Roosters crowing. Voices echoing.
Turning over in bed, she burrows her head deeper into her pillow.
More voices. Then…
Metal clattering. Smoke hissing. Electronic buzzing.
...Wait. Huh?
Applejack's eyes fly open. She's in her room, lying back flat on her bed staring up at the unadorned white ceiling.
That in itself isn't surprising—she'd gone to sleep the same way the night before. What is surprising is, rather, the sunlight. Morning light, bright and crisp, floods in through the windows, washing over the peeling white walls of the room and the wooden banisters, reflecting off the photo frame on the opposite wall.
Applejack always gets up before sunrise. But now, the sun has risen. There is only one possible explanation for this: she’s overslept.
The floorboards creak as she hops off the bedframe. They're cold under her bare feet, but she pads on toward the closet regardless. A sigh shudders through her as she pulls open the door and lethargically picks out a shirt. Just how had she managed to oversleep? There's no school today, but she still has chores. Now she's behind on all of them. How is she going to explain herself to Granny?
Groaning, she summons the energy to yank herself out of her pyjamas and pull her shirt over her head. She's on the way to do the same with her trousers when a particularly bone-rattling drumbeat shakes her out of the fatigue clouding her head.
"Jesus!..." Applejack hisses, whipping her head in the direction of the window, where the sound had come from. "Just who in tarnation is playin' goddess-damned hard metal out here?" She's storming toward said window when when an urgent series of knocks resound from her bedroom door.
When she opens it, Apple Bloom’s standing in the hallway, dressed up in a T-shirt and denim overalls.
"Apple Bloom? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"
Apple Bloom cocks her head. "...it’s Saturday?"
"Oh," Applejack says. She laughs tiredly. "Oh, right." Her eyes flicker to the breadcrumbs smeared around the girl's lips. "Uh... You've had breakfast?"
"Oh, sorry," Apple Bloom twists around awkwardly, "we were gonna wait for you, but we were callin' outside yer door an' you weren't answerin', so Big Mac said to let you sleep a little longer."
"What? Sleep longer? Y'all should've woken me up. There's the chores I have to get done!" Applejack says incredulously, feeling like an honest-to-goodness fool. The family's had breakfast—that she was supposed to have made—and instead of at least helping out, she's standing around in her room in half-pyjamas.
"C'mon, Applejack, you've got all weekend to do 'em! Besides, me and Big Mac an’ Granny've finished the morning chores already. Anyway, that wasn't what I was here about," Apple Bloom taps her foot impatiently and points behind her. "You've gotta come see what's outside!"
"What's... outside?"
---
Applejack barely has the time to shove the rest of her clothes on and pull her hair back before Apple Bloom drags her outside the homestead. A cold draught hits her as she walks out through the farmhouse's open doors, a sign of the approaching winter. Shivering, she tugs her coat tighter around herself as she follows her sister.
Parked right outside Sweet Apple Acres is the source of the ear-throttling din. Granny Smith and Big Mac are already there, deep frowns set into either of their faces as they gaze on at it. Applejack catches up to their side, looks at it… looks at it again… and rubs her eyes.
“What in the—?” Applejack manages to get out, before Granny raps her sharply on the back, making her bite down on her lip with a wince. “Sorry.”
“Language, missy,” Granny mutters from beside her, leaning slowly on the nearby fence for support. The old woman breathes out a sigh. “But, I agree.”
The thing is, Applejack isn’t even sure what she’s looking at. It’s as if someone had plucked the phrase "over the top" and fashioned it into a vehicle. Maybe a bus. Applejack’s calling it a bus, but it’s really giving more parade float—the kind in city festivals meant more for decoration and ostentation than as a form of transportation. It’s enormous and bright red, the entire design seemingly inspired by steampunk, though the row of flashing neon LED lights above the glass portholes are a dead giveaway that this is no eighteenth-century train. Attached to the roof of the bus are a twin set of speakers blaring some kind of electro-funk-rock music so loud it has to carry on for miles.
Finally, a lanky man pops out from a window in the vehicle, a straw fedora tipped over a mop of hair dyed firetruck-red. Applejack squints at him, taking in his wacky pinstriped tunic and the bowtie hanging off his front. Dangling from the window, the man beams back, displaying two rows of dazzlingly white teeth, and waves at her.
“Are you the owner of this here bus?” Applejack demands right away, way too cranky and hungry to reciprocate the greeting.
“B-Bus??!” The man shrieks in dismay. “This is no bus! This is my—”
“It’s not just yours, you doofus!” Out of nowhere, a fist collides with the man’s cheek, and he howls, hopping aside to reveal a nearly identical man in the porthole, except with a curled red moustache, dressed in the same ridiculous outfit. “It’s ours.” He looks straight into Applejack’s eyes, adjusting his fedora. “But he’s right about one thing, milady, and that’s that it’s not a bus. It’s our amazing, extraordinary—”
“Fantastic, astonishing—” chimes in the other man, still rubbing his bruised cheek.
“Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000!”
As they exclaim together in unison, a pipe from somewhere on the… Whatever Whatever Squeezy 6000toots, releasing a cloud of confetti that rains down in front of their window and scatters on the ground.
“Y’all are gonna have to clean that up, sonnies,” Granny rebukes, glaring at the mess. “Who are you lot? Out-of-towners?”
“Why such a stick in the mud, dear granny?” The moustached man tuts. “Alright, there, since you’re so interested in us and all. He’s Flim—”
“—and he’s Flam—”
“—and together, we are the world-famous Flim Flam Brothers,” Flim finishes with a flourish. He leans his elbow on the window, grinning. “We’re a pair of travelling salesmen who happened to hear about Barnyard Bargains’ anniversary, and we were hoping to come here to peddle our wares as well.”
How very convincing. Applejack crosses her arms. “An’ as far as I know, y’all aren’t with Barnyard Bargains.”
“You see, there’s opportunity in every community,” Flam responds airily. “You know, as travellers, you can’t build a customer base when you don’t stay in one place for long, so we absolutely must cash in on big events like these. Surely, Miss Applejack, you’d spare a thought for a fellow struggling businessperson like yourself.”
Applejack flinches. “How’d you know my name?”
“Just simple, darling,” Flim waves his hand. “We read the Barnyard Bargains’ advertisements and saw your farm, Sweet Apple Acres, publicised on there. How cute! And why are you so surprised? Could it be that no one usually knows your name?” He frowned, stroking his chin. “That’s a pity. For you see, the Flim Flam brothers are known far and wide. It’s strange, actually, that you don’t know us.”
A scary look on his face, Big Mac moves a step forward, his muscles flexing, but Applejack shoots him a look. He returns the look, but Applejack stares him down until he takes the hint and backs away, sullen.
“Oh c’mon, don’t be so harsh on them, brother,” Flam sighs, mopping his brow. “They live in such a teeeeeny village. You know. They don’t know much about what’s a-happening these days—modern society is all but a mystery to them.”
“Well," Applejack retorts, "if yer so great, Mister Flim and Flam, just go right on to the next town over, I’m sure you’ll find some splendid opportunity there. This spot’s taken, so y’all have no reason to overstay yer welcome.”
At that, Flim only grins wider, flashing his brilliant teeth once again. “Not to rain on your little parade, but there are no rules about who’s allowed to sell on these grounds and who’s not. We checked.
“...And as for the second part, I’m afraid you’ll find we’re quite welcome. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have an audience to entertain.”
Of course, Rainbow Dash chooses right the next day to call her. Actually, she’s been calling her a lot, lately. Like usual, Applejack’s about to hang up when, in her haste, her finger slips and hits the green ‘pick up’ button instead.
“...Hey! Applejack! Applejack?” Rainbow’s surprised voice comes through the receiver. “Hey, you picked up!”
Now it’s awkward to hang up. “Uhh… hey.”
“Dude, what’s up? I haven’t managed to get through to you in like, forever. Have you been kidnapped? Please tell me you haven’t been kidnapped.”
“Uh, nope,” Applejack says. “Not kidnapped.”
“Why do you sound unsure about that,” Rainbow’s reply comes. “Anyway, fine, good to hear you’re a free woman, and all that. Sooo… why the hold up?”
Applejack pauses. “What hold up?”
“You know,” Rainbow’s voice fuzzes. In that span of time, Applejack feels her blood turning to ice. Then her next line hits: “You not picking up calls. Or replying texts. You really had me worried there. Did anything happen?”
“No. Nothin’. Nothin’s wrong,” Applejack says immediately. Shit. That was too quick.
“AJ, please.” Applejack can’t see Rainbow’s face, of course, but she can imagine it all the same—worry tracing the edges of her eyes, creasing in the lines of her lips. “You know you can tell me about anything, right? ”
Applejack has to take a moment. “Rainbow, I just… I know yer really busy. I didn’t wanna bother you.”
“Bother you?” Rainbow sounds in disbelief. “How is picking up my calls going to bother me?”
“Listen, I just got a lot on my mind now, okay? I gotta go now,” Applejack blurts, and hangs up right after. She makes it exactly five more steps down the hallway until her phone starts buzzing in her hand again.
Groaning, she slams her finger on red. This is when a blur of perfect indigo waves pops out from one of the side doors.
“Uwaaaaaaaagh!” Applejack screams.
“There you are!” The blur, who Applejack eventually identifies as Rarity, exclaims. She’s beaming from ear to ear, looking absolutely ecstatic. “I’ve been looking most everywhere for you!”
“Uhhhh, you have?” Applejack flips shut her phone and shoves it into her pocket. “What for?” She doesn’t remember there being a gathering today. Was it mentioned when she wasn’t around? It’s hard to keep track these days.
