//------------------------------//
// Finding Of Fact 
// Story: Split Seed 
// by Estee 
//------------------------------//

The Acres were warming quickly, because that was what the Weather Bureau had dictated for every settled zone in the nation:  unseasonable warmth, so travelers could visit their loved ones in some degree of physical comfort.  If not for a near-forest of mostly-barren trees and a few scant blooms which would never find their chance to mature, it might have been possible to feel as if it was the first moon of autumn, instead of the last.  True warmth in the recent past, instead of having near-endless cold lurking ahead.

Or perhaps 'unseasonable' was the wrong term:  after all, the Bureau scheduled the same thing for every Homecoming, and the false holiday never shifted its temporal position within the season.  It always occupied the exact same day on the calendar:  a treacherous emotional ditch which Apple Bloom had memorized years ago, should have known to step around -- and every dinner would still find a foreleg dropping into the virtual pit, rebounding her chin off cold, silent earth.  An impact which was strong enough to draw tears, and that was part of why she spent so much time trying to force them back.

She blamed the good plates.  Something which should have remained locked away forever, because they were so clearly good for nothing at all.  

Nothing real...

...it was always warm on Homecoming.  But that was a quality which never got any further than the surface, content to rest upon fur and skin.  To Apple Bloom, it felt as if most of what the warmth did was force the true chill deep inside, compressing it into a small, tight package of crystalline ice.  The final result would be driven between her ribs, displacing the heart and pumping pure cold through arteries and veins --

-- it had taken several years for the filly to recognize that Homecoming rendered her somewhat morbid:  a mood which took a few days to fully settle in, required an additional number before any portion truly lifted and somehow, none of it was ever noticed by her siblings.  She blamed the myriad of collected lies which made up the holiday and told herself that the only requirement for everything to change was for any of them to become truths.  Because Honesty was a virtue, and a virtue should care.

Honesty was a virtue.  But it wasn't Kindness.  And so it allowed the lies to go on.

Warmth shining upon her fur, ice radiating from her heart.  It was a good way to describe Homecoming as a whole.  And since the conditions were already present, they could also be used to summarize the experience of trying to take Babs on a tour of the Acres.  Because as descriptions went, 'uncomfortable' technically got the basics of the chore done -- but it also missed a few spots, skipped out on the rough parts, and needed a lot more work experience before it would be ready to take on a hard job.

She was trotting with her cousin, and that was being done at fairly close proximity.  (Scootaloo kept getting ahead.  Or dropping behind.  Or, for periods of variable duration, going above.)  There were any number of bad memories in play, and some were a little too recent -- but Apple Bloom didn't currently view Babs as a physical threat.  At least, not for herself.  

Keeping company with family.  But there wasn't a lot of talking going on, because she had no idea what there was to talk about.

Then again, how much do Ah really want somepony who goes an' suggests suicide t' talk at all?

(Diamond hadn't come up yet, perhaps because there was some way in which that wasn't the worst possible topic.)  

The youngest Malus didn't know what she would have done if her cousin had said those words to her.  (Babs had never gone that far during her bullying of the Crusaders.  It felt like an exceptionally scant comfort.)  And when she attempted to imagine it, only to feel her head trying to lower for the charge...

Jus' take her 'round the Acres.  Sooner started --

-- maybe it would help them find something to talk about.  Apple Bloom was hoping for that.  A cue to discuss something good, because you were supposed to love your family and she wanted to be offered a reason for loving Babs.  

We could compare farms.

...could they?

Ah don't even know what her parents do for a living, do Ah?  There's gotta be farmland around Manehattan:  most of the settled zones get that outer ring if'fin there's any room t' set it up.  But it ain't like every Apple is a farmer.  An' it sounds like Babs lives in the city part.  

Maybe that's part of it.  Maybe cities make you mean.

They passed the grain silo.  There was an extended pause while Scootaloo galloped up the ramp, picking up both speed and rapidly-accruing sweat on her way to the launch.  Babs was suitably impressed.  

And then they were at the barn.





The Manehattan filly directed a squint at the exterior of the painted walls, forcing inquiry and suspicion to fuse under the pressure of narrowed eyelids.  

"What happened to that barn we raised at the reunion?" was a fairly natural question.  "I remember the color."  Babs snorted.  "Because I'd never painted anything that big before, and some of it got into my fur.  I didn't get all the paint out until just before the train pulled into Bellemont."

