack must have taken as some sort of confirmation. "Alrighty then," she muttered lowly, before taking a sudden quick turn onto her forelegs. He barely had time to snap out of an internal rant that had barely come into its own, and to appreciate the beautifully bunching cords in Applejack's coiled thighs before they were shooting out like twin cannons into the hard flesh of the tree. The dull thunk at such a short range was rattling in a way that was never easy to get used to with his constitution, and it was a struggle to keep his head from wobbling as the sound seemed to reverberate down through his ringing bones. The impact set the great green behemoth groaning and toppling in protest, though Applejack obviously wasn't anywhere near strong enough to actually knock over a tree with just a buck. Branches rattled, a couple leaves fell away from the quiet cacophony of their brethren, and with the audible snapping of stems: a dozen little red raindrops began to fall. As Applejack quickly began to run away- hey! Wide eyed and staring after the retreating traitor, he was left alone under the shroud of red projectiles; which he stared up at with so much fear. His basket suddenly seemed so inadequate, as he grabbed quick hold of it, and held it up in front of him like a shield. He clutched onto the little wooden bowl as panic began to beep loudly in his ears, and the first of the fruity rocks descended toward him. He regretted everything. 'Clunk' Hey, there was one in the bucket! 'Donk' Ouch, there was one on his head! A sweet symphony of hollow impacts and pained exclamations sang into the quiet country air as he swung his dipping basket from side to side, hopelessly hoping to randomly catch any of the many offending projectiles pelting his pelt. Donk Donk Thunk Donk Donk Donk Bonk Thunk Donk Donk Donk Bonk It was over in less than a moment, as long as it'd felt. Apples didn't fall forever, no matter how much his body stung and bruised for it; and at the end of it all, he stood in a minefield of stemmed bombs, groaning and holding three apples in his bucket. Three out of the however many that had fallen. A terrific score, if he were playing golf. His will was battered and bruised, and so was his body, and his brain kind of hurt from the impacts of apples against his magic: but he had survived. A hoof: laying on his withers like a blanket over a burning fire. "Not bad 'fer 'yer first time catchin', farmcolt. Now hurry: pick up those you dropped, 'an put 'em in the cart a'fore we hit her again. We're burnin' daylight." Maybe he wouldn't be surviving for long. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Applejack was insufferable. He already knew that, but it was nice to get some reinforcement on that idea. He had known Applejack was a chatty pony for just about the entire time they'd been friends, but it had never been as bad as this. She just talked non-stop while they worked. About the work itself, about her day, about him, about how bad he was at catching apples, about how much better he could be doing- that was particularly insulting. But, given that he was barely keeping pace even in his absence of mediocrity, he couldn't really find the rights to stop her. As much as he wished he could. "-over your head. It's near enough impossible 'fer a greening like 'yerself to catch 'em all in one go, so that's the best way to keep 'yerself from gettin' too hurt." She was getting worse on her slurs, and the pantomime of holding a bucket over her head was a bit much. "Is there any way to avoid the hurt altogether?" he groaned out as the bucket shook in the air above him. He was barely managing to trudge slowly along after her at this point; after... who knew how many trees. His body hurt, and he wanted to go home. Applejack paused mid-buck, her hooves already coiled up against her body. She stared meaningfully up at the sky for a straining second as she seemed to really consider his question, before apparently finding a succinct answer in the clouds. "Not unless you get real fast all'a sudden." Her hooves shot out once again, and his eyes sagged as the routine feeling of deep impact rumbled through his skeleton. His head and his bucket raised tiredly in near automatic response, and he braced himself for the umpteenth time that day. Thunk Donk Donk Bonk Bonk Bonk Donk Donk Donk Thunk Donk Donk Ouch. A scoff rose over his shoulder as his head fell back to the ground to stare forlornly at the little red spheres scattered everywhere. "Light! Y'all only caught two that time! I've seen fritters in an oven that tried harder'n you!" That familiar orange hoof came to rest on his withers again, and Applejack's voice came back with... just a tinge of concern. "Are y'all even tryin' anymore? You throwin' down the towel?" The tiny glimmer of emotion behind the gruff taskmaster act put a momentary pause to what he'd been about to do; but as he pursed his lips in thought, and his pelt itched with the many bruises he'd already suffered, the pause