Once Upon a Best Pony – by Twifight Sparkill
Animal psychology, including that of ponies, is unequivocally complex – in most circumstances, its been identified as a sequence of particular actions or movements, each with a precise start and stop step.
This is evident in a wide range of physical performances, ranging from the frantic activity required for avoiding aggressive Everfree predators, to the thoughtfully practiced teachings needed for performing music on a piano. Or the tedium necessary to buck apple trees all day, as firmly and accurately as possible, to deliver ripened fruit into a set of awaiting baskets encircled beneath their canopies.
Okay, so the latter isn't exactly 'unequivocally complex'.
In these three examples, there is an initial first step taken then one that subsequently signals the end. However, despite exhaustive examination and discovery pertaining to the subject, it failed to sufficiently explain the bounden steadfastness and ruthless dedication that one particular pony and her family possessed – following an unmerciful pursuit requiring a boundless fictile toil of plant and harvest and till and sow, stretching throughout the seasons as some subsisting torment.
What reason, be it science or magic or otherwise, could one pony possibly have for being so indefatigably dedicated to her job when it appeared there was no foreseeable end in sight – no stop after the start step, as it were?
It was plain that one specific individual of this family was very passionate for their work, her illimitable prowess now as much legacy as it had been committed birthright – a family tradition dating back to before Ponyville even existed; a pillar of the community since the land was settled, according to one living account.
Could it be possible that such fortuitous single-mindedness required more than the mere love and pride she felt for her work? An unknown ethereal empowerment lending both assurance and an unyielding compliance?
Something that had nothing at all to do with the world she knew, yet perhaps mattered the most? Intangible although ineluctable?
---
The day came into focus through a slow and drowsing recollection, all for the barest signs of morning light; pink hues tickled at the harsh cool of purpled blues left by a wearing night – enough to give the room a scant glow, sufficient to trigger the internal mechanisms that fired synapses and stirred a semblance of consciousness – a moment later, she was wide awake.
Petting back a heavy yawn, she would collect her morning things and slip into the bathing room, prepared for a brisk wash and groom.
The ritual was dutifully committed to: teeth carefully brushed before a languid dip in the lukewarm tub filled the evening prior, a sound soapy scrubbing to follow. Next in line her mane and tail, both requiring a thorough conditioning before rigorous brushing, her blonde hair having blanched and cracked in the relentless hovering sunshine the day previous – she'd earned the right to devote some of this precious time to her looks, at least.
Finally, with a reserved and practiced motion, the moist mops were smoothed obediently then tied into acceptable order, completed with a brisk combing of her body's bristle. All was made right again. Now she represented a semblance of her former self, as the mirror attested – all ruggedly honed, athletically curved, neatly tidied, befreckled and bright-eyed, and fully prepared to conquer the orchards with vital voracity.
Just the way she liked it.
"Good mornin' there, sunshine." Applejack lingered at the upstairs window just outside the bathroom, admiring the encroaching dawn with a genuine smile. "Sure good ta see ya again." She affixed her chestnut cowpony hat and set downstairs for the kitchen.
Eventually she'd get to waking and greeting her siblings, but for now this time remained a private fleeting peace before a full day's toil; priceless moments duly treasured by a young body that hadn't had the avail nor inclination to stop for a moment's notice otherwise. She required a stout meal, a dose of caffeine, and then she could suitably face the day's regimen.
Applejack prepared bowls of apple cinnamon oatmeal for the lot, leaving their portions at the family table as she took hers and a generous cup of black coffee at the counter. All the kitchen was a splendid scent which reminded the young laborer why she worked so hard – for this, the most succulent scent of Apple pony desires. This one absolute truth; this unequivocal delicacy that defined what they did and why – to celebrate the greatness of the fruit, its sweetness and require. To find its perfection and share it with as many ponies as possible, asking only for actual worth and a small pittance for the farming.
Not the most luxurious life, but honest. That was enough. So long as everyone kept working hard – as long as she kept working hard – that was enough.
Once done her meal, quickly rinsing her bowl and cup, she was out the doorway and into the fresh air. The stockpile of immediate near-ripe fruit permeated every ounce of sight and scent – a restlessness began in her haunches at the mere thought of the bountiful crop, just waiting to be rustled from their burdened perches!
... yet despite all the seeming normalcy, the enthusiasm and preparedness, something was drastically amiss. Terribly so, she noticed.
Applejack hastily checked herself over – shoes were on right, hat tilted ever so slightly, red hairbands tied tight... all as it should be.