"Bel --" Apple Bloom started, and then stopped because the next syllable would have hurt too much.

"Manehattan's train station.  Anyway, that ain't the same color.  This has a lot more green in it.  And I think those doors are different.  More solid.  Thicker.  So this isn't the same barn.  What happened to the last one?"

The brief exchange of glances which passed between Apple Bloom and Scootaloo lasted just long enough to silently summarize the experience of living in a settled zone which hosted the Bearers, was in direct proximity to the Everfree, had to deal with the local weather coordinator's rather flexible definition of 'landing zone', and also happened to be the place which occasionally saw Discord drop by.  For fun.

The vocal end of that emerged from Apple Bloom's mouth as "We go through a lot of barns.  Anyway, mah workshop is in here.  Ain't much yet, honestly.  Ah still don't feel like Ah have all the parts or tools Ah need t' get the best stuff goin'."

Which was partially a matter of finances.  Miss Ratchette was willing to let the filly borrow a few things, and whatever was beyond use could be tinkered with endlessly -- but most of that just wound up teaching Apple Bloom why those parts were beyond use.  The vast majority of equipment had to be purchased, and...  there were still a lot of Crusade damages to pay off.

"It's still a workshop," Babs rather philosophically decided.  "So show me what you've got right now, and then maybe we can talk about what you want to get next.  Everypony's gotta start somewhere, right?"  

"Right," felt normal enough on her tongue, although the followup "Ah guess," was oddly bitter.  "Let me jus' get the doors open..."



  

It really wasn't much.  The majority came from simply having a corner to herself, plus some space around it because she had to haul quite a few pieces in and she had to unhitch somewhere.  Multiple tools rested on wall-mounted hooks, with everything placed low enough for her mouth to reach it.  The display ended next to a small, frequently-refreshed tank of water, because when you had to operate the majority of pieces by mouth, it was usually a good idea to clean them off first.  Apple Bloom had a supply of flexible jaw grip pads, but they tended to wear down with frequent use.

She had a repurposed, heavily-battered, grease-stained armoire.  The drawers held gears, screws, bits of metal which weren't doing anything interesting yet but you never knew, and an assortment of springs which usually didn't try to fly apart when she wound them up.  The wind-up treadmill was in a separate corner because 'usually' wasn't 'always' and when something did explode, it was best for the fragments not to reach whatever hadn't.  

Pieces of half-disassembled clockwork were scattered about the area.  Some machines responded to a neglect in basic maintenance through reminding their owners of exactly why such light duties had been needed:  the ponies who didn't take the results to Miss Ratchette usually wound up dragging the debris to the front of their fences and leaving it there, generally while muttering about how they were going back to devices because at least those explosions were more colorful.  Applejack and Mac had taken to hauling such discoveries home, and the youngest Malus frequently found herself able to prove exactly what had gone wrong.  The most certain means of doing so was through making it go wrong again, only faster.  Miss Ratchette called that a 'stress test':  the rest of the family didn't bother to call it anything in particular until they were certain everypony could still hear.

There was a nailed-up bookshelf.  Most of its guests were temporary:  whatever Apple Bloom had been most recently able to borrow from the library.  But there were a few precious tomes which belonged to her alone -- along with a selection of parts catalogs.  The majority of that last category had come from Mazein, and the workshop's owner currently possessed the same capacity for reading Minotaurus as she did for teleportation.  But the pictures were nice to look at, there was the chance to theoretically possess a little more money someday and if that failed, some of the images could be potentially reversed-engineered into reality by anypony in possession of time, mark-evidenced talent, and a much better workshop.  

Multiple windows and isolated devices combined their efforts to make sure the area was exceptionally well-lit:  after all, it was vital for Apple Bloom to see what she might be doing wrong.  A powerful (and shatterproof) magnifying glass further assisted with that goal, along with helping her find some of the smaller faults and, after something hadn't quite worked out, just where the tiniest gears had landed.  And as a final sign of sibling consideration, the entire barn had been designed so that the majority of destructive causes would have the walls fall away from the workshop section.  The hope for the minority was that inwards-collapsing segments would balance their impacts against each other and wind up as a sort of wooden tent.

It was, in all ways, an assembly of love and in what might have been the surest sign that she truly was on track for her mark, Apple Bloom was the only pony in the world who understood how the parts arrangement system worked.

