//------------------------------// // 1. Mr. Macintosh Goes To Stalliongrad // Story: Stalliongrad Nights // by TCSNxs //------------------------------// Stalliongrad Nights by: TCSNxs Chapter 1 Mr. Macintosh Goes To Stalliongrad Stalliongrad, since it's founding some 3000 years ago, has always held its own sense of magic and style apart from that of greater Equestria. It's been speculated and noted though a number of legends and tales that the city has always had a magic akin to the earth ponies that founded it. Indeed, I believe it a subject worthy of study should anypony take the time do so. ~ Excerpt from "The Chronicles of Starswirl the Bearded" Stalliongrad: Citadel of the Earth Ponies. As much as Cloudsdale was the home of the pegasi and Canterlot was the “City of Unicorns,” the city was a magnificent metaphor for the ponyfolk that created it. It was said to hold it’s own special magic, just as the earth ponies did. It wasn’t as flashy as that produced by the horn or audacious as those graced with wings, but a subtler, deeper kind. What the city lacked in the pomp and circumstance of the capital and the sheer cumulus spectacle of Cloudsdale’s rainbow factory high in the atmosphere, it made up for in sheer industry. Most of Equestria’s industrial goods were manufactured and machined within the sprawling complexes of the city. Beds, plows, carts, and nearly everything in between were made there. Even the famed tomes of the “Daring Do” series were printed and bound within the metropolis. The buildings were subdued in nature and color, as if screaming “utility” and reflecting its heritage. The urban canyons created by the multistory dwellings and factories weren't without some form of decoration though. Fluted doors and a grand sweeping facade marked the theater of the famous Stalliongrad Ballet Company. Small shops and open carts dotted the landscape. Art shows and nightclubs. All were part of it. Life thrived within those bastions built upon the backs of Earth Ponies past. The perpetual dark smog one would expect was kept in check by the eternal war the Weather Teams waged. Only by those seemingly eternal efforts was Celestia’s Grace allowed to shine upon the inhabitants of the town. The effort was monumental one though. Even one as fast as the famed Element of Loyalty wouldn’t be allowed a moment’s rest in that war. Such a thought caused Big Macintosh to chuckle. The hulking red frame of the gentle giant betrayed it as the thought ran through his mind. He liked the prismatic colored pegasus well enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t entertain tormenting the very self-assured pegasus once in awhile. The massive member of the Apple family checked his saddle bags before leaving the train station. The sun was high overhead and the winter day was in full swing as he trotted on in his own methodical way. Embracing the sights and sounds of the city, he appreciated it on a deep level. Though his heart belonged the farm he faithfully worked, there was a certain part of this place that appealed to him. Industriousness. Simplicity. Those were values he held dear. Ponyville was once the same way, but since a certain protege of Princess Celestia took up residence in the town’s library, moments without intrigue or outright danger to life and limb were rare. It couldn’t be helped, he supposed. When the protégé of the Regent of the Sun happened across, it seemed nature would oblige it’s sense of humor. Ursa minors, dragons, embodiments of chaos, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Such things were simply part of life now. He also understood that a city the size of Stalliongrad wasn’t without its own torturous moments as well. Just like the rain that happened over the Everfree Forest, it was going to happen with no method of control. Such things simply didn’t concern him in the end. Within his own thinking, there wasn’t time for matters of intrigue and anything that was a personal danger resulted in one simple decision: Fight or flight. Mac came to the convention hall a while later and found a flyer in the advertisement window, announcing the “140th Annual Equestria Agriculture Convention.” Set to begin the next day, he tried to not give it much thought. The stallion adjusted his trademark yoke and continued down the thoroughfare. The irony of holding an agricultural convention in the midst of the most industrial place in Equestria wasn’t lost on him, but he let it go as he made his way to the local hotel. He’d attended them before, but mostly as a goer. As such, he understood the sheer size of the gathering meant you didn’t hold it in a tent. Stalliongrad’s convention hall was among the largest in Equestria, so it made sense on a practical level. The