Babs Seed's Choice
Together, Applejack and Apple Bloom sat in silence, one watching out the window as miles and miles of meadow, trees, streams, and deserts in the distance became insignificant blurs in the haste of the locomotive’s steam. The train was a ravenous hellion, devouring the miles and miles between Manehatten and Ponyville with a vengeance, the track leading the farm-ponies back to the West and the best.
Transactions had been completed, words had been exchanged, many tears and hugs had been shared, and Applejack had departed the iron gates of the Orange Family Mansion, sibling in tow, slamming the twisted steel with her hindhooves on her exit—nigh short of shattering it all.
As they’d walked away, leaving Babs Seed on the porch with Citrus Blossom, Applejack had to fight against all of her protective, primal, loving instincts to take Babs with them, even if she had to lift the foal by the scruff of her neck and drag her to the train station. Harsh, it would have been, but the prospect of causing a little pain seemed favorable to leaving Babs Seed behind.
It didn’t matter anyway. All of Applejack’s thoughts amounted to nothing more than dust in the wind, sand caught in the drafts created by the velocity of the locomotive as they headed home on the highway. She had played all of her cards as best as she could, and still the dealer revealed that she had a losing hand.
Apple Bloom had not been privy to the conversations between her sister and the older mares. Yet, she was no fool. The Stetson had served as a hiding-place for the third ticket, but Applejack hadn’t been sly enough to conceal it without the foal noticing.
In the wake of the argument and the attack, Apple Bloom had brushed aside all of her questions to either Applejack or Babs Seed regarding that ticket, praising every lucky star and comet she’d ever laid eyes upon for leaving both her body and her heart not terribly broken. Questions required more energy than she could’ve mustered in the aftermath of her encounter with mortality.
Oh, but though Apple Bloom was an Apple all the same, she was no Element of Honesty, and could still lie without too much backlash from her conscience. And she indeed lied to herself, convincing a skeptical consciousness that her heart was not broken, as the two shared a seat meant for three.
Applejack looked over to her sister, watching out of the same train window as they sped, metal monster of a train chewing and spitting out the last shreds of their optimism. The mare felt much older than she should have been, and even the normally-perky bow in her sibling’s mane appeared to be depressed.
“Hey, why don’t ya lookit that?” Applejack whispered, tapping on the windowpane. “Look out there, Apple Bloom. If ya look far enough, ya can see an eagle soaring out over them hills.”
Not even breaking her gaze, Apple Bloom merely shrugged and said, “Cool.”
“An' way, way out there, if ya go a little northeast o’… o’ where we were… there’s Trottingham, lil’ sis. That’s another important city among us Earth ponies. Not as big as… the others, o’ course. But, important nonetheless. Ya remember that little colt who dressed as a pirate on Nightmare Night? Pip, Ah think he was? He’s from over there.”
Her tone flat and disinterested, Apple Bloom again said, “Cool.”
Applejack sighed and snaked a forehoof around the foal’s shoulders. “C’mon Apple Bloom, look at me.” Apple Bloom did not move, even as Applejack attempted to pull her close into a hug, her eyes frozen in some place that probably wasn’t visible within the four known dimensions. “C’mon, lil’ sis, look at me,” Applejack urged again, tugging gently.
Apple Bloom turned at last, eyes sparkling with tears. “What, Applejack? What do ya want?” she asked, voice shaking, cracking at the transition of syllables.
Applejack said nothing, only opening her hooves to her sister, who promptly jumped into her chest, nuzzling into her fur, breathing deep to stifle her cries. “Shh. It’s okay, sugarcube. Don’t forget ta breathe. It’s okay. Ah’m here,” she soothed, as Apple Bloom fought against her emotions, willing herself not to cry, feeling as if the entire ocean tides were flinging her against the cliff-face of her despair.
“It’s… it’s jus’ not…”
“Shh, Apple Bloom. Take a deep breath.”
Breathing in through her nostrils, exhaling out her mouth, Apple Bloom, feeling undeserving of her cape, looked into the calm emeralds of her sister’s eyes and gasped, “It’s… it’s jus’ not fair.”
“What’s not fair, sugarcube?”
“Why… why didn’t Babs come wit’ us?”
Though honesty is valued greatly among those who walk in the light, a supreme virtue in its own right—one of the five that compromise Friendship, and, ultimately, Magic—the truth is not an easy lover or a fair-weather friend. It is there even in loneliness, and darkness, and misery, and despair; it merely sits and waits to be discovered, wrecking whatever havoc its nature demands at its revelation. It is far easier and sweeter to be a liar.
Discord may have been a trickster spirit, a laughing demon of Chaos itself, but he and his creepy talking apples did have one wise proverb to share, and it stuck with his first victim: sometimes a lie is easier to take.
Applejack looked at her hooves, realizing they were as orange as ever, not one drop of gray spreading to forgive her temptations, and took a deep breath of her own.
“Ah’m… Ah’m leavin’ it ta her, Apple Bloom.”
Apple Bloom's eyes grew wide. “W-what?”
“Ah’m… Ah’m lettin’ Babs make that choice, Apple Bloom,” Applejack repeated, lifting the filly’s chin with a hoof so she could see the weight of her abdication in her eyes. “’Twas a hard decision, sugarcube, but it’s our only shot in this dark. Ah love Auntie Orange an' Citrus, an' Ah still love Uncle on some level, too, even if it’s an entirely separate one.” She paused, glossing over the complicated details of that familial relationship, and continued, “Ah love ‘em, but they don’t trust themselves enough ta make such a decision.”