Babs, whose expression seemed oddly thoughtful, waited for Apple Bloom to stop jabbing a yellow forehoof in the general direction of whatever was about to be explained next.  And when the little half-babbling verbal tour finally wrapped up, simply and silently regarded the whole of it for nearly a minute, while the other two fillies waited for anything to be said at all.

Apple Bloom shuffled all four legs.  Considered that four was really too many to shuffle, then picked up on a rather soft rustling, glanced to her left, saw how Scootaloo's wings were just about vibrating, and decided she'd personally gotten off easy.

Finally, Babs nodded to herself.

"It looks good," the heavyset filly decided.  "Most of what's separating you from the pros is that you don't have enough stuff yet."  She shrugged.  "Well, ya know.  You work in one of those shops.  If you can take a deep breath without your ribs poking into something...  But I've been in enough of the real things that I can sort of see what's missing."  And shrugged.  "You'll get there.  It's time and stuff.  And knowing that you need to build the right thing."

Scootaloo was utterly silent.  Apple Bloom, who had no concept of how to manage a sudden upwelling of inner pride, barely managed a nod.

Babs's regard moved to a worn adjustable wrench.

Casually, "I bet that could really sabotage a float."

Flank check.
Nothin'.
...seriously:  how is that not a mark talent?

"Ain't exactly gonna try," was all the youngest Malus wanted to say.  "So you've been in workshops?"

"Yeah," Babs distractedly replied:  she was now examining one of the somewhat less exploded gears.  "It's the dobbins --" and snorted.  "Well, the stallion.  She's got her own race to run."

"The --" Scootaloo tried, and did so before Apple Bloom could truly reconcile 'stallion'.

"It's Manehattan."  This snort was louder.  "Everypony's gotta be in a race, ya know?  Trying to keep up, or get ahead.  With whatever they think is worth galloping for, against whoever they're competing with.  So for one of them, that's the little automatons.  But it's not even the practical stuff, Appy.  You know, like having a cabbage corer which would sort of do the coring itself, so you don't have to always worry about whether you've got your hoof lined up on the right angle?  He likes things that draw pictures.  The same picture every time, unless you swap the plates.  And then there's this little walking winder..."

Apple Bloom blinked.  "A what?"

"You wind it up," Babs announced, and an extended lower lip blew a puff of frustrated air towards the restyled mane.  "Then it kind of teeters forward and if you've got it lined up just right, it'll wind something else up.  If the aim's off, it drills a nice little hole in the wall.  We've got a lot of holes.  And he could have just wound the second thing himself, but having a walker is how you keep up.  Show off."

The words were getting faster.

"He'll get a little machine for anything, as long as it's something he can't do himself," the visitor declared.  "Or won't.  But only if he thinks it's not worth doing.  He doesn't think much of art, so a machine can draw it.  Winding is too much work, so maybe he'll find something that winds for him.  Tell ya what, Appy:  if you ever build something that'll tuck a bed, I can point you straight at your first buyer.  Doesn't even have to open the door and come in to do it.  Just sits in the room and waits, because opening that door just ain't worth --"

And then she stopped.  Took a single slow breath, one where each rib seemed to shift in turn.  The short-cut tail swayed, then swished.

"Nothing wrong with machines," Babs decided.  "Or devices.  But some ponies ain't fit to own either.  Especially when owning is all of it."  One more inhale.  "So how's the clubhouse looking?"



 

They didn't go inside.  That was one of the advantages to the old design:  you didn't have to go inside.  A vaguely interested observer could just observe from the ground or, as the fillies ultimately wound up doing, peer through the windows while standing on the encircling porch.  There was also the option to do the same thing from the ramp.

We replaced that ramp.  

...mostly Ah replaced it.  Started on that two days after Babs left for the first time.  Because she'd wrecked the original, and Ah didn't want that t' happen again.  Looked at where she'd hit the original, an' then Ah had t' figure out how t' stop any repeat.  Because Babs did it once, an' it ain't like Diamond's weak.  Since Diamond knew where the clubhouse was...

Two days after she left.  That's when Ah started on it.  

Took four more t' get something which worked.

An' she ain't said a word 'bout her bein' the one who brought the first one down.

They stared through the windows, and none of them went inside.  The visitor lacked a key (because Apple Bloom had also wound up installing a lock), and for the other two...  the memories had overfilled every cubic hoofwidth of the space.  The past exerted pressure, and for Apple Bloom...