streets were crowded with a plethora of ponies moving about their daily lives. A horn or a set of wings decorated the crowd in spots, but a majority were earth ponies. Most of their coats, like the buildings, were more subdued in color, reflecting more earth tones then not. Bodies draped in winter garments mingled as steam released by hot breaths rose skyward. Store keepers shouted about their wares while songs from the occasional stereo each competed for attention. There was a simple elegance that Mac surrounded and lost himself in. He gave a shake of his shoulders to help blood flow before continuing through the morass of equine kind. Standing a full head above a majority of the bodies that were present, Big Mac lived up to his namesake. Muscles rippled with the slightest command while his mind was ever observant. His girth alone allowed him a certain space not granted to the usual pedestrian traffic. Mostly due to the fact he could bowl them over without slowing him down. Sometimes, to, as a result of perceptions about him away from home. One doesn’t pull the tail of a bull that’s perusing the plates in a china shop. Big Mac didn’t mind though. Most thought him all brawn and no brain. He wore the mantle of a farmer openly, daring those stereotypes to be placed upon him. Quiet, shy, slow witted, and dull in matters of life. The truth was Mac simply didn’t care to share his thoughts on current events or gossip on the lives of other ponies. If it didn’t involve him, it wasn’t his business. Provided nopony was hurting, he wouldn’t make it his affair. As such, he wasn’t so much shy as he didn’t care about the little trivialities that happened. He had his family, his farm and his life. Why complicate things? Another matter of truth was Mac was more intelligent than he cared to let on. “Ah strong mind serves ah strong body,” was the motto of his father and the credo of the existence. Contrary to those perceptions, he was versed in matters of business, art, philosophy, and so on. He knew enough subjects to make any pony pause. Provided they bothered to engage him as such. Of course, it hardly mattered whether or not they did. Such prejudgments gave him an advantage when discourse was required. The simple, hard work of Sweet Apple Acres left the stallion a lot of time to think while the muscles of his body continued to exercise the concept that “more is better.” Plowing the fields simply didn’t require much in the way of attention. Bucking trees, after summers of practice, was simple action of muscle memory. In his downtime, the red giant enjoyed a good book, a warm fire, cool cider and the sounds of nature that surrounded him almost constantly. The simple pleasures. A simple life. Just the way he liked it. While he couldn’t win a contest of wits with the town librarian Twilight, his life was bred of a slow, practical wisdom braced with years of a cerebral foundation. Approaching the hotel, he found his way to the desk through the bodies that packed the main hall. A green earth pony with a coal colored mane glanced over Mac’s form as he approached. Mac saw the respect in his eye, albeit it was probably begrudgingly given. Mac chuckled to himself. A few books, courtesy of Twilight, on Stalliongrad’s history had helped him to prepare. It’s one thing to know what the “Traveler’s Guide” says (though he familiarized himself with that too). It’s another thing to understand what really makes a place and the ponies that inhabit it. The residents of the aptly nicknamed “Citadel of the Earth Ponies” were hard workers and measured a pony’s worth as such. Big Macintosh’s size, yoke and cropped mane were all the credentials he needed. “Welcome to the Waltrot National,” the pony spoke that stood behind the reception desk. His voice was baritone and his words spoke like a practiced recital. The name tag on his suit indicated his was the manager while his Cutie Mark was a desk bell. “Can I help you?” “Eeyup. Reservation for Macintosh Apple?” Mac looked the pony in the eyes with a hint of respect. Give some, get some. “One moment.” The pony glanced through his reservation book, hoofing through a few pages. “Ahh, Mr. Apple. Are you in town for the convention?” “Eeyup.” Mac saw no reason to give away more than was necessary. After a pause that lasted a few seconds, the manager nodded. “Very well. Tote!” A beige unicorn decked a red uniform outlined in black cantered to the front desk. His luggage Cutie Mark gave a good indication of his existence. “Yes sir!” “Take Mr. Apple and his bags to Room 1212. Mr. Apple, welcome to the Stalliongrad and enjoy your stay!” Mac craned his neck backwards. Grabbing his bags within his teeth, he set them on the ground a second before an off-tan aura encompassed them and lifted them off the ground. “This way Mr. Apple.” The lobby was a bit more posh than Mac cared for, though he understood the need. Gold-colored wallpaper liberally decorated the edges of the room, interrupted ocassionally by a dark oak column. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling that dealt light to every nook of the massive room. As the two ponies made their way to the elevators, Mac caught a trio of mares glancing at him from the corner of his eye. As the watching mares spotted him at the elevators, he purposely extended his rear leg a bit and made his muscles grow taught. One of them shot open her eyes before catching herself as while the other two did well to hide their expressions. Eyes, however, were the immortal snitch of lust. As the door opened, Mac followed the bellhop in while releasing a chuckle. Tote spoke while he punched the button for the 12th floor, “Get that alot?” The bellhop wasn’t oblivious to the scene as well and guessing by the yoke that the large stallion didn’t care for station much. Mac nodded slightly, “It happens ah lot where ah’m from. Truth is though, ah don’t mind overly much.” His deep voice and smooth, slow drawl filled the elevator as it worked it’s way up. His sister was always trying to find the right mare to steal his heart. Mac was obviously a physical specimen, but most of those dates were awkward and, to him, largely a waste of time. Mac wasn’t overly big on conversation so he didn’t speak much. He figured that he’d eventually have a family. There was time though and he wasn’t in a rush. It’ll happen when it’ll happen. His mind did shutter as it recalled a date with a certain pink mare that nearly resulted in half of Ponyville being burned to the ground. He made a note thatfrom that day forth, Pinkie Pie was to kept far away from the family’s secret cider stash. The elevator ride was quiet afterwards, albeit brief. As they entered the hallway and moved down a bit, Tote wrangled with the door for a second. Once it opened, the room was bathed in a soft artificial light from the lamp on a nightstand. The room was mostly a simple affair. A desk, long bed, and various other knick knacks were in the room. The air was cool and almost moist. In short, a typical hotel room. “Enjoy your stay and call to the front desk should you need anything.” Tote released the bags near the bed. The young unicorn held a hoof out. Mac dropped a few bits for his trouble. The bellhop gave him the key and went about his day. “Thank ya kindly,” Mac called out as the door closed thanks to that beige aura. Mac sauntered to the window and pulled back the blinds. He admired the view for what it was and, if certain legends held true, what it could be. He’d been to Canterlot, Las Pegasus, and various other locales. Contrary to popular opinion, he was a well-traveled pony. Stalliongrad was a city of its own life and its own rhythm, so it was said. It was something different than anywhere else within Celestia and Luna’s realm. Mac took in the scale of the sprawling city as he recalled how he got himself into this in the first place. ~(0)~ “Thank ya kindly, Miss Derpy,” Mac remarked as the wall-eyed courier departed on her route. After closing the door, the workhorse moved casually to the table. It was around Noon or so, but Mac was done for the day. Applebuck Season was still some time away and there simply wasn’t much else to be done until then. A few hired ponies dotted the expanse of farm, fixing up a fence or tending to the cows (and making sure their rent was on time). He seated himself and opened the letter. The return address on the envelope was unfamiliar, though it read from Canterlot. Unfolding it’s contents, he took in the words as Applejack made her way through the door. “Hey ther’, Big Brother! Have a good day?” Mac shook his head, his short blonde hair dancing a bit with the movement, “Nope.” The orange mare adjusted her trademark Stetson and sauntered over to her sibling. “Something the matter?” Mac laid the letter on the table and stepped back, allowing his sister to glance over its contents. The farm-mare had a subtle nervousness building in her stomach. Were the taxes wrong again? Was there some issue with a permit? In truth, Sweet Apple Acres had been turning a fair profit as of late, but these things seemed to find a way to threaten the clan’s livelihood. Granted, times were good, but experience is a persistent teacher. She moved past her brother and read the parchment. From: Autumn Delight Chairpony, Equestria Agriculture Council Canterlot, Equestria To: The Apple Family Sweet Apple Acres Ponyville, Equestria Dear Apple Family, A representative of your choice is hereby requested to attend the annual Equestrian Agricultural Convention