“Do you have anything urgent on today?”
“I mean, no, but what-”
“Then you’re just in time,” Rarity says, which does absolutely nothing to allay her confusion. She grabs her by both shoulders, whisking her around until she’s facing the door. “I promise, I won’t take long.”
Not having much of a say in the matter, Applejack is bodily lugged into the room. They’re in the fashion club’s clubroom, which is actually a classroom like any other but, under Rarity's direction, it’s been transformed so much that a stranger would scarcely believe it belongs in a school establishment and not a boutique chain. Bursting through the rhinestone-studded door, Rarity drags Applejack past pillars covered by chequered wallpaper and sweeps aside the thick fuschia swathes of curtain that drape from corner to corner. Applejack’s eyes take in tables piled with sectioned containers of sequins and ribbons and buttons, half-opened drawers that brim with colourful stacks of fabric and a massive board on which spools of cross-wound thread hang on plastic pegs.
Finally, Rarity releases her grip on her. Applejack falls straight onto a plush velvet stool, which swivels around under the momentum until she’s facing a gold-framed, full-length mirror.
“Hoo-whee,” Applejack stablises herself with her hands. “When did you get so strong?”
Rarity puffs out her cheeks. “Do you mean to imply I’m weak, darling?”
“Well, you’ve never really been the sporty type. Also, don’t you ask your juniors to carry all your bags for you?”
“Only because they’re such sweethearts,” Rarity bats her eyelashes, before coughing delicately into her elbow and flicking a hand. “That aside! No, I’m not engaging in any sports. What I have been doing, though, is visiting the gym.”
Applejack gives Rarity’s figure a once-over. A model-standard hourglass. Yep. Nothing new. “What, are you trying to lose weight? You look fine.”
“Heavens, no,” Rarity put her hands on her hips. “Maybe a year or two ago I would’ve, but not anymore. I just wanted to get stronger, is all. Muscles do really define the physique,” she pats her abdominal area. “Not that I wish to get ripped like some kind of, ahem, wrestler, of course, but just toned.”
“Oh, that’s,” Applejack scratches her head. “Cool.”
Rarity nods affirmatively. “Now on to business!” Bending over, she rummages through her workspace. Meanwhile, Applejack’s gaze wanders about the clubroom. There’s a few things that Applejack didn’t see the last time she was here. A bubbling crystal fountain beside the potted plant. The couch has a new sheet over it, this one with swirling clovers. The door that leads to the classroom next door is obscured by a curtain of glittering beads that mimic falling snow.
Rarity always leads her club in taking the effort to redecorate the clubroom to match the seasons and special occasions, even if the room will never be seen by most of the school population. Applejack wonders, wistfully, if the clubroom will stay like this when Rarity's graduated—or if the work will be too much for future club members to keep up, and the room will eventually go back to the way it was: an ordinary classroom indistinguishable from any other.
“There we go,” Rarity announces as she brandishes a bundle of measuring tapes from a basket. Applejack's limbs are pulled this way and that as she mutters strings of numbers under her breath not unlike magical incantations. Then, with a magnifying glass, she scrutinises every square centimetre of Applejack's face furiously. When she’s done, she turns away from her and clasps her hands behind her back.
"Well, Applejack, I'm afraid there's something very wrong with you." she says.
"...What is it now?"
A whirlwind of indigo as the girl whips around. Applejack finds herself face-to-face with a long acrylic nail.
"You,” she declares imperiously, “are a mess,"
Applejack shifts in her seat. "I’m sorry?"
"But don’t you worry," Rarity's voice becomes sibilant, and it's around here Applejack starts to get a really bad feeling about this. "I know just the thing to fix it."
When it comes to fashion, Rarity Belle is a demon in the deceiving form of a teenage girl. Applejack is put through the eight stages of frou-frou hell—Petticoats, Lace, Pleats, Ribbons, Sequins, Lace, Fleece, More Lace—before Applejack stumbles out of the changing room, head in a daze, and Rarity ushers her onto the chair, granting her (temporary) reprieve.
“How is it now? Be honest,” she says. She’s still smiling, but because she's also baring her teeth, it comes out as a totally-not-terrifying hiss.
Shuddering, Applejack rights herself and gazes at her reflection in the spotless mirror. The sight very nearly takes her breath away. Sometimes, Rarity is so over-blown and airy-fairy in the way she talks that it’s easy to forget that she’s legitimately good at what she does. Applejack can appreciate that, but…
“Does it really need that much lace?” Applejack tugs at the sleeve.
“Yes,” Rarity says.
"Oh," Applejack says. "Okay."
Rarity blinks. "That's all? You're not protesting?"
"...Was I supposed to?"
"Applejack!" she scolds. "I was merely being jocular! How am I supposed to construe the most fabulous Fall Formal outfit possible for you without your honest feedback?"