The walls should have been bowing outwards.  And if they opened the door, every regret would come rushing forth.

"It's dusty in there," Babs observed.

"Well, you know," Scootaloo bitterly stated.  "It's not like we use it much any more."

It was possible that this had been ignored:  the heavier filly simply reared up a little and pressed her snout against the glass.  "I don't see the carpet."

"The thinkin'-spot scrap?" Apple Bloom asked.

"Yeah."

"We retired that."

"Why?"

Because it got t' the point where we needed t' blame somethin' an' since that was never gonna be us, the carpet was jus' convenient.

"Stopped workin'," the youngest Malus quietly offered.  "Big-time."

The visitor dropped back down without changing her facing, allowed planted forelegs to give the shrug a little force.   "I guess.  I just don't like seeing it this way.  Since it's where I got sworn in and everything."

"Maybe we need your carpet scrap," Scootaloo muttered.  "Since ours stopped working, and your crew's got two marks."

"We don't have one."  Words which had been directed at the glass.  "Well, not a dedicated one, anyway."

Which, to Apple Bloom, brought up a safe-seeming question.  "So where do y'all meet up?"

"We rotate," Babs told the window:  she appeared to be inspecting her manestyle within the reflection, and the next puff of air adjusted a few hairs.  "That's another thing about Manehattan.  You can't always get space, or use the same one too much."

"What about your house?" Scootaloo asked.

Gamboge shoulders shrugged again.  "Not for a while," Babs admitted.  "We used to take Sunflower's room."

"...who?" the pegasus asked.

"My big sis."

Ain't mah fault.

Apples all over the continent.  Even Applejack needs t' follow a chart in order t' track 'em all.  If'fin they don't come t' the reunion or keep in touch, y'lose track.  Ah barely knew we had that many ponies out in Manehattan until Ah got told Babs was on the way.  The Oranges, an' -- that was it.  For as much as they might be Apples at all, given how little we ever see 'em.  And AJ barely talks 'bout that part of her life.  Jus' the once, like it's somethin' she wants t' forget an' the comin' home was the whole of it.  The mark.

Ah couldn't pick Babs's parents out of a picture.  Never seen a photograph of her sister, an' nopony's even brought up the name before this.

It ain't mah fault, not knowin'.  

It ain't.

"Ah kind of wanted t' see her at the reunion," was, after some intensive mental sorting, the whole of what reached the world.  "Ah mean, you've met mah big sister.  Seemed only fair."

This snort came across as somewhat bemused.  "Good luck with that, Appy.  She's...  well..." Visible thought was reflected in the impromptu mirror, bounced back into itself and searched for words among the impact fragments.  "I thought I saw the Beller with her sister that one time.  The white unicorn with the really flouncy mane and tail."  The tail swished again.  "Using Curlatura.  I'd know that shampoo anywhere...  Anyway, they're what, at least ten years apart?  And that's how it is with Sunflower.  She's a lot older than me.  Old enough that she doesn't have to live at home any more.  Which means the dobbins can't tell her what to do."  

Even in the heat of the day, the burst of exhaled air fogged the glass.

"Not that they don't try," Babs announced.  "That's why they keep her room ready.  Like she's gonna come back after everything fails.  Like she'll just realize she made a mistake and want to start over.  But she works.  Enough that I don't get to see her much, or talk, or...  well, she can't step in when she ain't there, right?  Same for school as home.  She's got a mark and a job and a birthday which says she doesn't have to do what they tell her.  She's...  on her own."

"So durin' the reunion?" Apple Bloom checked.

"They asked her to go with me," her cousin informed the dust particles which floated through the clubhouse, dancing under Sun.  "But she had work.  It's a fair excuse.  Better than the one they had for not going at all.  For never going."

Mac's leaving soon.
Holidays and semester breaks.  That's when Ah'll see mah brother.
Maybe not even then.

And before the thought could drive the chill ever-deeper, Babs said "But it means her room's available for meetings, ya know?  So we've used it a few times.  Just not every time.  My house isn't always good."

One last shrug.

"Sunflower ain't home.  Ever.  But sometimes the dobbins are."  She turned away from the glass, and her now-unseen reflection duplicated the final shrug.  "So where next?  Just wanna make sure it isn't someplace we nearly got to on the race course.  Which means Canterlot's probably out."





