“’Scuse me, out of the way!”
Barreling out of the packed audience of fellow humans and a few choice ponies is Scootaloo on her wheeling-dealing scooter, ignoring the calls for ticket-holders to have a second meet-and-greet with the Wonderbolts themselves—goodbye Rainbow Dash from the signing stall in only five seconds.
Swerving around lamp posts and brushing by several breezies she never sees, she’s the cause of a few yelps and some videos already shoveled into the social media pipeline. Her vision hones in on the looming fountain.
“Sweetie Belle!”
Away from the two Rarities, pony and human, Sweetie jumps up, already packing her phone into her handbag. “Yeah, I got your message! Sorry, sis’es, but Apple Bloom needs our help!”
“Well, I sure do hope she’ll be alright!” Rarity says—her actual sister, that is. “If you want, I could rent in a limo for the day, get all the apples in the back while you have a lovely massage!”
“No, that’s alright! We can handle it on our own! Great minds think alike, right?”
Pony Rarity can only haw at that. “Darling, I don’t think that’s how the expression is used.”
But they’re out of earshot, Sweetie already screeching with Scootaloo on her mad barreling past a young yak and her bowl of spilled ramen.
“So how exactly are we going to fix a truck?”
The scooter’s roller skates screech hard, right before the entrance gate and a moving line of not trucks but rustic wooden wagons carrying massive speakers and concert lights. The Earth ponies—bodies muscle-weathered, sweat as numerous as the stars—pull their wheeled cargo, giving the human interlopers a pensive look before trudging on. Their vehicles are imprinted with music notes and, rarely, the stenciled words Property of Rara accompanying a lone microphone and her signature grand piano.
“Yeah, good question, Sweets.”
“Wait, what?! Scootaloo, your dad’s a car mechanic—“
“Sometimes he’s a car mechanic, but he’s still a zoologist.”
“But we built all those scooters with your help!”
“Scooters don’t have engines.”
Sweetie almost raises her finger to object. “Fair point.”
The scooter remains idle, their path out blocked by yet more wagons, this next batch carrying skyscraper-worthy spotlights and smoke machines powerful enough to fog a home and kill its pests, entouraged by some punk artist’s mohawked security detail, his tattoos lifted straight from a Daring Do set piece.
“Wait a minute. Is that…?”
Sweetie’s eyes follow Scootaloo’s pointed finger, and just coming into view, from behind a couple tents, is a burly stallion hulking red, sporting a huge shiny apple clear as day for a cutie mark, pulling a huge back-up grand piano on wheels just for Coloratura. Though an alien, the scruffy mane and his sparkling green eyes are too familiar to dismiss.
“Big Mac?!”
Their own familiar in-sync voices slow him down, the piano almost bumping into his flanks. Fortunately, he’s the last one in the line; no one’s there to complain about getting a move on.
“Oh, uh… hi! You’re Big Mac, right?” And Scootaloo steps out of the scooter, pulling it by her side, strong enough to do it with Sweetie riding along. “I’m Scootaloo and this is Sweetie Belle, but you know that, don’t you? ‘Cause we look very familiar, huh?”
The giant’s eyes dart between the both of them. “Eeyup.”
Sweetie lets a little Eee! out of her system before blurting out, “That’s great! Is Applejack here? Even Apple Bloom?”
And Big Mac scratches his head; a gulp may’ve been missed by the Club. “Applejack’s with Rara for a bit. Apple Bloom’s at home, somethin’ about keepin’ the CMC from causin’ trouble in your world.”
Sweat beads form and fall down Sweetie’s chin. “Eh-heh… our reputation precedes us?”
Scootaloo feels for the phone in her pocket. “Yeah… we’re lookin’ for Apple Bloom! She’s in trouble!”
His brows rise; irises shrink nigh undetected. “She needs my help?”
“Yes! With cars… like, you know what a car is, right?”
“They’re not dumb, Scoots,” Sweetie side-whispers.
Scoots hand-waves her away, all focused on the heavy draft worker before her. “Look, they’re selling apples at the stall, but they ran out, so she needs to get back home ASAP! It’ll be cool for you to meet her, we promise!”
He hmm’s and scratches his beardless chin. The piano still hangs connected to his barrel.