“But… but… they’re grown-ups,” Apple Bloom reasoned. “They’re adults. Aren’t y’all who are grown-ups supposed ta have everythin’ down-pat?”
Mustering a chuckle, Applejack replied, “Oh, Apple Bloom, jus’ give it a few mo’ years, an' you’ll think the opposite o’ that. Then, there’ll be a day when you’ll be a big pony—an' not because Ah’ve been the victim o’ some Poison Joke, mind ya!—an' you’ll see that things aren’t always easy.”
Their eyes met. Apple Bloom sniffled and sighed. “Ah… Ah guess yer right, sis. But… still… what’s gonna happen? Are we gonna see Babs again?”
“Ah sure hope, so, sugarcube.”
“But… doesn’t she love us?”
“Ah know she does, Apple Bloom, you an' me both,” Applejack said gently, taking the foal into her hooves, watching the scenery pass them by out the window together. “That won’t change no matter how many miles separate us. Love is like that.”
Apple Bloom nodded and smiled slightly. “Well… Ah… Ah jus' hope she makes the right choice.”
“An’ what choice would that be, sugarcube?” Applejack asked, curious as to her answer.
Apple Bloom thought for a second, stroking her chin with one of her forehooves, before the cartoonish lightbulb appeared over her head again. “Whatever makes her happy, Applejack. An’ Ah’ll be happy, if she’s happy,” she finished, smiling.
Applejack smiled and nuzzled her sibling’s cheek. “Ah’m proud o’ ya, Bloom. That’s the right answer.” The foal said nothing, only nuzzling her back. “Although… speakin’ of that devil, there is somethin’ Ah need ta tell ya ‘bout love, an' you’d better listen good.”
Ears pricked, attention caught, Apple Bloom met her sister’s gaze and replied, “Yes, Applejack, what is it?”
A gleeful smile graced Applejack's muzzle. “If Ah ever, an' Ah mean ever,” Applejack began, grinning, “catch ya an' anypony else, filly o’ colt, explorin' what ‘love’ means ta y’all—‘specially in ma room—Ah’ll make yer hide work so hard you’ll never wanna eat another apple again in yer life, an' Ah’ll make sure yer loverboy o’ girl knows what true fear is.”
Apple Bloom began to blush as she realized exactly what her sister had implied. “Um, heh, heh, Applejack, Ah don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, ‘bout—“
“Aw, horsefeathers,” Applejack mumbled, rustling the foal’s mane. “Ah was yer age once. Now, Ah’m not gonna repeat what Ah jus’ said, so remember it well, got it?”
Nodding her head rapidly, the filly stuttered, cheeks mimicking her mane, “Y-y-yes big sis! I-I w-will!”
“Oh, an’ one mo’ thing, Apple Bloom…”
“Y-yes?”
“If Babs breaks yer heart, o’ vice versa, Ah’ll tie her—o’ you, if yer the cheatin’ kind—ta the barn roof, in a rainstorm.”
~
Citrus Blossom hovered above Babs Seed, fiddling with the bandages on the foal’s ear as gently as she could. “Youze know, Applejack forgot all about this. Convenient, huh, sis?”
“Ha ha, so convenient.” Babs groaned, clenching her teeth as the bandages were peeled away, pulling some of her fur along with them. “Arggh, Citrus—“
“Shh, it’s almost over now, sweetie,” Citrus said, tearing away the last of the dressings. Fresh air hit the wound and the foal began to relax, releasing the tension in her muscles as Citrus continued to examine the extent of the mugger’s damage.
“How’s it look?”
“Hmm. How youze managed to stop the bleeding on your own, I don’t understand, Babs. You should’ve needed stitches here…”
Needles an' sutures?! “S-s-stitches, huh?”
“Oh, no, don’t worry, hon. Somepony must have been looking down on you, because it’s starting to seal up on both sides."
The slash of the dagger had ripped a small triangle of flesh out of Babs Seed’s ear, about half an inch in diameter. However, the blood had clotted thick and fast, the foal’s tissues burning the midnight oil to begin to cover both slopes of the triangle that had been created. Once it healed completely, it would appear as if it were a defect of birth, not of violence.
With the application of the flaming antiseptic, Babs would be safe from sepsis, and now Time would do its healing work to cover the dagger’s tracks. For now, the filly was out of the thicket of woods, the greatest danger having passed. Citrus Blossom thanked Celestia for that.
Citrus Blossom continued, “I’m just going to clean it with soap and water and then wrap it back for you. Is that okay?”
Babs Seed nodded, rolling onto her stomach for easier access to the injury. “Jus' be quick, ‘bout it, Citrus. I’m tired.”
Citrus raised an eyebrow. “Tired? But it’s not even noon.” She dipped a washcloth into a bucket of warm, soapy water and began to gently wipe away dried blood and plasma from the sliced cartilage.
“Ahh, Citrus…” Babs Seed gritted her teeth again, a mix of comfort and irritation flooding her neurons at each touch of her sibling’s hooves. “Ah, hurry it up, will youze!” she barked, bracing herself into her bedspread as the soap came and stung away all of her previous relief.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m almost done.”
“Youze jus' said dat a few minutes ago!”
With a few more quick swipes and a toss of the dirty rag into the soapy bucket below, Citrus sat next to her sibling, ruffling a hoof through her mane as she said, “Well, now we’re done.”