Trees.  You could always show off trees, especially when you had all of the cultivars memorized and didn't need a single bloom as an indication of what you were facing.  The Acres were starting on Eastern Red Giants now, but...  Babs wasn't all that impressed by saplings.  A quick talk about the collective family effort required to bring the seeds that far before winter did get her attention, but it wasn't exactly the kind of topic which could last for very long.

There were hills.  Scootaloo launched off most of them.  Babs continued to be suitably impressed.  She even managed to maintain most of it after four very bony knees came down in the center of her back.  And Apple Bloom had panicked, started to move forward, wondering if she could somehow block a kick from her much stronger cousin -- but Babs had merely laughed, and said that too many ponies in Manehattan got used to moving around with their heads down.  Apparently eye contact wasn't always a good thing.

A patch of layer-disrupted earth was carefully avoided.

Little trails.  Swimming holes which were moons away from seeing use:  the air was warm enough, the water wasn't.  A good long tour, because it put off the chores for a little while.  It also postponed the moment when Apple Bloom had to trot back into the farmhouse and all of its Homecoming scents:  a place where individual wafts could be tantalizing, but all of it put together did little more than trigger a sort of low-level nausea:  something which grounded itself in skin as much as stomach.  And it was always just her...

They trotted together.  There arguably wasn't all that much talking, because the Ponyville filly barely knew her cousin and couldn't always think of things to talk about.  

But Diamond was never mentioned.  Scootaloo hadn't been told about any of it:  Apple Bloom simply hadn't found the chance.  

And there were times when Babs laughed and joked and felt very much like somepony who could be loved.  But the youngest Malus had to consider all of her cousin's words.

Some of the most important ones almost became lost.





The farmhouse was coming into sight, and the wind had done Apple Bloom the courtesy of keeping the scents away for a little while longer.  She didn't feel all that hungry anyway, even after the trot.  It had been hours since she'd last eaten, but...  her stomach didn't really feel as if it was in the mood to uptake all that much.

She still felt tired.  Her thoughts seemed to be forcing themselves through fog.  She needed to sleep...

There were hoofsteps audibly coming down the main approach path.  Impacts which had strength behind them, but -- the pace, as with the power, was being constantly moderated.  A sound which had become familiar and, on this day, one which was expected.  Factors which combined to keep her from truly thinking about it at all.  

Scootaloo's ears perked.  She smiled.  

The visitor, unattuned to comings and goings around the Acres, didn't really notice.  

"Gonna need a bathroom when we get in there," Babs casually announced.  "And the mirror.  Mostly the mirror.  You two might want to get ahead and stake a claim on the other one.  It's gonna take some time --"

A white pegasus stallion trotted around the bend in the path.

You got used to him after a while.  Being a Ponyville native meant getting used to a lot of things, and the seasonal evacuation drills could start to feel like one of the lesser aspects of settled zone life.  When it came to first-time encounters with this stallion, everypony looked.  A few managed to hold off the full stare until they were in a place of relative concealment, because he was a decidedly large specimen (shorter than Mac, but bulkier) and for those who were truly on their first encounter, there would be some concerns about what might happen if the red eyes looked back.  

But if you spent some time in his presence -- something which wasn't always easy, as the stallion was still getting used to having ponies wanting to be near him -- then it all became familiar.  The rough-hewn features, bulging musculature, brush-cut mane...  even the wings would start to feel normal.  Apple Bloom's only remaining point of mental discontinuity was his voice:  appropriately deep, but...  too soft.  He was good at proclaiming one word:  making all of the others fully audible often felt like a work in progress.

He didn't spot the fillies.  Most of his focus was directed at the door:  the remainder was being used for the hoofsteps required to reach it.  It had been a few moons and based on a few things which Applejack didn't know she'd overheard, the youngest Malus suspected the stallion still had to tell himself that he had the right to approach at all.  

He reached the goal.  Carefully knocked.  The door opened once again for him, and he went inside.

The snicker didn't erupt until it had fully closed again.

"I thought you went into town to pick up everything yesterday!" Babs snorted her laughter, and some of the less-directed gusts of mirth wound up giving the upcoming mirror time a little more to do.  "But I guess it was too much to ask, getting you to haul all of that back, right?"

Scootaloo's voice went tight at the same moment as the suddenly-flared wings:  the words were far too steady, but the extended limbs vibrated.  "Haul all of --"

"Gotta take delivery on that much weight!" Babs decided.  "So is that the appetizer or a main course?  Sure isn't dessert.  Ya don't want to finish a meal by serving up that much ugly!"