“Don’t worry, we can get the piano going in no time!” Scootaloo says, and out of the scooter she hops, and she ties herself to the piano, yanking Big Mac’s yoke out, now dangling too loose around her neck.
“Scootaloo, what are yer’—?”
“No time to explain, Big Mac! Sweetie, go get him to Apple Bloom, fast!”
“Scoots, you’re crazy!”
“I also wanna meet Countess Coloratura!” are her last words as the wheels pull her away, never minding the piano rumbling with its own cacophonic tunes shivering upon concrete paths.
Still just seen on MyStable, Apple Bloom sighs.
Granny has been on a tirade about “kids these days” again, despite the guard trapped within her earshot being in his mid-twenties. Not that he’s entirely without blame: as much as he tries to calm the irate old lady down, he’s limited to a list of towing services in the area, only to be hit back with, “Sonny, in my day, we didn’t have tow trucks! My family had to push our school bus up the hill right there!”
Not much success there. Some tow trucks are already busy on the other side of the city with a kirin suddenly exploding at the thought of not being a car’s combustible fuel. Fortunately, no one seemed to be hurt and the worst any car’s gotten was said to be dents and traded paint, but that left them the only other option, pushing the car all the way back home with a few guards, Granny, and herself.
“We came here as fast as possible!”
The screeching of too-high boots follows those words fast, and here comes Sweetie Belle sliding to a stop, almost crashing into the truck’s hood, but a near-injured Sweetie doesn’t take her attention.
“Wh-what?!” It’s all Apple Bloom can exclaim at the big workhorse, with brotherly mane and all, dragged along by the mini-diva. “B-Big Mac… h-how? Wh-why?”
Big Mac scratches his mane, hoof parting scruffy strands. “I’d… ask yer’ friends the same thing.”
Apple Bloom turns to the helmeted Belle, shaking her off of her dizzy daze from the truck’s hood and the guards’ worried looks. “Sweetie Belle, what’s wrong with you?! Our truck’s broken, and the first thing ya’ thought of was findin’ my brother…sorta’ my brother and bringin’ him here?!”
“And ropes!”
In comes almost-crashing Scootaloo on her scooter, hurtling a handful of ropes out of her neck, a blushing cheek smudged by a crimson horseshoe-print. “I can’t believe it! Today’s my lucky day! Not only am I still gonna meet pony Rainbow Dash, I also got to meet Countess Coloratura! As a pony! And she gave me fist-ies… er, hoofsies!”
Everyone in attendance, from Apple Bloom through Sweetie Belle and Big Mac to even a couple of the security guards themselves, stare at the cute little abomination on the scooter, hobbled over by tied-up ropes and an oversized yoke.
“Oh… uh, yeah… Apple Bloom, meet Big Mac; Big Mac, meet Apple Bloom… and Apple Bloom needs apples from the farm fast, and you can pull it along… oh, and the tires aren’t blown out! Phew!” She holds on to the harness slung now on her shoulder, shaft bow and all, with a guard taking off the yoke from her neck. “Uh… how does this work, exactly? I think we can attach it to the bumper…”
Scoots and Sweetie run over to the truck, shooing Granny and the guard away to try to fit the harness in. Apple Bloom and Big Mac are left on the wayside, human and pony, to watch some CMC spectacle unfold.
“Well… didn’t expect to see ya’ again so fast,” Apple Bloom says with another scratch of the head, embarrassment overflowing from her rosy cheeks.
Big Mac can only scratch his chin. “Eeyup.”
“Heh… still a man of… er, a horse of few words, huh?”
Scootaloo and Sweetie tap on calculator apps for how many apples they’d transport in such a short amount of time, interrogating Granny for the number of bushels on hand as well as how many trees they would pick from.
“Hey you, horse!”
Big Mac stands at attention for the old lady in martial stride. “Yes, Granny?”
She winces at the voice, eying his apple cutie mark. “Why, ya’ really sound like Big Mac, huh? Ya’ got the build for it too. But are ya really jus’ gonna pull our truck along, son?”
Young hands and sturdy hooves tie ropes to his yoke, stringing him to the jalopy’s front bumper. Without a bead of sweat or a whining groan, he takes a step forward. To all observers, from security to insecure teens across the street, the tires smoothly roll without a hitch.
And Big Mac looks back at his other-worldly Granny. “Eeyup.”