Babs Seed giggled, meeting her sister’s forehoof and pushing it out of her mane. “Dat tickles, Citrus! Youze never done dat befo’!”
Citrus Blossom grinned and said, “Well, youze could say I picked it up from a very, very good mare that we’re very privileged to know.”
Babs caught the reference and flipped on her back to look up into her sister’s eyes. Her voice quivered as she asked, “A-Applejack does dat ta Apple Bloom, doesn’t she? Dat’s where youze saw it, right?”
Citrus nodded. “Yes, Babs Seed, that’s right,” she whispered, her irises meeting the emeralds below as they began to shine. “Applejack is a very, very good pony, and Apple Bloom too. It was sure nice to see them, wasn’t it?”
“Y-y-yes…”
Allspice possessed far more qualities and traits than merely being able to follow recipes, measure ingredients, and avoid starting small fires in the kitchen. Though not as warm or as personal as Greyhoof, the mare was still wise, and when the two foals had finally joined her for breakfast before the Apple sisters’ departure, she had seized upon the ticket, hiding it in her apron. Citrus Blossom approached her after the saddening farewell of Apples and Oranges and requested that the mare relinquish the momentous piece of paper.
That ticket now was locked away in Citrus's bedroom, subject to her mercy. If she had wanted to, she could have thrown away all of her words to Applejack with a few quick snips of scissors or a flush down the toilet. A part of her wondered why she didn’t just destroy the damned thing, havoc that it had brought into the Orange Family Mansion. There was another part of her, however, that whispered and beckoned for her to call the bet again, to take the next step towards the summit and leap boldly over the horizon.
Ignorance was still on Babs's side, oblivious to the hammer that threatened to strike her against an anvil of Applejack’s own. No, of everypony’s own, Citrus silently reasoned. She could not blame her cousin for her compassion, though it brought even more incomprehensible chaos into their already demented lives. Applejack was just doing what she felt was right.
Now, it was time for Citrus to pick up her cousin's baton.
Hugging her sister tightly, feeling the foal begin to sniff back a threatening torrent of tears, Citrus soothed, “It’s going to be alright, Babs. Everything will be alright.”
“No, it won’t,” Babs Seed jabbed back, shaking her muzzle, fighting against geysers beginning to reach towards the mantle of her countenance.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because! I… I…”
“You…?”
Lifting her chin to meet her sister’s eyes, Babs answered, “I’ll… I’ll neva see dem again! Not afta what happened! An' it’s all ma fault!”
Babs Seed began to sob.
“No it’s not, honey,” Citrus Blossom cooed, embracing the foal tightly. She leaned down to meet the Babs's level. The little one who could take down a crazed colt with a blade began to crack in her broken places, guilt erupting magma through the charred Earth at last. “Youze didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”
I only ran away, bein’ stupid, an' walked right inta a trap. I only almost got maself an’ ma favorite cousin killed. Oh, Celestia, youze is right, I didn't do anythin' wrong.
“Youze… don’t… know… dat.” Babs hiccuped between cries.
“Yes, I do. Do you wanna know how I know that? Look at me.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Babs, honey, please—“ Citrus attempted to slide a hoof under her chin, only to be slapped away.
“I said no!” Babs deadpanned, pushing away from Citrus’s embrace and flipping back onto her abdomen. “Jus'… jus' leave me alone, okay?” She sobbed, muffled by the fine cotton and goose-down of her escape of choice, the pillow.
This particular exchange had occurred many times before, Babs Seed slamming and securing the door behind her at the probing of questions too personal or too painful from Citrus Blossom. Although the subject matter instigating the brick wall differed from time to time, Citrus's reaction did not: she would sigh, or shake her head, or face-hoof, and walk away, and leave the filly to her own devices and thoughts, never to bring up the incident again, unless Babs Seed prompted it first.
Today was a first in many of ways for both of the fillies, and for Citrus Blossom, it was the first time she wouldn’t shy away from this challenge.
“That’s not going to work this time, Babs,” she replied sternly, stretching out her hooves, lining herself up against her sister. “I will wait here all day if I have to, but we’re going to talk one way or the other. There’s something important I need to tell youze, and it sounds like there’s a lot you need to tell me.”
Babs Seed looked up at her sister, eyes full of tears, saying nothing. … Afta all dis time, an' all these hints, youze finally stay. Youze finally don’t run from me an' ma fear an' anger. Dis… dis must be important.
“Yes, Babs Seed,” Citrus continued at the foal’s silence, “I’m not running away anymore. And don’t say that I won’t understand—“
“But, Citrus, there are some things youze jus' can’t possibly understand!” Babs whimpered, rubbing her eyes.
“Oh, really?” Citrus challenged. “Try me.”
“Fine.” Babs turned onto her side, locking pupils with her opponent. “Youze don’t know what it’s like ta be me, Citrus. Youze don’t walk around wit' a huge blank flank in dis city, in dis city where names an' cutiemarks are all dat matter. Bits, too. Oh! An' dat’s anotha thing. Youze know dis mansion, an' the bits, an' the business?”
Citrus Blossom nodded.
“I want none o’ dis,” Babs continued. “I don’t wanna be like Ma an' Da’, always runnin’ around wit’ their heads cut off like the world’s gonna end ‘cause there’s work in the mornin’. I don’t care ‘bout havin’ a big mansion like dis, o' tons o’ servants—though I did like Greyhoof, an' I like Allspice, too—o’ nice things.” Furrowing her brow, Babs Seed hissed, “But youze wouldn’t understand any o' dat, would youze, Citrus?”