to be held this year in Stalliongrad. We do humbly ask you to participate in the panel discussion regarding harvesting techniques and produce distribution. The knowledge you possess on these matters should be of great insight. Please reply to confirm your attendance at your earliest convenience. Should you choose to attend, lodgings and expenses shall be taken care of. I look forward to hearing from you. Sincerely, Autumn Delight Chairpony, E.A.C. Applejack blew a low whistle and looked to her big brother. The most respected minds participated at these events. Such things were usually reserved for the influential ponies in those matters. More or less, it was an honor and a sign of what they’d achieved over the past few years. Applejack turned her head to her big brother, who looked to be lost in thought. Sweet Apple Acres had long supplied a fair amount of produce to their region of Equestria. Improving the supply and distribution of apples (among other items) wasn’t much of an issue when Ponyville was first settled. You just planted more trees. Once the railroad was built, distribution ceased being an issue. The farm sprang up in a similar manner as other farms in Equestria. That being in a haphazard manner. As the farm grew while Ponyville was a small frontier town, trees were planted with little thought towards organization or the long term future. But as Ponyville continued to grow and the town proper began to encompass the available land, there was simply nowhere else to plant. Gradually, time caught up and the expenses piled up with it. Over the course of it’s history, Sweet Apple Acres existed, but it never thrived more than one season at a time. Once their parents passed on, Big Mac and his sister took over the farm full time with the same results. Life continued as normal for the Apples: Just “existing.” The long term needs continued to outstrip the farm’s ability to provide. Granny Smith needed a new hip. The renovated barn the family called home needed repairs. Taxes always seemed to add up despite campaign promises from Mayor Mare to the contrary. In short, it was the same thing. To a degree, this was tradition. And traditions can be hard to break. Mac tried to put the stress out of his mind as much as possible, but consistent worry dragged him down as it would anypony. Those thoughts were with him as much as the sun. One day though, the red stallion happened upon another thought as he was plowing the soil in the south field as part of the normal crop rotation. It was the same furrows, the same lines as his father did before him, and so on up the line of his lineage. He began to take note of spacing for the first time. Why were the rows of uprooted dirt so far apart? Mac understood the plants he worked with. Season upon season of experience breeds such knowledge. He understood that the carrots and cabbage didn’t need so much space to grow. He glanced over the farm’s bread and butter producers, the apple trees. He noted the layout of the orchards was chaos. Having lived on the farm his whole life, he knew the layout as intimately as Pinkie Pie knew pastries. But the issue of efficiency, and the lack there of, just occurred to him. Ever a patient pony, he began to formulate an idea. After many discussions with Granny and Applejack about his observations and a few books regarding planning and business negotiations, the idea became a possible plan. Mac understood a simple adage. If you can’t work harder, work smarter. One couldn’t make the growing season any longer for more produce, but Mac was ever one to use whatever tools were available to do the job. Apples, as a fruit, were ever in steady demand due to the dietary needs of the citizens of Equestria. As such, the economy of the farm was simple. More produce, more supply, a growing demand as the nation grew, and more profit as a result. Over the course of that winter, the Apple siblings plotted the new layout that the farm would have and how the orchards would look. A few terse conversations aside, the brainstorming sessions resulted in a method, a time table, and an end result. The plan was solid. Obviously uprooting all the trees as once wasn’t an option. It was always a few seasons before a transplanted tree began to fruit again, which would naturally leave the farm high and dry. However, over the course of a few years, it was feasible to get the farm “organized.” The trees were either re-planted or cut down outright depending on ease of moving. This always pained the family on some small level, but there was a schedule to keep. As time wore on and with whatever help was available, the layout of Sweet Apple Acres became more organized, plotted down to the last inch. Cutting down supply did mean some lean times. The