"Fall Formal?" Applejack repeats. "Ohh, so that's what all this was for."
Rarity raises an eyebrow. "Well, what did you think this was for?"
"I dunno,” Applejack shrugs. “Another one of your manic dress-up episodes? Stress couture? Whatever it is yer callin' it these days."
Rarity does a little stomp with her foot. "Why I never!- Okay, you have a point." She clears her throat. "Anyway, let's get back to business. What would you like me to change?"
"Yer seriously takin' my advice? After the mess the girls and I made of your dresses for the second year Gala?” Applejack laughs. “I trust yer creative judgement just fine, Rares."
Rarity folds her arms and sniffs. "Your taste in fashion may be… questionable, at times, yes.” Applejack snorts. Rarity gives her a derisive glance, then continues, “But this is different from the Gala. The Gala was a public event the fashion club’s reputation on the line, not to mention the school’s national image. It's only natural that a certain standard was to be expected at such events, and you and the girls’ choices of dresses did not meet that standard.”
She holds out her hands. “The Fall Formal, however, is just for students and teachers. The only one actually going to suffer from others' judgement is yourself, so, if you don't mind that, then it's a good chance to show up in something you truly want to be in. So, if there is anything you really want, make it known clearly."
What I really want, huh, Applejack thinks to herself wryly, I don't think you could help with that, Rares.Still, she’s not going to suddenly unload her emotional baggage on her friend like that. Instead she says, "But it's like, you've already made the dress. It would be a plum waste to remake somethin' just because it isn’t a hundred percent perfect. This dress is fine as it is. I ain’t one to make a fuss."
"Dear, art is never a waste," Rarity wags a finger. "That aside, this is only the mock-up. I’ll still have to make the final version either way."
"You’re pullin’ my leg." If this is what the mock-up looks like, then the actual dress must bend the galaxy, or something.
“Why, of course not. The dress you are wearing now is simply something I threw together from existing pieces and donated clothing,” Rarity gives a frustrated sigh, as if the masterpiece currently on Applejack’s form can be in any way described as ‘thrown together’. “I might not have the time to create a dress for you from scratch, but I can still make plenty of modifications to the pieces I do have on hand. You see, my original intention was indeed to make it from scratch, but as I tasked myself to make dresses for my dearest friends for their very last Fall Formal, I was determined to make them the very best of my works! So I spent such long days agonising and agonising over the designs…”
Applejack stifles a chuckle. “Rarity.”
“...and I must tell you, I do take quite a while to conceptualise my designs, oftentimes even longer than the time I take to make the actual design. Every piece I create is not just something you put on, no no. It is a work of art. In fact, with a well-designed outfit, you become a piece of art yourself—ahem, not in a way that objectifies you, but one that allows you to express yourself—but the point is, a make-over can accentuate your natural looks, or transform you into something unrecognisable—and despite what certain fashion critics might say, I'm inclined to believe both are formidable—"
"Rarityyyy."
"—and admirable endeavours in their own right. Ah!” Rarity stops short. Her pale cheeks flush as she covers her mouth. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. I got caught up in my rambling again, didn’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but you did say somethin’ interesting in that last part there,” Applejack leans onto her elbows, pondering. “When you said whether a make-over brings out what you already have, or turns you into something else, they’re both worth admirin’. But if a dress turned you into someone else entirely, then isn’t it bein’ untruthful? Like yer pretendin’ to be something yer not. ”
Rarity taps her chin. “Think about it this way. Isn’t the purpose of a make-over to make you feel confident? If donning a sort of disguise makes you feel good about yourself, then I don’t see what’s the fuss.”
“Mmm… I dunno. It just seems like people who do that ain't confident in their own skin.”
“But we as people aren’t ever stagnant, yes? Those who are aspiring to improve; are they betraying themselves by trying to become a better version of themselves? Is a butterfly not just an adult caterpillar?
“The caterpillar doesn’t choose to become a butterfly.”
“Hmph. Well, I guess for us, transformation isn't written in the stars like it is for our hypothetical caterpillar, so we have to decide it for ourselves. In a way that’s a good thing, no? I think that's also a reason why you can fake it till you make it. Do you remember how quiet I used to be, in first year?”
“Yeah,” Applejack says. She feels a fond smile slip its way onto her face at the memory. “Hell, back when I’d just joined Canterlot, I was the talkative one of us two. You was always so absorbed in scribblin’ designs in those notebooks of yers, or murmurin' to yourself about gems an’ chantilly an' the like. Now ya gab a whole lot more."
"Mhm. But it wasn’t the most natural process getting there,” Rarity rubs her hand on her own arm in circles, looking aside. “You see… when I made up my mind to start my own fashion line, I realised I couldn’t just keep quietly sketching my designs behind the curtains. I wanted to be the kind of person everyone would know, and to do that, I had to go out on the stage and make myself known, yes?”