Citrus Blossom smiled and softly spoke the truths hidden in the night skies and her own soul. “Babs Seed, have I ever told you about my dreams?”
Huh? What are youze talkin’ ‘bout?
“What dreams?”
Citrus took one of her sibling’s forehooves between both of hers, enhancing their connection as she explained, “At night, when I dream, I don’t dream of Manehatten, Babs. I don’t dream about this mansion, about filling its rooms with more expensive gifts or swimming through a pool of gold. Hay, I don’t even dream ‘bout Orange Enterprises, or being a business-pony. What I really dream about, is Canterlot.”
The unicorn capital o' Equestria? “Canterlot?” Babs said, confused.
“Canterlot,” Citrus confirmed, nodding. “The city of glitz and glamor, fashion capital of Equestria. Why, I couldn’t even count all the times I’ve dreamt of walking down some runway in Canterlot, elites from far and wide marveling as I strike poses for their cameras, wearing fine silks and unique designs. That’s where I truly would be, Babs Seed, if I could be. So, yes, I think I understand a little bit of what you feel.”
With tears in her eyes, Citrus Blossom declared, “I don’t want to be here, either, Babs Seed, but I mustn't leave.”
~
Libra Scales and Bernie Madhoof sat in silence in their downtown office, one typing away furiously at a miniature typewriter, the other nursing a glass of orange juice and watching the clouds begin to gather beyond the bay window.
“You’re just drinking juice again?” Libra muttered, hunched over her desk, losing her mind and her worries in the repetition of numbers and their order of operations.
“Indeed,” Bernie said, taking a deep swig. He wished the mare hadn’t stowed away in the office for the afternoon; a bottle of Applejack Daniel’s in the desk drawers cried out to its long lost lover—the orange juice in his glass—seeking reunion. Unfortunately for the stallion, he would need to wait a little longer. The guards were still on patrol, darkness not yet falling upon the mare’s reign of terror.
“Hmph.”
“Are you not pleased?”
His wife looked up from her spreadsheets for a second, in mid-type, and narrowed her eyes, replying, “I’m not sure if I should be.”
The stallion spun in his chair and smiled. “Darling, I assure you, I am a changed stallion. Things are different now, and will continue to change. Very, very soon.”
Somehow, those words made the whole room grow cold, and Libra shivered.
~
Uniting in their tears, fledgling argument quelled at last, Citrus Blossom had left Babs Seed’s bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, little foal yawning in her embrace. In light of the attempt of some crazed colt in the park last night, Citrus could understand her sister’s weariness. Though she wished to speak further with Babs regarding that violent encounter, the elephant in the room could not hold back its stampede for much longer.
Daylight beginning to fade into dusk, Citrus knew that she could not draw out her delay for too many more hours. The ticket did indeed have no expiration date, but her courage did. She feared that if she procrastinated enough, she would eventually give up on the entire conversation, becoming more and more terrified of it the longer she waited.
Citrus Blossom was an Orange, not an Apple, and certainly was no Element of Honesty. The sharing of blood was not sufficient to call her and Applejack’s temperaments, personalities, or even values the same. Some were quite radically different. For example, Citrus could not comprehend why Applejack chose to wear that Stetson with every outfit, regardless of its season or intention. Didn’t she have other hats to wear?
In that same vein, Citrus envied Applejack’s courage in the face of opposition, the daredevil nerve of her to make that reckless—if not understandable—proposal to her aunt and cousin.
Yet, Citrus could not bring herself to break the promise she’d made to her cousin, even if the cards she held were weak and she was sure the odds were against her. Truth be told, in spite of her own confession of wanderlust, Citrus hoped Babs Seed would stay in Manehatten.
The corridors of the mansion were becoming colder with each day that passed, temperature plunged by much more than just the arrival of the equinox and the approaching hooves of winter. As servants left, sales began to decline, and Father Orange’s change of heart waned, the floorboards would become even emptier as the inevitable continued to arrive. The entire mansion would eventually become drafty, desolate, devoid of all light or laughter, save for whatever candles Babs Seed lit in the dark.
Citrus Blossom poked at her plate, sharing leftover lentils and quinoa with Allspice, both mares barely eating or speaking. With each tick and tock, the clock on the wall seemed to mock her, minutes trickling by and threatening to awaken the foal upstairs as time passed.
“So… youze still have dat ticket, Madame Orange?” Allspice asked, looking up from her mostly-full plate.
Citrus nodded. “Yes, Allspice.”
“… An', do youze intend ta… use it?” Allspice asked, taking a fork in one of her forehooves and making it dance on her dish.
“That’s not my decision.”
“… Who’s decision could it be, m’lady? Forgive ma ignorance.”
“The one who should’ve been asked this question in the first place,” Citrus said, taking a bite of the delicious dinner. It felt like sawdust as it slipped down her esophagus, but through no fault of the chef’s. Nerves rendered her taste buds thoroughly useless.
Allspice's eyes matched the size of her serving-platters as she brought her trademark mug of coffee to her lips, drinking deep in an attempt to shake herself into reality. Finding no success, she simply replied, “Oh, I… see.”
Burying her face in her forehooves, Citrus Blossom lamented suddenly, “Oh, Allspice, I wish I would have never made Applejack that promise. I wish I had just ripped up that ticket once she laid it out.”
