//------------------------------// // Year Five: Runway And Runaway // Story: Sweet Apple Anthology // by Bad_Seed_72 //------------------------------// Year Five: Runway And Runaway Citrus Blossom held up a fragment of her mirror, tilting it in the glow of the desert dawn. Her only mirror had broken ages ago, leaving only a sliver of polished glass behind. Most of their days in Appleloosa, this was merely an inconvenience. However, she reasoned, running a forehoof through her mane, today was a far different matter. Today, she longed for the polished silver of her old life, of her old home. Things would be much easier if for that one artifact. On the other side of the shack, her mother and cousin slept peacefully, exhausted from another long day of orchard work. Citrus had been careful not to wake them once she rose. Their gentle snores indicated she had succeeded. Once she’d determined her long mane was sufficiently hoof-brushed, Citrus set the pan down and began to quietly pack an overnight bag. Babs Seed would be arriving at the Appleloosa station soon. She could barely contain her excitement, suppressing gleeful giggles beneath a wide grin. Where Babs had obtained the two tickets to the annual Canterlot Fashion Show, Citrus had no clue. Her sister's letter had left out many major details, sent post-haste to the settlements only a few days ago. Libra and Braeburn had hid the letter from Citrus at first, choosing to surprise her with its contents after she’d returned from work. And surprised she had been, skipping and hopping all through the cramped shack. All Citrus knew was that Babs Seed would be here at first light this morning, staying just long enough for a quick hug and catch-up before the pair had to board another train towards the East. Barring any mechanical failure, Babs and Citrus would arrive in Canterlot an hour or so before the show. There would be enough time, Citrus thought, to explore the city of her dreams. Canterlot. Citrus regulated this particular pipe-dream to the very back of her mind. Dreams of both day and night offered no assistance among the sweat and toil of Appleloosa. Throughout the years, Citrus had strengthened in both mind, body, and soul, her previous anxieties dissipating into the dust and wind. The desert was an unforgiving mistress. Somehow, she, Libra, and Braeburn remained, strong and steady, mighty apple trees under the blazing inferno. Citrus double-checked her saddlebags and hoisted them across her shoulders. She slowly trotted over to her sleeping mother on the bottom bunk and nuzzled her cheek. Libra Scales stirred but did not wake. “Goodbye, Mother. I will be home tomorrow morning. I promise,” she whispered. Her mother nuzzled her cheek back, transfixed by the Sandmare’s spell. Citrus smiled and took a few careful hoof-steps back. Braeburn rolled over and opened one eye. “Oh, sorry, Brae. I didn’t mean to wake you,” muttered Citrus, heading towards the door. He yawned and smacked his lips. “Hah… no worries, Citrus. Ah’ll need ta be gettin’ up soon, anyways. Sheriff’s wantin’ me ta come talk ta him today.” “Oh, that’s right. You have your eyes on Silverstar’s job, don’t you, Braeburn?” Braeburn snorted and shook his muzzle. “Me? Do ya forget who yer talkin’ ta, Citrus? Why, Ah couldn’t hurt a flea if Ah tried,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, mindful of his slumbering aunt. Citrus chuckled. “I think you should give yourself some more credit, Braeburn. But we’ll talk about that later. Babs’s train is going to be pulling in soon.” “Say hi ta her fer me, alright?” Citrus Blossom nodded. Braeburn climbed down from his bunk bed and began to stretch, shaking out his mane. With a final, hopeful smile, Citrus quietly exited the shack, shutting the door behind her. Tumbleweeds accompanied her on her journey to the train station. All around was silence, dawn peeking under the cover of night above. Today’s road would be a long one. It would be worth every minute, every second. Soon, Citrus would be muzzle-to-muzzle with the city of her dreams, face-to-face with the teenage hopes she hadn’t yet abandoned to the toil and sweat of monotonous existence. She would soon see what glory awaited her beyond the train tracks. ~ Babs Seed leaned against the sleeper cab, back to the seat, hindhooves stretched all the way across. She peeked one eye partially open, blinded and awakened by Celestia’s dawn. She slept through the majority of this ride, departing in the twilight towards the West and the best. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Applejack would be leaving for Dodge Junction in the morning for a rodeo, and Big Mac and Granny Smith would be departing for Hollow Shades in the afternoon to visit some extended family. Apple Bloom didn’t seem too eager to partake in either activity, nor was there a third ticket available to this Canterlot excursion. In fact, Babs noted, Apple Bloom hadn’t seemed too eager for much lately. Babs couldn’t blame her. Her fifth year as an Apple passed, and while the first had granted the seed a cutiemark, time hadn’t been so kind to the bloom. Babs relented in the wake of the sun, opening her eyes and stretching her forehooves. She yawned and arched her back, staring out the window. Hopefully, Apple Bloom will have some fun while everypony’s gone… maybe hang wit’ Scoots o’ Sweetie. She worries ‘bout the cutiemark thing far too much. But maybe dat’s selfish o’ me ta say. I love her, an’ I try, but I dunno how she’s gonna get it… but she has ta, at some point, right? Her fifth summer in Ponyville brought another wave of Crusading opportunities. However, the clubhouse and its Crusaders utilized these possibilities less and less as time wore on. Sweetie Belle spent most of her free time practicing her art, occasionally trekking to Canterlot or Trottingham for professional voice coaching. Scootaloo practiced her stunt flying with Rainbow Dash most days and went on dates with Featherweight the remainder of the time. Scoots had been correct; the best way to a colt’s heart had been through his stomach. Apple Bloom and Babs Seed spent their first month of summer working their hooves into the dirt, commanded by Applejack to “pull their weight a little more”. Appljeack pulled no punches when it came to chores and harvests. Only a year of school separated them from adulthood. From one continent to another they would cross, beginning as fillies and ending as mares. Thankfully, the additional work brought bits with it. Applejack began to pay her sibling and cousin (overdue, Babs Seed thought). Due to this "allowance," Babs was able to afford two round-trip tickets to Appleloosa, Canterlot, and back to Ponyville. Babs sighed and watched a hawk snatch up an unsuspecting field mouse in the sands beyond the window. “Heh. Too slow, lil’ mouse.” She laughed. A train guards-pony trotted up and down the center aisle, calling out in his baritone, “Next stop, Appleloosa! Ten minutes until our arrival, everypony! Rise and shine!” Compartments surrounding her filled with the groans and yawns of reluctantly awaken ponies. Babs Seed counted the minutes, enthralled by the proliferating sunrise outside. Soon, she would see Citrus again, and lead her beloved sister to the city and experience of her dreams. Fighting the urge to fall back asleep, Babs muttered, “I’ll have ta find a way ta repay Rarity fo’ dem tickets…” ~ Citrus paced from one side of the platform to the other. A few trains pulled into the station, billowing steam and smoke into the morning mist, but none of them were from Ponyville. A half-hour passed, bringing with it an empty train. A conductor-pony hopped out of the latest arrival and declared, “Train bound for Canterlot! Leaving in ten minutes!” “Oh, come on.” Citrus groaned, face-hoofing. “Babs, you better get here soon, or we’ll miss our chance!” In her letter, Babs Seed had somehow been able to purchase both train tickets, along with the two for the fashion show. This led Citrus to wonder how exactly her sibling was earning bits. She made a mental reminder to ask that question among her myriad of inquiries. None of that would matter if the Ponyville train didn’t arrive, and soon. Finally, a few minutes before the clock would steal Canterlot away from them, another train pulled into the station. The locomotive halted, squealing on its brakes, and released its contents. Within a steady stream of passengers came a bolting filly calling, “CITRUS!” “BABS!” Citrus Blossom opened her forehooves to her sister, who met her with ease and haste. Babs Seed was now taller and stronger than her, thick muscles rippling under coat, and nearly tackled Citrus to the ground. “Babs… hon… we… need… to… go,” Citrus choked, a pair of forehooves squeezing her tight. “Oh! Heh, heh, sorry, sis,” Babs mumbled, releasing the mare. “Sorry. It’s been too long! Since last Hearth’s Warmin’ Eve, right?” “I think so. We have a lot of catching up to do. Let’s get on the next train first. You have the tickets, right?” Citrus asked. Fumbling through her saddlebags, Babs retrieved her prize. “Eeyup! Right heeya!” “Good. Let’s get going.” A weathered conductor-pony gladly accepted their tickets. They quickly boarded the train, choosing a sleeper cab near the back. Barely a few seconds after they sat on their haunches, the locomotive sprang to life, its wheels churning and rocketing them towards the East and the beast. ~ Braeburn left a pot of hot coffee and a plateful of apple fritters for Aunt Orange’s breakfast before leaving the shack. The mare snoozed away the dawn, drooling all over her pillow. Braeburn couldn’t help but smile. The stallion glanced over his shoulder once he was outside, gazing upon his abode. Auntie Orange, Cousin Citrus, and Braeburn called this little structure home for the past five years. They’d managed, only bumping into one another or tripping over sprawled hooves just a few times a day (as opposed to their beginning ten or so). They’d