Applejack knows. Rarity and the other girls, they'd probably all started high school confused about who they would be, even if they never showed it. Applejack had thought she was a step ahead of everyone, because she already had a place she belonged to on the farm. Now, at the end of four years, they're all rushing ahead toward bright futures, while she's the one hesitating. She's slowly coming to realise that she hasn't budged from that same spot—because she hadn’t wanted to. Applejack never wanted to change. Why do people love changing that much, anyway? Why can’t everything just stay the same?
She lets out a breath slowly. “Wow, you sure do think a lot about this stuff, don’t you?”
“Hmm? It is rather high-class to ponder such philosophical quandaries, after all.”
“Oh. Guess I better stop thinkin’ too much, then,” Applejack feels her lips quirk up.
Rarity puts her hands on her hips. “Applejack, being ladylike isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
Applejack waves her hand dismissively. “It’s fine and dandy if you do it, but I dun want no part of yer high-brow shindigs, bless yer heart.”
“High-class, not high-brow!”
“There is literally no difference.”
Amid the laughter, Applejack’s phone starts buzzing in her pocket.
“Oh! I’ll leave you to that then-” Applejack can feel Rarity’s stare on her when she flips open the phone and hangs up. “Um. Who was that?”
"No one.”
Rarity raises an eyebrow.
“Look, I’ll get to it later, alright?” Applejack gets up and starts heading for the door. “If you’re done now, I gotta be goin’.”
“Ah ah ah, not so fast, dearie,” Rarity grabs her shoulders again and steers her towards the other door. "Why not you go have a seat in the tearoom and chat with the others over a cup of chamomile. I’ve still some things to settle, but I’ll come join you afterwards. And change out first—I wouldn’t want you ruining the surprise!"
True to word, Applejack isn’t the only subject of Rarity's abduction. When she’s finished gently wrangling herself out of the dress, she walks through the curtain of beads into the tearoom, where there’s Pinkie with her legs up on a creamy grey clamshell sofa, talking animatedly with a porcelain cup in her hands. Twilight sits beside her on the carpet, writing some essay on the coffee table. Fluttershy sits alone on a red two-seater next to them.
“Heyyy! Applejack!” Pinkie spots her and waves enthusiastically as she leaps off the sofa. “Let me get’chu a cup of tea”
“Careful Pinkie, you’re still holding your cup!” Fluttershy calls, eyes widening in alarm.
Miraculously, the steaming brew sloshing about in said cup doesn’t spill as Pinkie, with her one free hand, pours from the steel thermos a tall stream of tea that lands perfectly into an empty cup. She giggles as she offers the brimming cup to Applejack. “Silly, I wait tables like this all the time at Sugarcube Corner! Once, I filled seven glasses with milkshake with twenty plates stacked on my shoulders. This is a piece of cake!”
“Just because you can do it, doesn’t mean you should do it…” Fluttershy quivers visibly.
“She enjoys it,” Twilight mutters as she inks another sentence onto the foolscap pad. “A little too much, if you ask me.”
The door to the toilet clicks open.
Rainbow Dash steps out from within. Her hair is wrapped out of view in a cotton towel. Rose eyes flick about, then focus on Applejack. They widen imperceptibly.
Applejack does the obvious. She scans the room for the nearest possible distraction. Her gaze hones in on the white cat currently curled up on Fluttershy’s lap.
“Oh! Opal’s here?” She crams into the two-seat next to Fluttershy. She stretches out her fingers to stroke the cat, only to recoil when she swats at her and hisses. “Whoa, heheh, not today either, huh? A shame.”
Rarity sometimes smuggles Opal, her pet Persian, into school from her nearby apartment. Rarity keeps Opal’s long white fur really clean, so it looks as soft and untainted as a cloud. Applejack would really like to pet it, but alas, Opal hates Applejack. It isn’t personal though, since Opal hates virtually everyone except her owner, and also Fluttershy, because the girl has a ridiculous talent with animals and they adore her universally.
“Bad girl, Opal,” Fluttershy reprimands the cat gently. “You know Applejack’s a friend.”
Opal meows at her and settles back in her lap, blinking large, meek eyes. Jerk.
Meanwhile, Pinkie’s laughter rings out as she serves Rainbow a similar cup of tea. An incredibly stony expression on her face, Rainbow accepts it and sinks into the sofa after Pinkie, looking at Applejack. She’s still looking at her when her hand brings out her phone from her pocket, and gives the screen a long, slow swipe.
In short, if Applejack thought it was awkward before, now it’s really awkward.
Good thing is, no one else in the room seems to pick up on it. When Pinkie Pie’s involved, lulls in conversation are harder to find than dry wood in a thunderstorm. Today, Pinkie thumbs at her phone and spouts, “Can you guys help me figure out if Cheese Sandwich is trying to seduce me?”