found itself outvoted ten to one. The bucket that was not quite satisfyingly heavy with the weight of apples fell to the ground as his magic willingly gave out, and Applejack barely had time to make a noise that was undoubtedly indignant before he was following down after it. The ground looked very comfy today. One hoof under the other: he bonelessly flopped down onto his back, and- though the slight impact left him a little dazed- he petulantly spread each of his limbs out on either side of him in a rough star. Of course, his tail thoughtfully curled over his stomach for modesty's sake. The full-body throb of pain he received for his prompt efforts was next to nothing compared to the repeated rediscovery of gravity he'd been suffering through, and it was more of a relief than anything to finally rest his head down with a tired sigh. The ground wasn't as comfy as it'd looked, but it beat the stuffing out of standing. His eyes had long since closed, but his ears perked to the sound of hoofsteps rounding around his body to stop at his head; as well as the voice that followed them. "...Y'all makin' some kinda joke, sugarcube?" Boy, where'd that touching concern go? Now Applejack just sounded mad. Opening his eyes to Applejack's upside down face was an immediate surprise, before he remembered that he was in fact upside-down, and Applejack wasn't smiling at him. No, that was a very big frown she wore. Oh well. She could get as mad as she wanted. He turned his nose up- er, down at the clear aggravation on Applejack's not-smile with a huff. "I don't recall making a punchline, Orange Hooves." His pre-emptive gaze snapped up to watch as her mouth immediately opened for a rebuttal. "-and I'm not the punchline, don't even say it." Her mouth closed. He continued with a quiet feeling of victory in his chest, though his face stayed steadfastly proud and dignified. "What you see, Orange Hooves," If he'd not been lying directly on his back, he would've made some kind of sweeping gesture. "-is a pony taking their stand against your blatant and unfair mistreatment!" As Applejack's jaw worked up and down in what he was interpreting as shock and awe, the words as he spat them came to settle on his mind. "By laying down, of course," he added after a moment of thought. That was more of a joke than anything, but it seemed to be the final cord on the cannon that was Applejack. "Wha- mistreatment?!" she sputtered, as her face took on that familiar shade of apple-red. Thematically appropriate though she was, it wouldn't stop his protest. "Yes!" he announced loudly and triumphantly. "We've been working for hours on end with no rest! I'm through with you treating me like I'm some kind of workhorse, and I demand that I have a well deserved break this instant." He hit the ground with the side of his hoof for startling emphasis; not caring to wince as his battered body bruised in protest. His piece said, he allowed him and his argument to rest. Though... as he watched Applejack stammer and sputter for more words she couldn't find, it was just a bit harder to forget that she was literally towering over him. With her big, brawny hooves at perfect positions to stomp and smash his face in. Maybe he shouldn't have worked her up quite so much? She was just a step away from violence in the best of times, and today certainly didn't pass that bar... He had only just curled his hooves in to begin a cautious wiggle away from the farmpony when she apparently found the words that'd been hiding from her, stopping his escape with loud punctuation. "Hours- Workhorse- I- Light, we've been workin' for an hour!" she shouted, which was absolutely unnecessary given that her upside-down head was right above his. Only an hour, though? That didn't seem right... "Um... really?" he questioned, perhaps not quite as loudly as he'd meant. He flinched as, in response, one of Applejack's hooves shot up, nearly vertically towards the sky. "It's not even noon yet!" He followed the point above and across the long distance of sky where he could see- with the sudden aid of his hoof over his eyes for shade- the sun, hanging just beside the apex of the world above them. Let's see... It'd been nine or so when his mother had banished him... forty-five minutes to sit around and then get to the farm... ten to fifteen or so for talking... ten or less for hiding... ten again for the preamble... And then an hour of work. Maybe around 11:30 for the best rounded estimate? Hm. Maybe he didn't quite have the court case he'd thought. With just a bit less victorious enthusiasm effusing him, he turned his head back to Applejack, whose face had gained that familiarly insufferable arch again. One eyebrow over the other, didn't she ever get tired of that? One day, her face was just going to get stuck like that. "Well... um..." he started shakily, as his eyes darted about the surroundings. No escape in sight as far as he could see. His gaze wandered back to Applejack. "...I don't suppose Big Macintosh has been