She spun in place then, looking around the barnyard with an almost desperate require; something was off, and it was starting to become disturbingly overwhelming. However, everything was left as it should be, all the farm tools and carts precisely where her brother and Caramel had placed them the evening before.
The problem ain't around me, she finally surmised. It's... it's inside me. The problem is me, somehow.
Just then, an inexplicable and indescribable weight bubbled in her lungs, triggering burgeoning pangs of distress – she stayed stock still, wide-eyed, as a cold sweat blemished her coat.
Okay, something really ain't right here, she managed to discern, whinging with discomfiture. Ah've never felt like this before. Like... like somethin' has died inside me, yet... that somethin' is... ugk!
The crawling dread began to engulf her, flooding upwards into her mouth as some caustic bile, and she was nearly choking on it. Her blood almost seemed to turn... thick, not unlike a syrup inside her veins, making the young mare's heart pound awkwardly and her head swim. Pains started shooting through her withers, down to the extremities, and struck in waves of increasing agony.
Applejack wanted to vomit, but the glut of cold ooze now firmly rooted in her chest fought to close her throat altogether. Her vision began blinking in and out, as if a flickering candle set on the window sill, stirring for a light eve's breeze. She fought to keep her wildly flailing thoughts in check, consciousness ebbing with the build of discomforting assail. This wasn't any sickness she'd ever experienced before – she was terrified! She needed help – right now, before she drowned in this despairing pitch. Right. Now.
Without notifying her sleeping kin, she gathered what reserves she had left and raced in a breathless frenzy from the orchard's courtyard, galloping hard down the adjacent dirt roadway that led towards Ponyville. There was only one pony in all of Equestria that could possibly help her now, and there was no time to waste.
---
Big Mac was only slightly aware of his missing sister.
Soon after rising on his own, he found the family downstairs eating their breakfasts and wondering where Applejack had gotten to. Wordlessly finishing his oatmeal, he pressed a kiss alongside Granny Smith's cheek, scrubbed Applebloom's head in a rough yet affectionate tease, then set out to fetch his cart and baskets in preparation to harvest the far eastern fields as planned. He blinked, noting the remnants of a billowing dust cloud in the distance, kicked up in somepony's frantic wake.
Dismissively, he returned to his immediate concerns, giving it nary another thought – there was work to be done. Besides, if he knew anything for sure, it was that Applejack was more than capable of taking care of herself, and if not she had some mighty powerful friends that could.
Just another day at the ol' Acres, eeyup.
---
A knock at the library door stirred Twilight from her early morning studies, which were currently being held in a collection of sitting pillows as she lounged like some giant purple cat in a big warm sunbeam. Disgruntled, she removed her reading glasses, pinched at the sharp pain beginning behind her eyes, and threw her book roughly in irritation.
"Spi-ike!" Twilight called to an apparently empty room. "Someone's at the door! Could you answer it for me, please?"
The beckoned baby dragon dropped from a nearby ladder he'd been perched on, startling the unicorn mare with dramatic fervor. He had been trying to get some actual work done around the Golden Oaks library – work Twilight put him to not a half hour before, promptly after having served a generous breakfast, with that same authoritarian timbre – unlike the less initiated librarian. Landing with a thump, he threw his dust broom to the floor.
"... you're three feet away from it," Spike grunted. "Really? Oh no, don't get up Twilight! I wasn't doing back-breaking chores or anything – seriously, I'm more than happy to do it!"
"Wow," Twilight quietly glared daggers in response, replacing the spectacles and returning languidly to her book. "I said please, in case you didn't notice," she muttered.
Spike shambled to the door, throwing it open in frustration. On the other side stood Applejack, pride of Sweet Apple Acres, bedraggled, sweaty and unkempt compared to her usual workaday healthy self.
"Ah'm awful sorry to interrupt you, Twah," Applejack managed, somehow completely disregarding the little dragon waiting to greet her, "but ah'm in serious peril. Somethin' terrible is happenin' t'me!"
Spike leapt back in surprise, just barely able to avoid the apple farmer as she mindlessly marched in, nearly catching him underhoof.
"Hey App... woah!" Spike yelped, diving away before nearly being trampled to death. "What the hay Applejack? How about not putting me in serious peril, huh?" He muttered some choice curses once sufficiently recovered, not that either of the mares were paying him the slightest attention. He passingly wondered if he should just burn the entire library down right there for spite – serve 'em both right. However, in retrospect, he had just re-organized the bookshelves the night before – shame to waste all that work, sigh. Pity.
"You don't look very well at all, Applejack," Twilight hummed, noting the drab colour of her friend's coat, the bags beneath her tired eyes, and the unhappy frown she wore. "What's the problem? Let me guess, Rarity spurned your affections? Or maybe you've only now just realized that first cousins can't legally marry in Equestria?"