“So… why don’t youze jus' do dat, Madame Orange?” Shrugging her hooves, Allspice added, “Do youze see Applejack heeya anywhere? I sure the hay don’t. An' small things like tickets can be lost extremely easily, Madame Orange.”
Shaking her head, Citrus explained, “No, I can’t do that. As much as I don’t like the idea, I made Applejack a promise, and youze don’t break promises to family.”
“Oh, Citrus, when youze reaches ma age, you’ll understand how silly dat statement is.”
“How so?”
“Just because somepony is family, don’t mean dey ain’t an idiot o’ a fiend. In fact, Citrus Blossom, youze will come ta find dat the ones who hurt us the most are the ones who are supposed ta love us the most.” Allspice looked much older then, as old as Greyhoof, voice somber, hinting at a life full of proof to that statement.
Sighing, Citrus began, “I suppose you’re—“
“Citrus?”
Turning in her stool, Citrus Blossom’s countenance lit up with a happy grin, pleased to see that the youngest of the mansion was not only awake, but had managed to descend the summit of the stairs all by herself.
“Well, good evening, Babs. It’s so good to see that you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Betta,” Babs Seed said as she trotted over to the mare. “I don’t feel as fast, o’ as strong, but I can walk pretty good now, an' ma ear doesn’t hurt as bad.”
Clapping her hooves together, Citrus exclaimed, “That’s great to hear, sweetheart! Do you want something to eat before we go talk?”
Glancing at the table, Babs Seed recognized the meal as the one from the evening prior—the last thing she ever wanted to eat again, due to association and not taste—and shook her head. “No, I think I’m okay.”
“As you say,” Citrus Blossom said. She rose to all four of her hooves. Both fillies slowly walked towards the gardens, while Allspice stared into her dish, not sure what outcome she hoped for in the depths of her own honesty.
~
Libra Scales and Bernie Madhoof stood by the bay window of their office within Orange Enterprises, watching as the roads of Manehatten began to clear of their bodies, surrendering their citizens to the call of home and safety. The mare and stallion watched silently as Celestia was defeated by Luna, the goddess of the sun swallowed by the horizon and the gap between dimensions of space and time. They knew not the tilt of the axis, nor each other’s gnawing intentions.
The day’s work had been completed at last. It was now time to celebrate. Turning to his bride, the stallion asked, “My dear Libra, how would you like to go out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us.”
LIbra Scales blinked. They hadn’t had a date in almost six years.
“How about that little spaghetti restaurant downtown? The one you’ve always wanted to try?” he pressed, nuzzling his wife’s neck, letting his breath warm her ear and chill her spine.
“I… I… I don’t know, Bernie.”
“Why is that?”
“After what’s happened with Babs Seed and Apple Bloom—with that awful ruffian out there on the streets last night—shouldn’t we be at home? Don’t you think it’s wrong to go out on a day like this?”
Smiling, Bernie continued to tempt her. “They have the rarest wine there, Libra. Gentle music performed by a famous Canterlot cellist. Citrus and the servants are home. Babs should be fine.”
Draping one of his mighty hooves around her shoulders, Bernie Madhoof said, “You can’t keep her in a glass jar forever, you know, darling. And she’s proven to be far more…” He wanted to say masculine or butch, but knew all too well what those kind of words would bring in their utterance. “Independent than I had previously thought, wouldn’t you agree?”
Libra Scales was just a mare, and Bernie Madhoof was just a stallion. Not all ponies would be subject to the whims of the opposite sex—some have hearts that seek and need sameness instead of otherness, as Nature and Fate and the Most High wills it for them, the minority—but Libra Scales feel into the category of those who were. In the aftershock of the attack and all other accompanying stress, she wanted nothing more than to drown her troubles away with wine and music and food and maybe even sex, if Bernie Madhoof made his facade more convincing.
Libra Scales nodded, hooking one of her forehooves through his offered elbow, following him out of the corporation they had built together.
~
At the top of the gentle hill in the garden of the mansion, near the tree the two most powerful ponies in all of Manehatten had planted nearly two decades prior, the streets of the city are as candles in the dark at the dusk. Lights in the distance, in the windows of homes and stores, began to flicker and fade with the call of the moonlight. In another side of Manehatten, others tended their lamps, burning brightly, the bars, nightclubs, and poker halls awakening from their feverish graveyard-shift dreams. Anypony watching the ebb and flow of light and darkness from this hill, even the most bitter and hardened among them all, could not deny this fact: Manehatten was beautiful from afar at night.
“I always get chills when I look at the city this way,” Citrus Blossom said, sitting at the crest of the hill with Babs Seed right next to her, viewing the city come alive and rest in peace simultaneously.
“Yea, it sure is an amazin’ thing.” Babs Seed sighed, her mane rustling in the gentle breeze. “Like the stars… a thousand points o’ light. An' nopony knows where dey came from.”
“I’m sure some scientist in Canterlot knows, Babs.”
The filly shook her head, smiling as she replied, “Somepony very wise told me once dat nopony knows, but it don’t matter, dey are still beautiful.”
Citrus returned her grin and said, “Whoever said that, hon, youze should continue to listen to them. Such a statement is simple, but very true.”
“Yes.”
The two sat in awe and wonder as lamps in the streetlights below began to glow in the same breath as windows of skyscrapers and townhouses went dim. The wind continued in its game, playing with their manes, running its hooves through their fur, but stayed pleasant, not wanting to send them scurrying back inside in the cold. Nature is not always a serious entity, needing recreation as much as anything else.