Applejack doesn’t spit out her tea, but she comes close. “Cheese Sandwich is trying to what?”
Cheese Sandwich is a dude who transferred into CHS last year from Manehattan. The six of them got to know Cheese when he was on the same planning committee for a school party as Pinkie Pie, and Pinkie grumbled about him for weeks about how him always trying to outdo her in party planning despite him being the newbie. It took a few squabbles, and the one time they came near to actually burning down the school while trying to bake the best birthday cake, before the rivalry turned into grudging respect, friendship, and eventually… whatever this was.
“Mm-hm! He sent me this,” Pinkie says. She turns around her phone and Applejack expects to see hearts or chocolates or something, but instead it's a picture of of one of those yellow rubber chickens that squawk when you squeeze their necks. This chicken is well-worn, its neck practically shrivelled up from years of use. Applejack knows that chicken.
Fluttershy rubs her chin. "He sent you a picture of Mr Bones?"
Yep. Like Pinkie, Cheese names his stuffed toys. Peas in a pod.
“The caption…” Twilight reads. “Mr Bones thinks this rug needs to go.”
Everyone notes the pair of jumbo scissors hooked around Mr Bones’ flabby rubber wing.
"There's also a date written on the card he’s holding," Applejack points out. She squints. “That date looks really familiar for some reason.”
“Yeah.” Noisily, Rainbow drains her tea. “That’s because it’s prom day.”
Twilight frowns. “Fall Formal’s not prom. Prom’s only held for students when they graduate.”
Rainbow rolls her eyes. “A prom’s a prom.”
“Uhh… but what does that have to do with destroying rugs?”
“How about Pinkie,” Fluttershy says with far too much kindness for the oddity of the dilemma at hand, “you tell us why you think he’s seducing you.”
“Becauseeee…” Pinkie sucks a breath into her cheeks until she resembles a chipmunk. The sound that escapes from her sounds like one, too, when she squeaks, “because he’s holding a pair of scissors and the rug needs to go so he’s saying that Mr Bones wants to cut a rug which is a phrase that means ‘to dance’ that I used in one of the songs I’ve written and Cheese once told me that Mr Bones is like the physical manifestation of himself?”
“I did not understand a word of that,” Applejack deadpans.
“Basically, Cheese asked you to dance with him at prom,” Fluttershy cups her own cheeks. “Awww, that’s adorable! And you like him back?”
“Emmm,” Pinkie’s cheeks actually seem to darken. Applejack’s pretty sure she’s never seen Pinkie look this flustered. “Yessss?”
“I’m happy for you two,” Twilight says, smiling. “Go on, reply him.”
“Huh, wait up a second,” Applejack interrupts. “Not that I’m not wishin’ y’all the best, but how are you sure that he likes you because of that? Can’t you ask someone to dance as friends?”
“A man doesn’t just ask a lady to prom as friends, my dear.”
Rarity materialises, no doubt summoned by the topic of romantic relationships being brought up.
“As for I,” Rarity boasts, “I’ve already been asked to prom by no less than seven suitors! All of them had such hearts in their eyes…”
“That’s great, Rares…”
“-So it was such a shame turning all seven of them down.”
“You what.”
“Oho, the suitors were magnificent indeed,” Rarity says, batting her lashes. “But I’m saving my hand for my one and only prince, that Blueblood guy from the class down the hall.”
“It’s not like the Fall Formal’s a marriage ceremony,” Twilight sighs. “It’s not even a prom, for goodness’ sake.”
“A prom’s a prom!~” Pinkie chimes happily.
“Well,” Twilight rolls her eyes. “Suit yourselves. I’m not looking to dance with anyone. I think I’ll just be sticking around with you girls, unless any of you others have partners too.”
“I’m not going with anyone either, so I can stay with you,” Fluttershy smiles.
Pinkie deflates a little, “Aw, Twi! Now I feel bad!”
Through this, Rainbow stays silent. Fluttershy takes notice.
“What about you? Is there anyone you’re going to the formal with?”
“Eww, no,” Rainbow rolls her eyes. Then, quieter, she adds, “At least, not yet. There is someone I’m… planning to ask.”
Rarity’s jaw drops, her eyes azure saucers. Twilight’s pen clatters to the table. Fluttershy puts a hand over her mouth.
“Ohhh? Ohhhh??” Pinkie’s eyebrows are basically in the sky. “Who is it?”
Rainbow tips her head to the side. As she does so, a strand of multicoloured hair wriggles free from its towelled prison, her hair never one to be kept down, and falls in a curl on her shoulder. She’s not looking at Pinkie as she answers. No—she’s looking at Applejack, again. And this time, Applejack can’t help but look back.
Her eyes are a flashing rose, as always, but not soft and smooth like petal buds. They're sharp, piercing, the kind of bristling thorns. Blinding. Like Rainbow’s trying to take her apart with just her gaze, from the other side of the table, to shave right through the cobwebs in her soul and learn the secrets that they bind.