"Trust me, it was a lot worse 'bout ten minutes ago," Applejack panted.
Twilight shrugged away her pillows, standing to address her disheveled company directly.
"Okay, so you ran all the way from the orchard for... what?"
Ah..." Applejack began, her lower lip quivering. "Ah believe i'm no longer best pony."
Twilight's smug grin fell.
"What?" She balked. "Okay, to start with, that's just terrible grammar. Secondly, what exactly is 'best pony'? Is this another depraved contest between you and Rainbow Dash to see who's got the bigger ego?"
Spike elected at that point, since Twilight was using that tone of voice he found particularly unbearable, to subtly meander towards the kitchen to find some peace and quiet – and safety. It had become a bonafide sanctuary from Twilight's daily tyranny of late, so when she was inclined to be an insufferable nag, he would hide away for hours in the larder and read some of the adult books Twilight kept in a secret hiding place he'd known about all along. He'd even taken to discreetly urinating in her lemonade, for sound measure of course. Always good to have hobbies!
"Ah'm bein' serious, Twah," Applejack removed her trademark Stetson, shook out her blonde mane, and struck a mournful pose. "Jumped out of bed, lookin' to start the day as ever, when all of the sudden this weird n' sickly feeling came over me – ah've never felt so out of sorts! Ah couldn't breathe, mah head got all thick an' pained, mah chest was on fire... ah thought I was gonna die! So ah bolted out here as quick as I could, and as ah got up to yer house, the realitization just hit me - ah'm no longer best pony. It's like I... like I don't matter as much anymore! I feel empty on the inside!"
Despite Twilight's insisting desire to correct the orange earth pony – Did AJ just say 'real-i-ti-zation'? Yeesh! – she listened intently.
"Funny," Twilight mused. "I feel like that all the time."
"Ah guess it was bound to happen sooner or later," the orange mare continued. "Heck, ah know I ain't exactly interesting! All I do is work every day, don't do much else – just sorta stand in the background and crack wise once in a while. If I had any idea it was so important t'be best pony, ah swear I would've done more... gone on more hair-brained adventures, get mixed up in strange quests... heck, maybe even tried out as a sailor – ah hear the shipping trade is very popular these days."
"Depending on the ship," Twilight coughed into her hoof.
Applejack sank to her haunches, flecking tears twinkling as they rolled down her cheeks in slow, erratic rivulets. She wiped at them whilst choking back wracking sobs, replacing her hat to shield the embarrassing emotional swell.
"... ah'm sorry. I just don't know what to do! It ain't no wonder everyone stopped thinking ah was best, but how do ah fix it? Please help me, Twilight."
The sheer weight of Applejack's despair began to play at Twilight's nerves. In a rankling way, apparently.
"Look, none of this makes any sense," Twilight huffed. "Let's consult some books and see if we can discern what a 'best pony' is, to start. Then I'll decide if this is a big waste of my time or not."
Twilight didn't mean to sound so candidly harsh, but she had a lot of research to complete, and frankly a forlorn farmer was far from educational. Nor were they terribly hygienic, the librarian sniffed. Her orange compatriot smelled a mix of tangy labour and sweet fruit, muddled with earthen sods and floral notes... subtle bodily spices intermingled with the odors of a mare in the prime of her blossoming youth...
The lavender unicorn paused, lowering her glasses to inspect the orange earth pony properly.
Hm. When exactly did Applejack get so... provocative, I wonder? she speculated inwardly. Her posture, her poise; Applejack is perfect from pectoral cranilais profundus to glutius medialis! Hm!
Twilight knit her brow, her thoughts beginning to stray from the matter at hoof.
Wait, hold on a moment – is this... kind of arousing me? Hm again! It sort of is, apparently! Perhaps some further study into the matter is in order? Yes, yes indeed... always time for research, mm. With a few scented candles adorning the bedchambers, mayhaps? Oooh yes, definitely. Maybe a full-bodied cabernet sauvignon and some silk sheets? Absolutely! Assorted leather straps, silk ropes... I bet her brother would be willing to assist me in the procedure. Mm, I just love learning...
"Yer droolin' there, sugarcube," Applejack noted, pointing at the librarian's chin.
"Well, so I am," Twilight blinked a few times, wiping her chin as the mental images drifted away. "Whups! Isn't that embarassing? Hm. Say, is it me or did it just get hot in here?"
Both mares jumped as Spike suddenly burst in from the kitchen.
"Can I interest you fine ladies in a tall glass of... lemonade?" he beamed.
The End.