feeling unappreciated at work lately?" he finished with an uneasy, questioning smile. Applejack just shook her head at him. "Ah reckon there's never been a sorrier sight," she sighed, reaching to offer a hoof to his prone form. He scowled heavily at the offending limb, and the thought of batting it away immediately came to mind. How dare she? Here he was: taking a seat in abject protest against tyranny like the most ordinary of heroes, and she would just invalidate his efforts with simple courtesy? Spitting in the face of brutalized laborers everywhere; acting as though his martyrdom was a mere matter of choice. Which of them was the villain-to-be, again? Soft, loose dirt rubbed messily into his fur as he lamely rolled over, and took hold of the orange olive branch offered to him. "I still think I deserve a break," he muttered as Applejack helpfully leveraged most of the work of standing him up. Taking the action in stride despite having put in her own pound of work, Applejack just snorted and rolled her eyes; as she often did in his direction. "Sugarcube, we've been workin' full pelt for an hour now, and we've barely covered half an' less the work I coulda done by myself. Y'all don't need a break." He hemmed a deriding hum in his throat as he came to a stand after his useless tumble, and his eyes trailed the connecting line of their hooves. Muddy, dirty brown running down to meet toned, chipper orange. Beautiful contrast. "Yeah..." he trailed for a staring moment, before the uncertain line he'd left off caught his attention like a hook. "..Um, oh, uh- y-yeah right, Orange Hooves." He coughed out what might've been reasonably mistaken for a laugh. "You expect me to believe you can do the work of two ponies by yourself? That's a little conceited, isn't it?" His scathing tone was a little tame compared to his awful ordinary, but roughly tugging his hoof away from Applejack's grasp was a decent stand-in for bite. Or, at least, it would have been if her grip hadn't suddenly tightened like a vice around his hoof. The pressure was nearly a pinch of sudden pain, and he flicked a startled gaze up to emerald eyes glittering with the spark of challenge. Oh no. Oh crap. "Is that a dare?" she said, as a frighteningly familiar smirk began to grow over her face. It was a face that usually preceded either humiliation or pain, and sometimes both. It was the smile she'd worn when she'd tried to prove that it was possible to bungee with plain rope, and jumped off the roof of her family's barn. It was the smile she'd worn again when- with her hind-leg in a cast- she'd taken offense to his saying that apples as a projectile wouldn't be strong enough to break through solid wood. Only she'd be crazy enough to buck with a dislocated leg, and only he'd be dumb enough to assert something that he didn't know anything about. This was one of those moments, and he was only realizing it now. "No! No! It's not a dare, I never said that!" he yelled as he desperately jerked his hoof away from the pony who he'd forgotten had a tendency to always test whether one of them was wrong; no matter how dangerous the attempt was. His hoof stayed firmly stuck as the crazy pony with far more all-body strength only tightened her grip, and deepened her grin. "Naw, I think ah heard pretty darn well what y'all were sayin', there." Heavens above, she was becoming shark-like. A shark with incredible strength and very expressive eyebrows. Holy Goddess help him, she was going to jump off the barn again. Or something suitably crazy and dangerous; either way, he didn't want to be anywhere near it. His rear only just freed from the grip of the earth fell once again as he literally scrabbled to release his hoof from the time-bomb he'd been attached to; when, quite suddenly: she let go. His world turned, and without even the opportunity to curse her for tricking him, he fell floppily back. Rude. He stared dazedly at the beautiful blue sky for a moment as the absurdity of the situation raced to catch his speeding imagination. It was pretty serene in the midst of the deafening sirens screaming in his ears to run away from the impending explosion. Peace in the fire; it gave him a quiet moment to think, and just stare. Puffy white clouds beyond green canopies closing in, and he knew he was probably overreacting. Applejack had a tendency to overdo, sure; but rarely did it stack up to barn hopping. Besides: that was an activity she'd adamantly sworn off of doing as she'd hopped one-leggedly around. It wasn't even that big of a 'dare'. All he'd done was imply that she wasn't that good at her job, which- wow- was amazingly hurtful now that he'd had a peaceful moment to think about it. Best to apologize, or at least imply that he was too big of a jerk for anything he'd said to matter. He levered himself up with his hooves behind him to catch the tail of a turn as Applejack marched away from him. Probably a bit late for apologizing, as she shot a look over her shoulder. "Watch." was all that