And Applejack would let her. But what if she cuts through the mist, shreds away the uncertainty, and finds nothing there? What if she’s not hiding anything, anything at all… and the truth is that that’s all she is—a mass of worries and pasted-together pieces of the person that others need her to be? She doesn’t want to answer those questions. And that’s why she won’t.
Finally, eyes still locked onto hers, Rainbow speaks again.
“I’m just not sure if the person will agree.”
“Of course they will, Dashie. Now tell me who it is, I promise I won’t spill. I’ll even Pinkie Promise on it.” Pinkie scoots over on the sofa.
Rainbow snickers. The eye contact breaks as she looks back to Pinkie and uses her palm to push away the wagging finger in her face. “I trust you, Pinkie, but Rarity is sitting right there.”
“Well excuse me!”
Meanwhile, Applejack’s heart thumps solidly in her chest, a physical reminder that she isn’t in a dream. Rainbow’s still bantering along with the others like normal, as if nothing had happened at all. Good. Applejack has other things to worry about, after all, like…
“Shit,” Applejack mutters as she remembers. “Oh, consarnit.”
From beside her, Fluttershy shifts and tilts her head at her. “Is there something wrong?”
“Yeah,” Applejack tries to control her breathing. Thinks about the date on Mr Bones’ placard, counts the days towards it, and yep, she hasn’t just made a miscalculation. Involuntarily, she shudders. “I just done realised Fall Formal is in two weeks. That’s not gonna be enough time for the Decor Club to finalise plans.”
“Wait,” Rainbow raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re in Decor Club?”
“Uh-huh,” Applejack sighs. She can feel already the beginnings of a pulsating headache, a sensation she’s become well-acquainted with in the past weeks. “To make matters worse, I actually volunteered to lead operations, so now I’m the one responsible for whatever happens. But I got so busy with the farm and school that I completely forgot to keep track of time.”
“Well, you don’t have to be the only one,” Twilight states. “The rest of the club is supposed to pitch in too. That’s how clubs work.”
“And if that’s not enough, we can help you out!” Pinkie chirrups. “You know I plan the most supercalifragilistic parties! I can drag Cheese along, too.”
"Pinkie, no one's used supercalifragilistic since grade school," Rainbow drones. "Actually, I think grade schoolers haven’t used that word in a decade."
"Well maybe they should!" Pinkie crosses her arms. "It's a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious word!"
"I can't believe you can say that whole word without tripping your tongue, but you still have trouble with reading organic compounds," Twilight says as Rainbow facepalms.
"Hey! It's not my fault those chemistry people named their compounds stuff like, two four dinitrophenoxidousolic three Arrhenius Lewis base acid!"
"Now you're just making it up."
Pinkie’s eyes uncross and stare intently into nowhere. "I rest my case, Twi."
“Pinkie has a point, though. We could really be of good help,” Fluttershy pipes up, dragging the conversation gently back around. “On top of that, Rarity is good at interior design too, and Rainbow's just as good as you at carpentry. If you’d just arrange with the Decor Club, we could—”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t need your help,” Applejack cuts in. “We don’t need your help,” she amends, after a beat. “We have things under control… I’m sure.”
Applejack watches as the girls look between each other. There’s uncertainty in those flickering gazes. Concern, too. This isn’t the first time she’s found herself in a situation like this: one where she’s working herself to the bone, scooping up every task she can find into her arms, until she's struggling to breathe under the weight of it all and then someone will ask, do you need help? And every single time, she'll turn them down.
She does this, because she’s supposed to be—scratch that, she is strong and dependable. How many teenagers can you name that can run a farm, operate a business, take care of eldery and children, and study for exams at the same time? Applejack sure can't think of any, while she's done it for years now and survived. It's why pushing her burdens onto someone else weaker than her just seems wrong in every way possible. Is that so hard to understand?
“If you’re sure,” Twilight Sparkle says carefully, as if Applejack’s stubborn pride is that fragile that it’ll shatter if she’d pressed on it just a little harder.
Thinking back on it, it probably would have.
"Uh, the dorms are that way?"
"Nah,” Rainbow shoves her hands into her pockets, gaze trained ahead. “Why not I walk with you to the carpark?”
“Oh. Sure.”
After packing up things in the tearoom, the six of them left school together. Most of them bid their goodbyes at the bus stop, others at the road leading to the subway. Now it’s just down to Rainbow Dash and her, the whistle of the evening breeze, and the dying sunlight scattering on the tarmac pavement below their feet.
Rainbow looks different from when Applejack last saw her. Her having removed the towel from earlier, Rainbow’s hair is in full view. It looks longer now, tumbling past her shoulders. But that fact pales in comparison to the most obvious change: her roots have nearly fully grown out, her natural brown hair now only streaked with those vibrant colours.