grown accustomed to the dwelling and the hardships that came with settlement life. Looking up at his creation, Braeburn scolded himself. He’d let this go on for far too long. This was no way for them to live. Maybe the lone stallion suited this sort of life, but Auntie and Citrus deserved far better. Shaking his muzzle, Braeburn continued into the heart of Appleloosa, passing tumbleweeds and his mother’s orchard. The three of them were more stable now, in constant communications with Babs Seed and the Apples, suffering no more injuries or nights of hunger. Nevertheless, Citrus and Auntie Orange deserved far more than he could offer them. And now, Citrus was heading towards Canterlot. It would only be for a night of fun, of course, but it would be enough to make her wonder. It would be enough to make her choose. Braeburn knew, and was prepared for what would surely come after this trip. He would keep his tone steady, his volume low, and his smile bright, in spite of its arrival. He would be strong. Adjusting his Stetson, Braeburn cast his thoughts aside, breaking into a gallop to meet Sheriff Silverstar. ~ Storing their saddlebags in the overhead compartment, Babs Seed called down to her sister as she cursed and fumbled with the small space provided, “So! How’s Appleloosa been?” “Just fine. You sure you got that up there, Babs?” Citrus asked with concern. Babs slammed Citrus’s bag into the compartment and shut the door. Climbing back down into the cab, she dismissed her sibling with a forehoof. “O’ course I do! Youze jus’ packed too much, as always…” She snickered and shook her muzzle, a playful grin streaking across her face. Citrus giggled. “Oh, hush. How could you not expect me to overpack for a trip to Canterlot of all places?!” “Heh, heh. Well, dat’s true. Even if it's jus' fo' one day, it's youze dream, isn’t it? Ta go be a model in Canterlot?” Citrus fidgeted with her forehooves. “Well, yes, it is,” she began, “but I’m not sure if it would ever be a reality. Not after working in those orchards for five years.” “Why would youze say dat?” Babs asked. “Well… look at me, Babs. I don’t exactly look…delicate anymore.” Babs paused. Though she had both height and weight on her sibling, Citrus had also grown stronger since their days in Manehatten. Her features sharpened, emboldened and tempered by the harsh desert sun and the unrelenting wind of the deep. Muscles contracted and flexed under coat with no effort on Citrus’ part. Her fetlocks had grown long and unshorn over her weathered hooves. Though it was obviously brushed, her mane was sprinkled with sand and a few shades lighter than it had been in the city. Yes, the desert had transformed Citrus, evolving her from a worrisome fashionista into a full-fledged Appleloosian. Manehatten was but a bad dream now. The Orange Family Mansion belonged to another Citrus Blossom, one she would never be again. Evolution, as it always is, was bittersweet. Citrus sighed. “You see? You see it, don’t you? There’s no way somepony like me could become a model, Babs. I’m far too… rough now. Not that I’m complaining. I mean… Appleloosa is great. It really is. What Braeburn’s done for me and Mother, it just… I just love him for it.” Babs grinned. “Youze know what, Citrus?” “What, Babs?” “I think youze are more beautiful now,” Babs Seed said, sincere. “… You’re just saying that.” “Would I lie ta youze?” “You have before.” “Well,” Babs Seed countered, “I’m not the same pony anymo’. An’ youze aren’t eitha. An’ dat’s a good thing. Don’t youze think?” After a moment, Citrus Blossom answered, “Yes, Babs. Yes, it’s a good thing.” ~ “Well, howdy partner!” Silverstar greeted, hopping down off the porch of his office. “How are ya doin’ this fine mornin’, Braeburn?” Braeburn replied, “Jus’ fine, Sheriff. Now, what can Ah do fer ya?” “Ah was wantin’ ta talk ta ya ‘bout some things. Why don’t ya walk wit’ me ta the orchards?” Braeburn nodded and walked besidehim. They trotted in silence, occasionally tightening their Stetsons against their manes. The morning breeze had arrived, playing with the sand, sending it flying into their faces. Squeezing his eyes shut, Braeburn asked over the wind, “So, what’s wrong, Sheriff?” Silverstar spat a mouthful of sand from his muzzle. “Tarnation! It’s summer! We ain’t s’posed ta be havin’ wind like this until winter! What the hay?!” “Sheriff, it gets like this sometimes,” Braeburn explained. Silverstar stared at him. “Ah’ve lived here ma whole life, ya know,” he remarked with a chuckle. “Don’t ya remember?” “O’ course Ah do!” dismissed Silverstar. “Ah, here we are.” They reached the highest point in Appleloosa, a cliff overlooking orchards of apple trees below. Their branches were heavy with red, ripe fruit, promises of sustenance and economy to follow. No Buffalo scampered at this hour. The nomadic tribe lived cyclical lives, returning to their native stampeding grounds around spring. For now, the bounty of the harvest belonged to the settler-ponies, and the settler-ponies alone. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, Braeburn turned to Silverstar. “What did ya want ta show me, Sheriff? Everythin’ looks fine as it is.” “It ain’t nothin’ wit’ the orchards, Brae.” Silverstar pointed towards the horizon. “Everythin’ looks as it should be. At least, from what Ah see. The Buffalo won’t be back until late spring. Not that it has anythin’ ta do wit’ ‘em anyway.” “Then, what—“ “Lemme ask ya a question, Brae.” “Sure, Sheriff. Shoot.” Silverstar removed his Stetson, wiping sand from its brim. “Have ya ever thought ‘bout bein’ somethin’ other than a simple farm-pony?” Taken aback, Braeburn stuttered, “Well, heh, Ah don’t really know what ya mean, Sheriff. Appleloosa’s always been ma home.” “Ah didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout leavin’." Silverstar scowled. Securing his Stetson back on his mane, fresh and clean, he clarified, “Ah mean… have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ mo’ fer yerself? Mo’ fer yer family?” Braeburn shook his head. “Bits don’t mean nothin’ ta me, Sheriff.” “Well, then… have ya thought ‘bout gettin’ a bigger home fer y’all? You an’ the Manehatten mares, Ah mean?” Cautiously, Braeburn answered, “Well… it would be nice. Poor Auntie an’ Citrus been sleepin’ on them bunks fer five years now. An’ Ah do feel right awful ‘bout havin’ them stuck in such a small lil’ place, ya know. But Ah don’t know what ta do, Sheriff!” Braeburn dug at the sand, searching for an oasis within, a place that would hold his answers. “Sometimes, Ah think ‘bout tryin’ ta find 'em work in Dodge Junction, o’ Hollow Shades, o’ somethin’. Somethin’ not as hard as here. They deserve better, Sheriff.” Silverstar draped a forehoof around Braeburn's shoulders. “C’mon, now. Yer doin’ the best ya can. Appleloosa owes ya everythin’, Braeburn. Yer a right ol’ hero ‘round these parts. Ya know that, don’t ya?” “Ah do, but Ah don’t see why that matters.” “Well… ya know, Braeburn, if ya wanted somethin’ like that—a bigger home, a better one, somethin’ fer them—maybe Ah can help ya.” He spun to face the Sheriff, irises lit aflame. Perhaps somepony had been listening to his inner monologue, after all. “Really, Sheriff? Ya would do that fer me?” “Ah would do ma best,” Silverstar affirmed with a smile. “But, Ah must warn ya. Ah can get ya the materials quite easily. Workers? Not so much so. Times are tough, an’ Ah only got so much ta spare.” Braeburn shook his head. “Leave that ta me, Sheriff. Ah can do any work that needs ta be done, an’ anythin’ ya need ta help pay fer it.” “Ah could always use a Deputy,” said Silverstar with a grin. Braeburn spat on a forehoof and held it out to the stallion. “Ya got yerself a deal.” ~ Citrus Blossom and Babs Seed passed the hours laughing, reminiscing, trading tales of past and present. While Ponyville was far more exciting in its day-to-day operations, and Sweet Apple Acres itself held a treasure trove of stories, Appleloosa proved to be intriguing in its own right. Babs listened, fascinated, to stories of survival and toil, sweat under the desert sun, fledgling friendships with the Buffalo tribe and encounters with coyotes. In the same vein, Citrus listened intently to Babs’s own tales, recollections of schoolyard bullies and Crusader meetings, lessons learned and timberwolves slain. Citrus, with more than a little teasing and prodding, even managed a Hearts and Hooves Day story from Babs Seed, who told it with a blush and a glare that could slay the most powerful of foes. “Oh, c’mon, Babs! It’s not like I already knew.” Citrus giggled, covering her muzzle with a forehoof. “I knew all those years ago that you two liked each other.” “Whateva!” Babs dismissed, crossing her forehooves. “Consida youzeself lucky youze know dat story. Not many do. An’ don’t go tellin’ Ma an’ Brae ‘bout it, neitha!” “Don’t worry, hon. I won’t,” Citrus answered seriously. “I know Mother doesn’t think too highly of you two.” “An’ I don’t need her to,” Babs shot back, honesty and deception waging war within her words. Unsure of her own intent, she chose to change the subject. “So. Youze find any stallions youze like in Appleloosa?” Citrus stuck out her tongue and gagged. “I guess dat’s a no?” ~ Braeburn crept inside the shack, setting his Stetson on a hook on the wall. Auntie Orange was still asleep, sprawled out all over the sheets, dead to Appleloosa, Equestria, and Earth itself. Stifling a chuckle, the stallion served himself a cup of coffee and an apple fritter and plopped down on a stool. Deputy. The word echoed throughout his mind. Braeburn never planned to be much more than a simple farm-pony, carrying his mother’s legacy into the future. He’d risen from a stranger among strangers to the most well-known stallion in Appleloosa (next to Silverstar, of course) due to the “Buffalo Incident”. The settler-ponies respected him, looked to him for guidance and assistance, and spoke highly of his name. All of it was far