“So… what do youze want ta tell me?”
Those eight words left Citrus speechless, even as her sibling turned to her, eyes wide with expectation.
“Well, Citrus?”
“Babs, honey… I… you know I love you, right?”
Uh-oh. Nothin' good starts dis way. “Yes,” Babs uneasily answered, adding, “I love youze too.”
Citrus met her gaze, saying nothing, breathing slowly as her heart began to race with anxiety.
“Babs Seed,” Citrus said slowly, “I haven’t been entirely honest with youze today.”
Fearing the drop of some thunder-god’s hammer, Babs inquired, “Honest 'bout what?”
“Applejack… Applejack bought a third ticket at the Manehatten station when she got here, Babs. A third ticket to Ponyville. For you.”
“Fo’ me… ta visit?”
Citrus Blossom shook her head.
“Then…what was it fo’?” Babs Seed asked, confused, all her previous twelve years of life experience failing to connect the dots her sister had drawn on her mental chalkboard. Why would she buy me a ticket, iffa she didn’t want me ta come back wit’ her? Unless… no… no, it can’t be…
Knowing that the next few words would release the cards, toss the dice, throw away every last remaining ounce of control she possessed over the situation, Citrus Blossom spat the words out fast in case she changed her mind during their pronunciation. “To move. So you can move with them. To Ponyville.”
“Move?!” Babs shrieked, reacting to the answer as if it had been a forehoof across her cheek. “But, but, Citrus! Why would she wanna do summat like dat? Are youze…” No, it can’t be, dey have no way o’ knowin’, how could dey even do summat like dis even if dey knew? “Are youze kickin’ me out? You an' Ma an' Da’?” she squeaked at last, voice cracking at the possibility. Is it because I’m—
“No! Honey, no, no, never. We would never do that to you,” Citrus sputtered, wrapping quick hooves around the foal, pulling her close. She held onto Babs Seed tightly, fighting a torrent brewing within her, as tightly as she would if the foal had been borne a pegasus or a unicorn prone to teleportation. “We love you, Babs, and Applejack and the other Apples love you, too.”
“Then… then why? Why would she want me ta move wit’ 'em? Why did youze even tell me 'bout it?” she demanded, wrestling out of her sister’s hooves, anger beginning to beat war drums in her chest.
Citrus Blossom mustered every speck of self-control that she possessed to hold back screaming regret at even starting this conversation.
However, she remembered a sea of broken images that festered in her psyche: her sister, held down by three servants of Switchfoot himself, little demons on the Manehatten cobblestone threatening the foal with broken glass and broken bones; her father’s alternating absence and anger; her mother’s attempts to pick up the pieces while still shaping the foal—and hating herself for being less than a superhero; and the tears, the screams, the nightmares, all these things that had plagued Babs Seed’s life like a pox or a curse.
She remembered, too, the joy on her sibling’s face upon both her own return and the reunion of the Apples with the Oranges—that light shining above the fog, raising her up, making her forget the next tempest that was brewing in the Orange Family Mansion. On the other hoof, the Manehatten CMC was a ray of light cast from the city—one that was just beginning to shine.
Citrus Blossom admitted to herself that, if it were in her hooves, she would have had to check the table until somepony else made a bet. Hanging with indecision, letting the cards fall where they may, however, is not always an option; action is required in the end, no matter how long it is delayed.
Citrus Blossom was running out of time as an angry foal demanded again, “Why are youze tellin’ me dis? Huh? Do youze want me ta leave?!” Babs was on all for hooves now, muscles tensed and ready for a battle to justify her own existence.
“No,” whispered her sister, staring at the ground.
“'No'? Really? Dat’s all youze have ta say?!”
“… It’s not, Babs. There’s… there’s a lot more. But… I won’t fight youze. I… I just want to help youze, that’s all,” she muttered, unable to meet Babs's eyes, finding no more fight left in her.
Help me?
“Help me wit’ what, Citrus?” Babs Seed asked, filling the distance between them, trotting close over to her sister. Aw, see, youze done it again, Babs, jumpin’ all over the conclusions. Look at her. She looks like she’s gonna cry.
Citrus didn't. Instead, she swallowed her sadness and locked eyes with her sibling. “Babs Seed, honey, Applejack told us about what happened to you. Why your tail and mane are… like that.” Citrus nearly choked on the last two words, that heap of broken images rising to the surface before she forced them back down.
“And… Applejack is worried about you, Babs. And Apple Bloom, and Granny Smith, and Big Mac too. They don’t think that you should have to go through these kind of things… here… anymore. They… they want to give you a choice, Babs Seed. They want you to have a choice in where you live, and who you want to be. They don’t want you to get hurt, and they don’t want to hurt anypony’s feelings—not mine, not Mom or Dad’s, not any of your friends’—but they feel that you’ve endured enough that you should have a choice.”
Have a choice. A crossroads. Ponyville an' Manehatten… what I’ve always known, an' what I’ve barely seen.
Babs Seed said nothing, falling back on her haunches, chewing over the words of her sister, letting the meaning sink in.
“Applejack… she tried to talk to Mom and Dad about this, but… they can’t choose. And I can’t choose, either, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be fair to send you off, but it would be just as unfair to make you stay somewhere where you don’t feel… home.”
No, Citrus…
A tear sparkled in Bab Seed’s emerald eye. “But… dis is home. You are ma home,” Babs Seed whispered, as that one tear escaped and made her a fool. I thought I was done cryin’ an' bein’ a crybaby. I guess I was wrong.