There were two sounds, and the first was almost buried within the second.  Everypony heard Scootaloo take a single hard hoofstep towards the Manhattanite.  The static which discharged from feathers, however, barely made any noise at all.  Just a soft crackle, accompanied by the sudden bleachlike stink of ozone.

"Take.  That.  Back."

Later, Apple Bloom would consider Babs's first reaction to have been exceptionally intelligent.  She backed up.  Just a single hoofstep, but -- she backed up.

The words, which served as a second reaction, forfeited a certain amount of sapience.

"Why?"  The gamboge head tilted slightly to the right.  "I mean, if too many muscles are your type, I guess that's fine.  Better than that one of my crew who thinks she's dating did.  But we've still really gotta talk about being attracted to ugly and stupid --"

It took two seconds before Apple Bloom realized that she'd been the next to move, and most of that came from the sudden jump of Babs's startled expression within her vision.

"Y'wanna go talk t' Applejack 'bout types?" the youngest Malus challenged.  "T' her face, for preference.  Since she's the one who's datin' him!"

"Dating --" drifted into the world on a twisting current of disbelief.

"Dating my mentor," Scootaloo hissed, and blue-white sparks arced between pinions.  "My flight instructor, the only pony who was willing to show me any techniques at all!  Maybe Rainbow would have, but she doesn't have enough time and she won't slow down enough to teach --"

Babs blinked.

"He can fly?"

Apple Bloom's left foreleg went sideways, blocked, just barely making any contact at all as shifting wings began to part Scootaloo from ground  --

"-- ow!"

Scootaloo's focus instantly changed.

"Apple Bloom?" the pegasus frantically checked as her hooves almost slammed down.  "What happened?  Why are you shaking your leg --"

Ah think we can take her.
Ah think she knows it.  The way her eyes keep movin', from one of us t' the other.  Not sure who to block first.  She's already lost an' she knows it.  We could take her.
An' Ah'm pretty sure that's the worst thing which could happen.
Ah've gotta calm Scootaloo down.  Fast.

"-- little bit of a shock," Apple Bloom pushed out from between gritted teeth.  "Like dragging mah hooves across a carpet in winter."  Only the carpet had been half the size of the West Fields.  "It'll pass.  Scootaloo, just 'bout anypony seein' him for the first time has trouble with the flight.  Y'know that.  It's a natural question.  Give her that much.  And even AJ says he ain't a looker.  Looks aren't why they're datin'.  Babs didn't know.  'bout the mentor stuff, 'bout any of it.  She don't live here!"  A little more slowly, "So jus' tell her.  Slow.  Lots of ponies react funny, 'cause they don't know him.  An' the first way she's gonna meet Snowflake is through you.  Jus'...  talk."

Scootaloo took a very slow breath.  

"Talk," the pegasus said.  "We can do that."

Wing joints began to refold.  One degree at a time.

"...Snowflake?" Babs finally asked, and glanced towards Apple Bloom.  "Your sister is dating...?"

Apple Bloom sighed, because it was arguably another natural question.  And then they talked.





It had taken a few minutes and, for purposes of sanity, some of the finer details had been left out.  Babs had wound up staring at the ground through most of it.

"It wasn't anything personal," the visitor finally said.  "I didn't know he was your teacher.  And I guess...  if Applejack wants him, then there's something worth wanting, right?"

Both Ponyville fillies nodded.

Babs abruptly snickered.

"Unless she just wants --"

She said something.  Scootaloo's features twisted with confusion.  Apple Bloom, whose much-resented dreams had gone in a different direction, still experienced a moment when she had to decide exactly how innocent she wanted to be.

"Wouldn't know," the youngest Malus said.  "Don't care t' find out, neither.  He's good enough for her.  That's all Ah care 'bout."

An' your family ain't a major branch, are they?  Ain't exactly close by, neither.  So no scrolls from when Mac used Spike t' spread the word.  An' if y'all don't talk t' the others much...

"Okay," Babs eventually allowed.  "Just --" and her eyelids briefly sagged "-- don't tell him I said anything, okay?  I didn't know."

"...okay," Scootaloo finally offered, and the trio started to move forward again.  "Let's just get inside.  And then I can get him out here."  Her rib cage puffed out.  "He hasn't seen my last silo glide.  I've got distance."