more than he’d ever imagined or desired. Braeburn sipped his coffee. He’d never planned on sharing his humble abode with two city mares, either, but Fate never reveals her tricks early. Time and toil had made them all strong, resilient. They’d survived through the barren winters and the blazing summers. Perhaps they weren’t “city mares” anymore. Perhaps. The stallion greedily gulped down his fritter. The finest apples this side of Equestria drove him to reach for another. Deputy. Braeburn would become a Deputy, and, in exchange, would construct something fine and fitting for his aunt and cousin. Canterlot came again to his mind, and he wondered if it would be a shack for two, instead of three. ~ A shout of, “Next stop, Canterlot! Arriving in ten minutes!” woke Babs and Citrus from their slumber. Babs Seed scrambled to her hooves and checked a clock hanging above the sleeper cab. 1700. The Canterlot Fashion Show was an hour away. Mo’ than enough time ta wanda ‘round an’ get some food, she thought, her stomach protesting its neglect. She reached up and opened the overhead compartment, gathering their saddlebags and setting them on the sleeper cab beside her. Once she’d secured her own belongings, she nudged a sleeping mare in the shoulder and hissed, “C’mon, Citrus. We’re almost heeya.” “Huh? … Oh. It’s just you.” Citrus rose to her hooves and said with a yawn, “You aren’t Hoity Toity.” Babs snorted. “O’ course I’m not! Citrus, what have dey been feedin’ youze in Appleloosa lately? Haha!” “Oh, hush,” jabbed the mare, poking her sister in the ribs. “It’s far better than what Applejack makes, I bet.” Highly unlikely. Dat mare should’ve been a pastry chef. Oh, wait. She ain’t crazy enough. Nevamind. “Hold up. Didn’t Ma say youze were learnin’ how ta cook a while back?” Citrus strapped her saddlebags over her shoulder and stretched. “Yes. And I’ve become quite good at it,” she replied, smirking. “So, how many fires has Braeburn had ta put out in his poor shack?” Babs ducked beneath a forehoof flung her way, steadying herself as the train pulled into the station. She scampered out of the aisle and towards the door, laughing, dodging playful punches from Citrus Blossom. Her hooves met the concrete and, immediately, Babs shivered. Citrus exclaimed, “Ha! Got ya!” The mare froze her forehoof, all other three hooves touching the cold streets, sending a chill down her spine. They exchanged worried glances. “Babs… do you feel that?” Babs murmured, “Yea, I do. What is dat?” “I don’t know.” It’s so… cold heeya. Shrugging, Citrus Blossom lowered her forehoof and began to trot towards the city’s center. Babs followed closely, cutting through a large crowd of finely dressed mares and stallions. Many of the ponies here wore expensive clothing and accessories—monocles, glasses, hats, headdresses, necklaces, hoof-bands and bracelets. Not much o’ dat in Ponyville. Threads of silk, cotton, and wool passed them by, garments dyed and decorated in all shades. More noticeable than their attire, however, was the contrast between certain breeds of Canterlot citizens. While the unicorns seemed positively delighted, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves of nighttime plans and possibilities, the Earth ponies seemed, frankly, depressed. The scowls and frowns on their muzzles alarmed the fillies; such appearances were a rarity to both Citrus and Babs in their respective homes. Appleloosa, despite its hardships, whispered of hope, new beginnings, promise in sweat and toil. Ponyville was far more diverse, opportunities tucked within its mane, pleading to be found. Every valley had its mountain, and every bad day in the West (town or settlement) met its match with a better one to come. Optimism became the default. No such declaration could be made here. Canterlot, at first glance, seemed to be little more than Manehatten for unicorns. The concrete beneath their hooves acted as a vacuum, sapping the two of their strength and vigor. Nopony else seemed to be affected. Ears flattened in worry, Citrus Blossom turned to her sister and said, “I swear, Babs, something doesn’t feel right here.” “I know. Maybe it’s jus’ ‘cuz it’s dark,” Babs offered. Indeed, though Celestia hadn’t yet lowered her star, the streets were dim, lit by a path of street-lamps and glowing shop-windows. But I like the dark back in Ponyville, o’ Appleloosa. Hay, I even liked it in Manehatten. Fo' a while. But dat was so long ago… “Yeah, that must be it,” Citrus conceded. “Are you hungry? Do you want to go get something to eat before we hit the show?” Hunger forgotten in the wake of this strange, hollow ice spreading up from her hooves, Babs Seed shook her muzzle. “Naw. Let’s jus’ go get our seats fo’ the show early. Be less crowded dat way.” Citrus agreed and set off with her sibling towards into the heart of Canterlot. Each step they trotted or cantered, twisting and turning through a maze of passerby and vendors’ carts, stole an ember of their flame. When