And, it could be just Applejack’s imagination, but her concealer seems thicker now, the blending not quite there. Under her eyes there’s enough to look caked on. An acne breakout, perhaps?
"Hey," Rainbow begins.
Applejack jolts and shoots her gaze into the horizon. After realising that might sem too suspicious, she turns back to look at Rainbow, who’s staring at her a little strangely.
"...I got your cider," Rainbow says finally. She holds up her gloved hand and curls her fingers to shake an imaginary bottle. "From Bulk Biceps."
"Oh," Applejack says, faint. "Um. Was it good?"
"Not as good as the kind straight from the barrel," Rainbow answers with an indifference Applejack isn’t used to. This is Rainbow Dash talking about apple cider, for heaven's sake, so clearly she’d stayed behind to talk about something else. Sure enough, after a short pause, she skips right on to a completely unrelated subject. "Bulk said you were at track tryouts.”
“Uh huh,” Applejack responds passively. “I passed it to him then, the cider.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow agrees. “I didn’t know you were trying for clubs at all. I didn’t know you were in Decor Club.” Her tone has changed, the feigned nonchalance stripped now, replaced with something verging on accusatory.
And yes, Applejack may be pretty horrible with reading people at times, but even she can tell there’s a conversation itching to happen here. She just isn't quite sure how to begin approaching the storm brewing in the air. So, she shrugs herself.
“Well, now you do.”
Rainbow laughs, though it's humourless. “That’s all you’re gonna say?” Her footsteps have picked up. Applejack has to quicken her own pace to match her step. Rainbow goes on, “I feel like we never get to talk anymore. I don’t even know what’s going on in your life now, or what's been going on in the past month.”
"Well-"
"Or anyone else's, for that matter," Rainbow cuts her off. "And I get it, okay, we're in senior year, and end-of-semester exams are coming up, and everyone's got different classes and I’ve got flight school so it's harder to see each other. I get that. But at least the others haven't been actively avoiding me!"
Ah. There it is. Rainbow's eyes look bright–fuck. She's hurt. But Applejack thinks: well, she's not the only one.
"Now that's big talk, comin' from the one who's been a stranger the most outta all of us this fall," Applejack folds her arms. "Is Miss Wonderbolt starting to miss her friends back on planet Earth?"
"I- what??!" Rainbow spurts.
"And if you thought from a point of view other than yer own for once, you'll notice that I haven't been avoiding you," Applejack lies. She follows it up with something true, but she still can’t bring herself to look at her. "I'm busy with my life too, just that I don't go blabbin’ about it to everyone I know. Sweet Apple Acres ain’t in a very good spot at the moment. So pardon me if I'm a mite too occupied to be constantly chewing the fat with ya."
“Oh-” Rainbow falters. “I’m…sorry to hear that. But that still doesn’t explain why you keep hanging up my calls. Plus, you stopped calling in the mornings.”
“I stopped calling, because you weren’t pickin’ up,” Applejack says patiently.
Rainbow’s gaze hardens. "Yeah, so? I said I was busy! You know that sometimes I oversleep, that’s why I miss your calls. It doesn’t mean I don’t wanna talk.”
“Really? Because in the same way you said it seemed like I was avoiding you, I could also say that you’re avoiding me.”
Rainbow falls silent. Her pointed gaze withers away, dropping from Applejack to linger on the ground. Applejack’s heart stutters, wondering if she’d gone too far, and she’s scrambling to put together an awkward apology-
-when Rainbow speaks again, her voice soft. Fragile. “Look, I know I’ve been really caught up in all my commitments recently, and I guess you have been too." She fiddles with her pocket. "I’m not gonna say sorry or anything ‘cause I didn’t do anything wrong, and you don’t have to because you didn’t either, I suppose."
Applejack might’ve felt better if Rainbow had just blown up on her, maybe shoved her, or something. The face that Rainbow’s making right now? This is worse.
Hesitating briefly, Rainbow adds, "But still… I…”
And then she trails off.
They’ve reached the end of the road. They’re standing in the school carpark, in front of the van. Applejack and Rainbow Dash have always been fast runners, which made them brisk walkers, too. If they hadn't moved so quickly, maybe the conversation wouldn't have had to end there. There’s still a million things Applejack wants to say to Rainbow, after all. Like, I’m sorry anyway and who were you going to ask to Fall Formal and I actually really, really like you please don’t go.
Rainbow’s staring at the van too, her expression unreadable.
“...You never did take me for a ride in it,” she says finally.
Despite everything, Applejack snorts softly. "You're still on about that, huh."
“Well, what can I say.” A wry smile. "I don't forget a promise."
“Sorry, RD,” Applejack says. She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound as detached as it does in her own ears when she explains, “But I’ve really got to get home fast to help and plus, I’ve got deliveries to run with the van today.”
Visibly, Rainbow slumps. Her expression needles at Applejack’s heart. “I know.”