cocky grin said, under the freckled white ash falling from expansive fields of orange wheat burning green. That metaphor was a bit obtuse, and maybe a little too poetic for its own good; but it was as apt as he could manage to describe the sheer, reckless abandon on her face. She was heading towards an apple tree, but it could've been a cliff for all that it would daunt her. He... was a little star-struck, honestly. She was... It was always panic-inducing whenever she got like this, but still... admirable. His heart might've even skipped a beat. His breath drew back to a bate as Applejack slowed, and her rear hoof shot out to kick the rim of his discarded bucket into the air. It flipped over itself in the air to miraculously land directly on the small of her back; and- as though she hadn't done anything at all- Applejack quickly resumed her brisk pace towards the comparatively tiny tree. His throat was a little tight all of a sudden, and a heavy swallow didn't do much more than add to the block. A careless show of extreme dexterity, for no obvious reason other than needless, showy brevity. Or, in less intelligent meanings: just because it was awesome. His muscles groaned in underused protest as he swept himself to a more proper seat on his butt, though his eyes stayed firmly locked on the retreating form that so captured his attention. It was a bit like watching the precedes of a play in its action, though with less play and more anticipatory action. She'd done so many crazy things because just he'd said she couldn't. Spelunking a well, spending a whole week in the orchard, creating a raft out of apples; who knew what she could do next? She could walk over and kick that tree down and it wouldn't be more than par for the course. Applejack was all about competition, and she had just arrived at her next one. He should've just done his chores. Arriving at the tree: Applejack just stared up at it for a moment. He obviously couldn't see her face, but for drama's sake he was imagining that she wore a descriptive frown of intense contemplation. The kind of look that a mathematician might have to stare at a complex equation. His widely staring eyes caught a quiet shuffle of her hoof on the grassy ground; and his perked ears managed to just eke out the whispered sigh of 'alrighty'. The urge to speak up was rising quickly; to just call the whole thing off. Admit that he was wrong, sorry, and compliant: in that order. Say that she didn't have to prove anything to him, that he was an idiot, and that she was... He swallowed, and Applejack sprung into motion. On a seeming dime: she spun on one hoof to orient her back towards the tree, and raised her haunches in her ordinary textbook demonstration of the beginnings of a hearty buck. Except, as her thighs flexed and her hooves shot out towards the tree, and he felt his head rattle from the impact twenty hoof-lengths away: she didn't follow through as she normally would've. As tradition usually dictated: Applejack would've let the buck hang in the air a moment, stepped back, and stood in some such optimal spot under the falling deluge of fruit. The fruit would fall down to land mostly in her basket, as she leaned and moved slightly to catch as many as she could. He'd seen her do it plenty of times before; though today she seemed more fond of leaving him to his own self-styled torture under the attacking trees. While she stood back and watched and laughed. This time, though: Applejack seemed intent on preempting the apples, somehow. Nearly the instant he was sure the buck made impact: Applejack was already moving; pigtails rising up off the tight cords of her neck as she twirled her back half out of the air. She stepped back; the motion leaving her standing slightly flush, breathing a little heavier, and staring directly up at the tree. Her hooves didn't stay idle: carrying her energetically around the tree in two quick passes, her head tilting and turning and focusing; and he caught the blurry picture of a hard-edged squint on her face. Just staring and pacing in what little time she had left. Correction: the no time she had left. One daring little fruit paving the way ahead of its many twins; emboldening the entire crop until a dozen or more were falling in a scattering shower of fibrous payloads. The sun-sparkling red apples were a catch to the eye as they seemed to float towards the ground; and his teeth ground harshly into his lip from the anticipation. There was no time, she wasn't going to make it. Applejack moved. Like a greased springboard: she leapt into the air. The color orange was a blur to his focused eyes as Applejack seemed to stretch out through the open space before- in a show of the most insane thing he'd ever seen her do- curling nose over tail into a tensing, spinning ball mid-air; while the bucket on her back continued to fly on in a straight line without her. His jaw dropped open in further disbelieving astonishment as- like time itself was slowing for her- one orange hoof