"So his family ain't from around here?" Babs checked.

"Las Pegasus," Apple Bloom admitted.  "Long trip.  Applejack asked him to spend Homecoming with us."

Her cousin nodded, and then looked at Scootaloo.

"So this way, you're sort of spending it with him?"

"Spending it --" was as far as Scootaloo got.

"Since your parents ain't here," Babs casually observed.

How is that not a mark talent?!?  The worst words, at the worst time...!

The pegasus stopped moving.  Apple Bloom instinctively dropped back, came to a stop next to her half-frozen friend.

"I thought it was a sleepover," the Manehattanite shrugged.  "So I didn't say anything about it.  I just figured your dobbins were traveling for the holidays."  The next snort disrupted the rough majority of her mane.  "I mean, kids travel without adults, right?  So why not the other way around?  You stay with Appy, and that gets your friend and your mentor at the same table."  This time, her head tilted to the left.  "How long are they gonna be gone for?  You had a lot of winter clothes in the bedroom.  A moon?  Two?"

Silence, as an orange head dipped and sorrow-weakened wings sagged towards the ground.

"...Scoots?" Babs softly asked.  

"...I..."

Apple Bloom tried to press against the shivering flank.  The wing was getting in the way.

"I -- I ain't from here," Babs slowly said.  "And I ain't good with letters.  I don't know what happens here when I'm on the coast.  If --" and now the heavyset filly was beginning to shake "-- if they -- I didn't mean --"

"...it's...  it's not..."  Which was followed by a slow, shuddering breath.

"You don't have to," Apple Bloom quickly said.  "Not if y'don't --"

"-- it's not that."  Every syllable was bitter.  "Most of the town knows.  Babs might as well hear it too."





There were less details to leave out this time.  

Babs listened.  More than that:  she listened.  Apple Bloom had never seen her cousin so focused on the words of another.  Her ears were fully forward, and a certain gravity seemed to pull the world's attention with them.

She listened to everything.  She waited until Scootaloo was finished.  And only after the very last quiet words had made their way deep into attentive ears did Babs offer a comment of her own.  Something placid, almost passive.  Four utterly calm terms combined into a single observation.

"Maybe you're better off."

Purple eyes went wide, and the orange ones were right behind them.

"Better off?"

"How can y'say --"

The anger was surging again, to the point where Apple Bloom was both waiting on the ozone and wondering if she could find something non-conductive to block with.  And Babs -- shrugged.  

"Being on the Acres," her cousin calmly said.  "And having ponies know.  Because you can't fix a problem which nopony knows about.  Not one that big, not by yourself.  It ain't like you can go and search.  Not the whole world."

She's thought 'bout it.  Ah know she's --

"...yeah," Scootaloo said.  "Come on.  Let's just go ins --"

"-- what was it like?"

They were both staring at her.  Nothing in the green eyes seemed to notice.

"What," Scootaloo slowly asked, "was what like?"

"Living on your own, as a kid," Babs evenly clarified.  "All Sunflower can tell me about is the adult stuff.  Lots of adults live alone.  But --" and the grin was both sudden and sincere "-- how many kids, right?  And doing it in secret?  That's a Tartarus of a trick, Scoots!  Name any other filly in this town who could've gotten away with it for that long!  One colt!  One kid, any species!  I can't believe you kept everypony from catching on!"

The pegasus was beginning to smile.

"Well," Scootaloo tried, "when you put it that way..."

"It's kind of like surviving in a wild zone, ain't it?" Babs asked.  "Because a city is just a wild zone with different rules.  I don't know if I could ever do the plants-and-monsters one."  Another puff of air went through her mane.  "I'm a city filly.  I just know brick, stone, metal, and -- different monsters.  How did you keep ponies from figuring it out, Scoots?  Shopping for yourself, paying bills, lights on and off at different times, all of the excuses -- how does that work?  What were some of the tricks?  Because I've got the only filly on the continent who got past every adult, all of the dobbins, and there's got to be a hundred stories wrapped up in that, maybe a hundred every day!"  The grin was wide and fierce.  "Tell me how ya pulled it off!"

It was a question which perhaps only the chief of police had asked before.  Apple Bloom avoided the topic, because she had believed it would hurt her friend.  But as it turned out, the query meant a lot more when it was coming from another filly.  That turned it into a chance to brag.

The discussion kept them outside for quite some time.  Babs wanted details.