they located the venue at last, Babs Seed wondered with dread if this dream would soon become a nightmare. ~ A crowd of Canterlot elites clamored around the stage, hoisting cameras with their hooves or magic. Only the most powerful and wealthy possessed the best seats in this house. Rows and rows of other noble-ponies occupied the next tier of seats, close enough to the stage to render binoculars useless. One level behind them were the “general admission” seats, reserved for those lucky enough to simply obtain tickets. Rarity seemed to be one of those lucky ponies. The two tickets she’d purchased for Babs Seed—after much pleading and bargaining from Babs—landed their bearers far behind the rows of noble-ponies. Citrus Blossom squinted through a pair of binoculars. “I can barely see anything! I don’t think they’ve started yet, though…” Babs face-hoofed. Dammit, Rarity! Youze said youze had connections heeya. Sweetie Belle’s singin’ wit’ the best o’ the best, an’ all youze can get is THESE seats? Aye, horseapples. “I’m sorry, Citrus… I thought dey would be closer than dis…” Citrus patted her sister on the shoulder. “Now, now, Babs, it’s quite alright,” she soothed, mustering a smile. “We haven’t missed anything yet. I’m sure once it starts—“ The lights suddenly dimmed, darkening the venue. A pair of blue spotlights appeared on stage, circling over the runway. Near the runway, a unicorn mare with a wild two-tone blue mane cast a simple spell and flipped on a vinyl record. The hall quickly filled with classical music, and the curtains on the runway parted, revealing the first model. Citrus stood on her hindhooves, leaning from side to side, peering over rows and rows of awed audience. Babs sighed. No way she can see ova everypony. Unless… A pair of forehooves grabbed Citrus Blossom near her torso. She gasped and quickly located her assailant. “Babs! What are you doing?!” “Shh! Youze gonna get us kicked out!” Babs scolded. “Jus’ give me a sec!” Carefully, Babs Seed side-stepped and maneuvered under her sibling, placing the mare on her back. “Now sit up an’ youze should be able ta see!” Balancing herself, Citrus sat upright on her haunches, holding the scruff of her sister's neck tightly. “Babs, I don’t think this is such a good idea. One, now you can’t see. And two, aren’t I a bit…” She paused, blushing. “Heavy?” Shaking her muzzle, Babs assured, “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Jus’ enjoy the show. Dis is fo’ youze, Citrus.” Babs leaned back and looked into the mare’s eyes, beaming as she said, “Dis is youze dream. Ta be heeya. Ta be one o’ dem. So, go ‘head an’ watch. I’ll be fine.” Citrus Blossom relented and relaxed, releasing her grip on her sibling. Across the runway, a beautiful unicorn mare posed for the cameras, showing off rows of sparkling molars and a pair of irises that could melt the heart of any desert coyote. The model twirled her dress, billows of rhinestone-speckled cloth trailing behind her. Constant camera flashes and whoops of encouragement accompanied the classical music. Another model followed the first, this one a pegasus stallion. The annual Canterlot Fashion Show was gender-inclusive, and for good reason. The stallion strutted down the runway, powerful wings flared to proud, full length, sporting a hoof-stitched tuxedo and a dazzling tie. Below her, Babs Seed teased, “Youze like dat one, don’t youze?” “Babs!” Citrus protested. “I’m your big sister! I’m supposed to be the one making fun of you and your crushes, not the other way around.” “Heh, well, guess I’ve got a hoof up on dat one,” Babs taunted, winking. “But since we’re heeya, youze might as well find youzeself a stallion.” “Hush. Now you are going to get us kicked out.” ~ A few hours later, around the same time Babs Seed felt her back begin to ache, the last model crossed the runway for the final time. A sea of applause ignited and spread throughout the audience, the disc jockey’s final notes echoing throughout the crowded venue. Citrus Blossom clapped her forehooves together excitedly, crying, “Encore! Encore!” Dismounting from Babs's back, Citrus enveloped her sibling in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Babs, thank you so much for taking me here! That was amazing! Those ponies! Those outfits! And I can’t thank you enough for giving me a literal hoof-up so I could—oh, are you alright?! You’re wincing…” “I’m fine.” Babs groaned, cracking her back. “C’mon, let’s get goin’. I promised Applejack I’d be back by midnight. Four hours back ta Ponyville, youze know.” “Of course, sweetie. Let me just go take care of one thing first, alright?” “Sure.” Cutting through an ocean of elites, nearly stomping on more than a few hooves, Citrus Blossom aimed for the stage. There, the runway stars and the elite of elites, including household names like Hoity Toity and Photo Finish, hung about, striking a few more poses for a few more privileged cameras. A few hoof-steps before reaching them, Citrus dug through