Citrus Blossom watched as the foal struggled to contain herself, rubbing her eyes, blinking rapidly, looking over to the city crouched below them. She heard Babs begin to count her breaths, one inhalation, then two, and before she knew it, it was up to ten and then back down again.
“Babs Seed. This is up to you,” Citrus Blossom said as her sibling reached one. “I will place the ticket on the kitchen table, and whatever happens, happens. You can throw it away, or keep it in your journal, or make a paper airplane out of it… or… or—”
“No! I can’t do it… I can’t leave youze,” Babs cried out, leaping into her sister’s waiting hooves, forgetting her rejection. “I… I can’t leave dis place, dis is where I’ve always been.”
“Babs, do you remember what I said about Canterlot and modeling?” Citrus Blossom asked, embracing her sister, who looked smaller and more fragile than she’d ever been.
“Y-yes,” Babs said.
“Do youze want to know why I don’t leave?”
“Youze jus' said youze ‘mustn’t’ leave,” Babs recalled. “Like it was law.”
“No, there are no laws saying one must remain in the city or the building of one’s birth, Babs Seed. There are no laws saying that you can’t move, or leave bad memories and bad ponies behind. There are no rules or declarations or decrees that make you a bad pony if you do. But, no, Babs Seed, I mustn’t leave because the mere thought of leaving terrifies me so. It keeps me here, that fear does, and I wish I was brave, like you… if I was, I could leave.”
Me, brave? Dis crybaby, brave?
“I’m… I’m brave?”
“Yes,” Citrus soothed, stroking the filly’s mane, feeling its soft strands in her forehooves, as if this would be last time she could know their touch. “Yes, Babs Seed. You are the bravest foal—no, the bravest pony—I’ve ever known. You’ve been through so much, and yet, you’re still heeya, aren’t youze? You’re still heeya, and you’re strong, and…”
Citrus Blossom took one last long, sorrowful look at the Manehatten streets below, watching them snake and burrow and twist away into the roads leading West, and finished, “And I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Babs Seed looked up at her sister and asked the penultimate question, the base of all morality. “An' how do I know what the right choice is?”
While the wind whispered around them, the Earth itself began to mutter its ancient secrets, its hidden knowledge, chasms beneath the deep lending their magic to their hearts and hooves.
“The right choice is the one that, deep in your heart of hearts, you long for, so much you dream about it. The right choice is the little angel on your shoulder whispering that you could have so much more, that you could be so much more. The right choice is the choice that brings you one step closer to being who youze want to be, how youze want to be.
“Babs Seed, this tree—this orange tree right before us—was not intended to be so, but Mom calls it Auntie’s memorial tree. Sometimes, I think, on nights like this, if you listen close enough, you can hear her. And, even if you can’t, I think you need some time alone.”
Babs Seed back to her, and the dealer added Citrus’s chips to the pot before the showdown.
~
Allspice and Bernie Madhoof’s two lackey stallions huddled in the servant’s shack around a lantern, midnight approaching. Whereas the past few days, the three had spoken of nothing but the West and the best, tonight, they could find little to discuss. The signs that they had been waiting for drew near, they felt, hanging over their heads like an anvil waiting to be dropped by the careless hooves of some cross-eyed mailmare. The time of reckoning was near.
Outside, they heard Madame Orange’s drunken laughter, and Master Orange’s forced chuckles as they made their way up to the front door of the Orange Family Mansion.
“Sounds like somepony had too much ta drink, an' it ain’t the usual offender,” Allspice said, shaking her head. “Gettin’ drunk in times like dis? I can’t… I can’t wrap ma mind ‘round dat.”
“Oh, hush your haughtiness, Allspice,” the older stallion shot back, waving away her disapproval with one of his forehooves. “If my daughter and niece had nearly been slain by some transient, I wouldn’t just be getting drunk. I’d be getting cirrhosis.”
“Youze an idiot.” She snarled. “It’s fools like youze who think dey can jus' drink their problems away who are the problem in dis world o’ ours. All escape wit' youze, no solutions.”
“Well, what would youze do, iffa youze were Bernie’s wife?” the younger servant challenged.
Without missing a beat, Allspice spat, “Kick him right between the temples, until the world goes black, an’ then, take the fillies an' run.”
~
Bernie Madhoof led his wife calmly up the stairs to the second level, Libra Scales putty in his hooves. Just one glass of fine wine had become two, and then three, and then an entire bottle, the stallion pleased with his resolve as he stuck to orange juice throughout the whole dinner. She’d flapped many jaws at him, dragging on and on about Babs Seed and the ticket, and he’d put on a stellar performance pretending to listen. Somepony should’ve given him a medal for his efforts.
The stallion couldn’t understand her dilemma. Weeds needed to be plucked from Bernie Madhoof’s garden, regardless if the deed was done by gentle re-planting in a pot far, far away from him or a violent spray of holy flame.
Flame. That reminded him of Monday.
It was Saturday evening—Sunday, really—and in her intoxication and tears and throwing her hooves all over him, Libra Scales had dropped the guards around her heart at last, sent them all home without pay. All it would take would be a little more sweet-talk and a little more white-lie, and she would fall into submission… or, at least, neutrality. Either way, there would be not much more of this nonsense.
Monday, would come the tempest.
~
Babs Seed sat alone under the orange tree long past its prime, cursing it for bearing no fruit. It, like most things, was utterly useless at this point—as useless as her own thoughts.