crept out of her tightly curled spin to impact against the bottom of the bucket, sending it even higher. It flew up, then spun down in an arc after her; three grouped apples inside and securely rolling against the weighty motion of it. Like a beautiful orange meteor: Applejack landed to a crashing crouch on all fours, and pushed herself up to a proud stand. The sun shone through the dappling leaves like a fabricated backdrop, making her twin pigtails shine like gold and shading Her face as it stretched in a quiet, triumphant smile. He hadn't imagined or written it: her cheeks were flush. Though her nostrils flared wide from the exertion, her chest rose and fell steadily in quick, strong motions. Tired, but not exhausted, and still undeniably ready. Her shimmering emerald eyes were still alert, focused into the bigger picture, and stoic in their uneasy jittering. Her muscles were still tense, still tight and flexing as they shone with sweat in the beating sun; waiting for the next act as the bucket fell in a curl through the air towards her. He was on the edge of his seated butt, barely able to breathe through the excited spectacle taking place in front of him. Applejack was fit, sure: but he'd never known she was so purely athletic! It was like he was watching his own personal gymnastics routine, for just the low price of his already low dignity. He'd gladly pay that and any actually worthwhile sum to see her move like that again. What was next? Would she kick the bucket into the air again as it landed, to spectacularly catch more apples as they fell so slowly towards the cold, hard ground? Or- Or would she make a mad dash to catch each one in counted sequence, as she'd memorized from her careful inspection? Could she- Would she- What would- How would- The bucket landed with a hard thunk directly onto Applejack's once-proud head, and the apples so emphatically caught tumbled gracelessly out around her face. The cacophony of falling fruit hitting the ground that followed was deafening to the ear, as an ecstatic smile stayed naively frozen on his face. The scene seemed to... stick for a... long moment, as both actors failed to react. He, still staring straight forward and smiling like he'd just won the lottery; and she, standing exactly unchanged from her previously triumphant stance. Slowly, like a receding tide: his smile slipped down, one side at a time. His tense and bunched shoulders followed not long after, to match the small, creased frown he now wore instead. The tentative silence that... he was pretty content to just let sit was rather unfortunately broken by a quiet rattling as Buckethead nodded her bucket-clad head. "Eyup, ah reckon I had no idea what came next," the bucketed voice said, the noise floating muffledly under and out of the wooded prison. He pursed his lips and nodded along with Buckethead, and leaned back as he touched the tips of his hooves together. He thought for a moment, tapping and touching his naturally hard tappers together; pondering as many things as there were apples strewn on the ground. He opened his mouth once, then closed it. He tried again a moment later, to similar effect. "Yeah," was all he managed to say after a few more false starts. He sniffed, and pressed his mouth into a firm line as he stared up at the pretty blue sky, and anywhere else that wasn't Bucketjack. The birds chirped and sang, the beetles clicked and buzzed, and somewhere, certainly: The Holy Princess sneezed as two different ponies gave fervent prayers for the very same thing. "Well, you get to work pickin' up all these apples," said Applebucketjack, still standing stock-still with her signature bucket on her head. She directed her hoof in an especially random direction. 'Ah'm gonna go find Big Mac, an' work out th' harvest numbers." He nodded, and though she couldn't see it: the bucket pony seemed to get the silent idea. Like a stoic knight, she turned and woodenly walked in what he estimated as the straightest direction directly away from him. Not at all where she'd previously pointed a few seconds ago. All without taking the bucket off her head. He stayed sitting for a long moment, still staring at the peaceful blue sky above him; before, with a self serving groan of effort, he stood up onto his hooves. Walking around and levitating single apples into the big bucket in the cart was even easier than he'd thought, and it didn't take long before sixteen slightly bruised apples were well and accounted for. He was content with the work, even as he turned and left the cart holding the large, half-full bucket sitting next to its completely empty twin behind. He was still content, even as he took what was probably fifteen minutes but felt like thirty to find a break in the treeline, and the path back towards the front of the farm. He was content, even as he trotted his way home for an afternoon of sitting in his front yard and staring at the sky. Thinking as little as possible about the two hours he'd spent at the farm.