her saddlebags and retrieved a copy of Fashion Weekly magazine. It was an old copy with Hoity Toity on the cover, the last one she’d received in the mail while living in Manehatten. Citrus had never renewed the subscription. Whether this was due to poverty or the past, Citrus wasn’t sure. She’d saved it, regardless, and brought it here, muzzle-to-muzzle with her dreams. Clutching the magazine in her forehooves, Citrus crossed over to the runway and stuttered, “M-M-Mister H-H-Hoity T-Toity, sir?” The stallion spun around and peered over his sunglasses. “Ehh, yes?” “C-can I g-get your a-autograph?” she stammered, reduced to a shivering foal in the presence of one of her fillyhood heroes. Hoity Toity was a legend in the fashion industry, sparking the careers of models, designers, and photographers alike. To obtain his autograph would be a small shred of hope, a small spark of possibility, a reminder that her dreams were not dead. Citrus forced a grin, silently commanding herself to cease her anxiety, to hold fast in this moment in time. Hoity Toity flared his nostrils and crossed his forehooves. “And who just might you be?” “I’m C-Citrus B-Blossom!” she squeaked. “I’ve been a f-fan of y-y-yours for s-so long, Mister H-Hoity T-Toit—“ “That’s enough.” Hoity held up a forehoof. “I’ve never heard of you.” “Oh! Well, maybe you will, s-someday,” she nervously replied, running a forehoof through her mane. “I’ve always w-wanted to be a model, and—“ “A model? You?!” The pegasus stallion, clad in a fine tuxedo, laughed at her from above. “Look at you! Why, you’ve got more muscle than me, mare! Modeling is a delicate career, you know! And you look about as delicate as a timberwolf!” Another model piped, “Yeah! Let me guess, you just blew in from the desert, didn’t you? I can see the sand in your mane!” Citrus slowly began to back away, stashing her magazine in her saddlebags. Biting her lip, flattening her ears, and willing her tears to halt, she muttered, “I’m… I’m sorry for wasting your time… I’ll be going…” “Good!” Hoity Toity exclaimed. Turning to one of his models, he asked, “How did a ruffian like her even get tickets to this event?” A shrug was his reply. Citrus Blossom galloped out of the venue, speeding past her waiting sibling. “Citrus?! Where youze goin’?! Citrus?!” Babs Seed took to her hooves, barreling through the door and out into the cold Canterlot night. Again, once her keratin met the cobblestone, she felt an instantaneous shiver, her strength sapped from the street, ice traveling up her limbs. Ignoring the strange, haunting sensation, Babs searched for her sister. “Citrus! Citrus!” She brushed through gaggles of unicorn elites, who scowled at the juvenile delinquent. Finally, from the corner of her eye, she found Citrus Blossom cantering towards the train station. Taking a deep breath, Babs galloped after her, calling her name. Babs landed on her forehooves, bracing herself as she dug them into the ground, almost crashing into the mare. Citrus Blossom sat on her haunches, hanging her muzzle low to the street. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, forming a small puddle in the dust below. It had been over five years since Babs Seed had seen her sister weep. Their meetings since Manehatten days had been too few and infrequent, but they’d always been happy ones. She’d hoped this one would be the happiest one of all. But, o’ course, I had ta go an’ buck it up. Babs wrapped a forehoof around her sister and nuzzled her neck. “I’m sorry, Citrus. I shoulda got betta seats. I’m sorry youze didn’t—“ “No!” Citrus snapped. Quieter this time, she said, “It’s not your fault, Babs.” “Then, what’s wrong? What happened?” Babs asked, confused. Citrus Blossom sighed and turned to her. “I was an idiot.” “Youze ain’t an idiot, Citrus…” “Yes. Yes I am, Babs. I thought somepony like me could be somepony like them,” Citrus said, pointing towards the venue in the distance. “I thought I could be somepony sophisticated and cultured and beautiful and famous and… and important. That’s what I’ve always thought, even when we lived in the mansion. I thought that, someday, I’d be old enough or beautiful enough or smart enough to reach my dream.” Babs nuzzled her neck again. “But youze can do anythin’ youze wanna do, Citrus. Youze are a good pony. A great pony. A beautiful pony.” Citrus deadpanned, “They don’t think so, Babs.” “Who don’t think so?!” Babs demanded. “I’ll kick their flanks!” Citrus shook her head and chuckled softly. “Babs, hon, it’s not that simple.” “I know, but I got youze ta laugh a lil’, didn’t I?” Nuzzling her back, Citrus relented, “I guess you did.” Babs Seed grasped Citrus Blossom’s forehooves in her own. “I’m sorry dis didn’t go so well, Citrus. I thought youze would like it. I’m sorry.” “No, it’s not your fault, Babs. It was fun for a bit. Although, this city is starting to creep me out. Doesn’t it feel… cold… to you?” “Yes… yes it does.” Almost like we don’t have any power heeya. Almost