Should I stay o’ should I go? I can’t abandon Citrus, o’ Mom… hay, I’d even miss Da' some days. An' Allspice, too. We were jus' startin’ ta become friends! An' tha Manehatten Crusadas… what will happen ta 'em iffa I leave? But, on the otha hoof, it’d be nice ta be somewhere where I could be safe, an' wouldn’t have ta worry ‘bout things...
...
It’d be nice ta be… happy…
She shook her head in an attempt to collect her thoughts, to cease their contradictions and make them coherent and knowable. The orange tree gave her no relief in spite of Citrus’s advice.
Useless tree, she thought, good enough fo’ only one thing. Babs Seed turned and began to kick the tree with her powerful hindhooves, THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! The rhythm shattered the night’s calm atmosphere, but not her indecision.
Babs had continued to assault the long-dead tree for what seemed like hours when, with little more than an inaudible POOF! the Turner-angel returned from his hiding place in the void, resting upon her conscience.
“Oh. It’s youze again,” she mumbled in irritation.
“Hey, kiddo. Youze think I would miss somethin’ as excitin’ as dis?”
“No,” Babs grumbled, continuing her onslaught, wondering if there was possibly an orange or two hiding among the tree’s skeletal branches, and if it would still be edible.
“Edible?! Kid, youze don’t pay attention very much, do youze? Oranges don’t last twenty years, kid.”
“Whatever. So, why heeya so late?”
“Late? I thought I showed up jus’ in time!”
Babs Seed rolled her eyes in protest.
“Well, enough o' dis talk,” the Turner-angel dismissed, pegasus wings flapping in the gentle breeze of the night in protest. “Look, kid, I’m guessin’ youze want me ta tell youze what ta do, eh?”
“Dat would be nice,” the filly growled back.
Her mental interpretation of her savior laughed. “Oh, youze want ta talk ‘bout nice, eh? Well, we all want things, kid, but not all o’ us are so lucky ta have family like youze. Like dat Applejack. Is she single, by the way?”
“Youze… youze blockhead,” Babs replied, sure that anypony watching her bucking the dead tree and talking to herself would be calling for the ponies in white coats any moment now. It didn’t matter. The world had seen the depths of her madness and fury before, what was the harm in a little more insanity?
“Jus’ kiddin’. But no, kid, youze have the chance o’ a lifetime right now. Now, I’m not sayin’ go fo' it, ‘cuz in the end, YOUZE will be the one dealin’ wit' the consequences o' the choice. Dat’s what bein’ a grown-up really means, Babs Seed. It’s not havin’ all the answers; it’s dealin’ wit' livin’ youze answers ta the big questions. Nopony will bail an adult out iffa he o’ she makes a bad choice, not usually at least. So, youze is bein’ thought o’ as an adult right now… ain’t dat flatterin’?”
“… I guess,” she conceded, halting her abuse of the innocent tree, hooves re-connecting with the ground and the source of her strength.
“Ah, youze see? Youze is an old soul, little seed, though youze may not know it yet. An’ old souls never have it easy. Trust me, I know. But youze will make the right choice, I trust youze.”
“What does dat matter, iffa I don’t trust me?”
“Ah, but youze will. It’s simple.”
“Simple?! How the buck can dis be simple?”
“… Why don’t youze jus' stop an’ think fo' a while? Youze been floodin’ youze mind too much. Just wait ‘n’ bide, an' watch fo' what makes youze spine run hot an' cold with awe an' revelation. Then, you’ll have youze answer, kid.”
With the blink of an eye, the Turner-angel was gone from her shoulder, molding back into her subconscious.
Babs Seed spun her hooves in a circle, so that she was facing the orange tree directly now. She noted that it didn’t seem as pitiful anymore, as worthy of her abuse. Indeed, through twenty years of storms, seasons, and relentless hooves, it still stood. It may have been stripped to its heartwood, all illusions cast aside, but, still, it was here. Its branches were outstretched towards the heavens, not in despair but in prayer, in praise that it still remained, that it still could serve a purpose—even if that purpose was far from its place of origin.
For, though it was no longer in the land of its birth and fulfilling the intentions of its genes, the tree still held purpose. There was meaning in its meaninglessness. It was not the same and never would be as it was when it was young and healthy and vibrant, but it remained. Where others had fallen by the wayside, it still stood, tangled roots stronger than ever in the foreign soil.
The tree bore no orange fruit, and it could no longer be called an orange tree in the depths of anypony’s blunt honesty. It was just a tree, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was something more.
Something holy.
Babs Seed stared at the Manehatten skyline, followed the cobblestones of the streets with her emerald eyes, contemplating her own roots, her own tangled web that had been woven within and without her. Looking at those streetlamps below and the stars above, deep in her heart of hearts, Babs Seed knew which one she wanted to be her lighthouse guiding her, and which one she wanted to be a strobelight warning her.
Hearing the wind whisper in her ears—one partially sacrificed for love and righteousness, the other still intact but just as willing to fall in the name of the right thing—Babs Seed found her answers, Earth pony magic casting aside all illusion as it surged through her hooves, the ground itself testifying to the truth.
Though she would never know, Citrus Blossom was right: there was somepony watching the bobtail filly, urging her to dive deep and take a chance on a new tomorrow, question all she’d ever known, and break the chains within her soul.
The moon would never look as beautiful as it did now, as it glowed in her shadow.