Apples weren’t ones to complain about such situations though. The plan would work. Certain factors added stress (such as the Flim Flam brothers and Applejack’s duties as an Element of Harmony) to the situation, but they would make it through. Macintosh poured himself into the work and powered through it in his usual fashion. He had some downtime such as winter. It was much though, but it was also matter of his family and his own sense of pride. What the body knows, the heart can forget. After the hard part was done, new trees were planted with the newly won space, which amounted to nearly half the farm. Eventually, those trees began to bare fruit. The idea then was that they wouldn’t just supply Ponyville anymore. Canterlot, Fillydelphia and Manehatten were target markets now that the supply was there. With more supply, Mac took it upon himself to stronghoof the local railroad into sizable discounts on their contracts. He went so far as to suggest starting “Sweet Apple Freight” if they weren’t accommodating. It pained the soft hearted Apple to even make such a threat, but it is what was needed and they knew him to be a stallion of his word. Sweet Apple Acres products began showing up all over Equestria and selling just as quickly. Long story short, the losses were recovered within a single season and the family prospered shortly there after. More ponies were hired to help with the harvests and doing the day-to-day chores on the farm. As the apples, carrots, cabbages and every other type of edible plant grew, the farm prospered. Big Mac left the management of it all to Applejack and Granny Smith. His passion was in those orchards and he wouldn’t give it up for all the bits in the Royal Vault. The farm and the family had also become a name in business circles. Trade magazines spoke of the “new face” of Equestrian agriculture. The farm turned out a steady stream of products and the bits were coming in more than ever before. Granny Smith got her new hip, the home was fixed up as good as new, and Apple Bloom’s future was set. Applejack would become the face of Sweet Apple Acres, but Big Mac (who shied away from that limelight) was its soul. Applejack took it all in like a thunderclap. Through all the heartache and trials, through all the work and pain, it had paid off handsomely. To the Apples, family was first in everything. Through everything, the orange mare understood that. Whatever success they now had, she owed a large part of it Big Macintosh. “Uh...Mac?” “Eeyup.” “Ah'm gonna cry now. Don’t tell Dash, will ya?” “It’s between us, sis.” The green eyes of the farm-mare closed, as if the entirety of the endeavor just hit her. A rim of wetness surrounded her closed eyes as she wrapped her hooves around the thick neck of the stallion. Mac gave a silent smile. He knew his sister well and no words were needed. They’d accomplished a lot. Life was good, but the issue of the panel left something to desired. Mac wanted to go about his life without the demands such terms as “discussion panels” sparked in this mind. It would be up to Big Mac in the end though. Applejack was needed to manage the prospering farm and Apple Bloom was still a too young to give such talks. Granny Smith, the matriarch of the Apple clan, had done her bit for Princess and Country. It was one thing to do “Family Appreciation Day” for Apple Bloom’s class. This was a different thing entirely. The “request” wasn’t one that could be ignored either. The Equestria Agriculture Council was a group that had more influence than such names as “Agriculture” implied. In the end, the lifeblood of the nation was it’s farms. A well-fed populace was a happy populace, so such matters tended to draw Royal interest. One did simple turn down such summons lightly, and the Apples were ever loyal to what the Royal Sisters stood for. As Mac resigned himself to his forced spotlight, he began to lament those simpler times of cider mugs and books, but he would never shirk a job that was needing to be done. . ~(0)~ Celestia’s sun was hanging low in the western sky. Big Macintosh, while lost in his thoughts, had opened the window. He would be in the city for three days while the convention ran its due course. He inhaled the air that burned his lungs a bit. The cold light of the winter sunset played with the clouds. With a final exhale, he closed the window. Mac was always one to “know what there is to know.” So be it, then. Stalliongrad was ever a city of legend. Mac would see exactly that there was to see. “Eeyup.” Author's Note: This began a small exercise to get to know Mac as a character and evolved from there. Any feedback is welcome, of course. Also, I'm currently searching for an appropriate piece of art with the proper permissions.