like we’re weak heeya. Like we ain’t… connected. A train rolled into the Canterlot station, startling both. Once the wheels were locked and secured, a conductor-pony hopped from the locomotive and called out, “Train bound for Ponyville! Leaving in ten minutes!” “That’s our cue, sweetie. C’mon,” Citrus urged, sniffling away her tears. “Let’s hop on and sleep this off.” “… Don’t youze wanna talk more?” “I think I’ll be alright. I think we both just need sleep. And I’ll wake you up once it pulls into Ponyville. I’ll be catching one to Appleloosa after.” Following behind the mare, Babs Seed replied, “Alright. One mo’ thing, though, Citrus.” Citrus Blossom turned around. “Yes, Babs?” “Youze are beautiful, Citrus. Youze deserve any stallion in Equestria youze want. An’ dey are wrong. Don’t youze forget it.” This time, Citrus Blossom crushed Babs Seed in a hug, believing her. ~ Around midnight, the train pulled into Ponyville, grinding its gears to a screeching halt. Never an insomniac by nature, Citrus Blossom nonetheless stayed awake throughout the entire ride, rousing her sibling once they’d arrived. Babs Seed gathered her saddlebags and, through a dreamlike, half-asleep haze, exchanged farewells with her beloved sister. Neither was too concerned. Only one year of schooling separated Babs Seed from freedom. Once that grand year came and passed, the filly would be free to choose her own destiny and time and purpose. Citrus hoped that future would include Appleloosa. Citrus Blossom waved goodbye, watching as Babs became a mere shadow against the moonlight. With a few minutes to spare in between the arrival of the next train, Citrus Blossom plopped down on her haunches and let her mind wander. It wandered to the desert this time, instead of the city. She remembered the escape from Manehatten, the wondrous landscape, Braeburn’s crushing hug, and that first night in the shack. She recalled the first winter, the blanket of snow upon the sand, her mother’s sorrow. She remembered the reunion with Babs Seed, Applejack, and Apple Bloom, how complete their little family felt then, huddled around Braeburn’s tiny table. She remembered buffalo and settlers, acceptance and friendship from them all. She thought of the warmth of the Appleloosian sun across her countenance, the satisfying CLINK! of bits in a mason jar, the pride of a hard day’s work done. She remembered Braeburn’s grin, his laugh, his calm and wise words, the promises he struggled to keep. Throughout all these years, he’d done his best to keep her and her mother comfortable, safe, and sane, giving refuge to all their madness. The stallion wore himself into the ground, frequently working multiple jobs to keep food on their table, assisting fellow settlers at the drop of a hat. He demanded no compensation, pressed for no payback. Whereas Canterlot, at least on its cold, icy surface, appeared to be as relentless as Manehatten—praising prestige and reputation, looking down its snout at all who did not fit its image—Appleloosa brought only warmth to Citrus’s mind. The iciest desert winter trumped the bitter cold she’d found in her dream city among her idols. No more doubt remained. She knew, then, who she was, where she was supposed to be. A train to Appleloosa announced its arrival, wrestling Citrus Blossom from her thoughts. She eagerly boarded, and, once inside, found herself too excited to sleep. ~ A creak of the door. Braeburn scrambled on his bunk, bolting upright. He hissed through the darkness, a forehoof wandering between his pillows in search of his concealed revolver, “Who’s there?!” “Braeburn, it’s just me," soothed a familiar mare. He sighed in relief. “Oh, Citrus. Ya scared me!” he muttered, keeping his voice low, careful not to wake his aunt. Libra had finally awoken with the high noon and spent the majority of the day earning her wages in the orchard. Exhausted again, she’d retired earlier than Braeburn, lost to the world. Citrus Blossom paused. Her mother did not wake. Hesitantly, she whispered, “Sorry. I didn’t realize I would be home so late. It’s almost sunrise.” “Ah know.” The stallion quietly maneuvered out of his bunk and hopped down to the floorboards. Meeting her in the threshold, he asked, “How was Canterlot?” “It was alright,” Citrus Blossom said. She chuckled. “Not as good as I thought it would be.” “Really?” Braeburn pressed. “Ah thought that place was yer dream city. An’ goin’ there would be like yer dream come true.” “I thought so too, Brae. But, sometimes, our dreams aren’t what they seem to be, I guess.” “Ah. Ah’m sorry, Citrus.” “Don’t be.” “But, it’s where ya wanted ta—“ “Braeburn." “Yes?” Citrus Blossom hugged him tightly, startling the stallion. Braeburn laughed and returned the gesture, embracing her. Under the cover of dark, Citrus declared, “This is where I want to be, Braeburn. This is what I dream about now. Being here. With you and Mother. “This is home to me now.” Braeburn smiled. He would build a home for three, after all.