202: BITTER FRUITS
“Flim,” cried Flam in horror, “have you taken leave of your senses? We’re traveling salesponies—”
“Nonpareil,” added Flim out of habit.
“Indeed,” said Flam. “So why, dear brother of mine, are you suggesting we ‘settle down’ here in Appleloosa, as you put it?”
Flim hesitated. It was the same question he’d been asking himself for the past month, and he still wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. Because I like it here? Because I like not having to live out of a suitcase? Because I like being more than a hokey salespony? Because I like . . . her?
“Apple Cinnamon,” he said at length.
Flam looked blankly at him. “What?”
“Apple Cinnamon.”
“Apple Cinna—wait.” Flam frowned suspiciously. “You mean that mare who sells turnovers by the train station?”
Flim nodded.
Flam sighed, finally understanding. “Confound it, Flim. You know we’re not supposed to fraternize with the customers.”
“I’m not fraternizing. I’m just . . . spending time with her, getting to know her.”
“In other words, fraternizing.”
“Well, perhaps you should try it,” said Flim irritably. “It might do you good to get your head out of a cider barrel. I like turning a profit as much as the next pony, but there are other things in life, and frankly, I’m getting tired of missing out on them. Charming mares who sell turnovers included. We’ve got opportunity here, brother, real opportunity” — Flam winced; he’d always been inordinately proud of that stupid song he’d written — “and I don’t want to throw it away. I . . . I want to stay.”
“No. We’re not staying, and that’s final,” said Flam, looking away. His voice was suddenly harsh and shaky.
“Now look here — ”
“No. You can’t. We can’t. We need to keep traveling and selling.”
Flim scowled. “You can keep traveling and selling if you want, but you can do it without me. I’m staying.”
“You can’t,” said Flam again, looking up, and Flim was shocked to see tears running down his face. “I need you, Flim.”
“I’m sure you can manage — ”
“You don’t understand,” said Flam. “The machine, the Squeezy 6000 — the loan — listen, Flim, we — I — I can’t do this by myself.”
“Loan?” asked Flim. He could feel his stomach starting to churn. “What loan?”
“For the machine, Flim. Everything we have is tied up in the Squeezy 6000. We owe a lot of bits to the bank, and if we don’t keep paying, we’ll lose everything.”
“You never said anything about a loan! You said that money came from the inheritance!” Flim was screaming now.
“I lied, all right?” Flam screamed back. “Half of it came from dad. The other half . . . came from the bank. That’s why we need to keep selling. After that mess in Ponyville, we’re barely keeping up with the payments, and if you stay here . . . ” He shook his head. “I can’t do it alone, brother. If you stay here, we’re both done for.”
Flim turned away, seething, trying to process what he had just learned. After a long time, he finally turned back. “You could have told me,” he said quietly. “You should have told me. Actually, you should have asked me before you went and saddled us both with debt so we could live your dream.”
“I’m sorry,” said Flam.
“Me, too,” said Flim. “I’ll stay with you until the damn machine is paid off, but after that, we are finished, brother. Now if you’ll excuse me . . . I have to go tell Apple Cinnamon that I won’t be able to take her to that dance after all.”