"Dad?" Sketch finally breathed after about a half-minute of staring at the gray pony. His black mane held more silver streaks in it than the last time he had seen him. Sketch's eyes flitted to the mare next to him. "Mom?" The tan mare nodded, her finely-curled red mane bobbing as she did so. "What… what are you doing here?"
"Standing in the entryway waiting to be invited in," his father answered in a familiar terse voice, staring his son down with his icy blue eyes. "Do you plan on doing so?"
Years of hearing things like that came crashing down on Sketch, lighting a fire inside of him. He narrowed his eyes and said, "No. Please leave."
"Sketch!" Applejack said in a horrified voice from behind him. "That's no way to talk to yer parents! You two, come right on in and make yerselves at home."
"Well, it seems that somepony here has some manners," Sketch's father said and he brushed past his seething son. He watched his parents head into the living room, unable to comprehend their presence. It was a clashing of worlds – his past life, which he had hoped would be long forgotten, and his present life, in which he was happy.
"Mah name's Applejack, and this here's mah family's apple farm," Sketch heard as he finally followed everypony into the living room. "Can ah get you two anything?"
Sketch's father shook his head, but his mother asked, "Do you have any tea, dear?"
"Sure thing, ma'am."
"Please, call me Ginger Snap."
Once Applejack left the room, Sketch just about lanced his parents with his eyes. "All right, what are you doing here? And what are you up to?"
"Such suspicion," Sketch's father said, shaking his head. "For your information, we're in town to look into a rather lucrative business opportunity."
"That's what I was afraid of," growled Sketch. "Why Ponyville? Because I'm here? You didn't get enough of ruining my life when I lived in Whinnypeg?"
"Believe it or not, Waldorf, the world does not revolve around you. Our finding you here was nothing more than a coincidence."
"Although," his mother added in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "It's nice to know you aren't dead like that artist friend of yours. You could have written to us to let us know you were safe and well."
"Sketch, ya never wrote to yer parents to tell them you were here?" Applejack exclaimed, entering the room again.
"No," he mumbled, suddenly feeling outnumbered.
"Ginger Snap, I got yer water on the stove top. And are ya sure I can't get you anything, uh…?" She looked at Sketch's father.
"Astor," he said. "And no, thank you."
"So how did ya know Sketch… er, 'Waldorf', was here?" Applejack asked. "At the farm, ah mean."
"We were checking out the local establishments and started to notice the paintings that had been hung up in each one," Astor explained. "Ginger Snap took a closer look and recognized Waldorf's style."
"You… you could actually tell they were mine?" Sketch asked, blinking in amazement.
"Of course," Ginger Snap said with an incredulous expression. "You showed me your work a number of times."
"Yeah, but I… I never thought you ever actually looked at any of them," Sketch mumbled.
"Well, I did," she replied in a quiet voice.
"Ah think that's sweeter'n an apple pie with ice cream!" Applejack said, throwing a quick look at Sketch. "Ah have to say, yer son is one of the most talented ponies ah've ever met. Not to mention a hard worker. He helped us out with the apple harvest last year, and ah ain't never seen a pony go from never applebuckin' to what ah saw him doin' at the end of the season." Just the then the tea kettle began to whistle. "Oops, excuse me, ah'll be right back."
Once Applejack left, Astor looked at Sketch and raised an eyebrow. "Applebucking? All those years of private school and you end up on a farm doing manual labor?"
"I'm still painting, too, you know," Sketch said by way of an argument, then realized too late how useless it was.
"So you're wasting your schooling and your time. And who is this country bumpkin?"
That was the last straw. "Get out," Sketch said in a low, chilly voice. "Get out of here right now."
"We do need to get some sleep before our meeting with the mayor tomorrow," Astor said and stood, as if the thought of leaving had been his all along. "Perhaps while we're here we can finally talk some sense into you, Waldorf."
"Stay away from me, dad," Sketch warned, his anger heating him up like the summer heat had for months. "Just… get out."
The two made their way out the front door and Sketch watched, glaring the entire time. Ginger Snap turned and gave her son a look which caught him by surprise. Was it a look of regret? Of sadness? It was too brief to tell, and by all accounts Sketch was probably just imagining it. Neither of his parents was capable of those types of emotions.
"It's still pretty hot, so be careful when ya… hey, where'd they go?" Applejack said, wheeling in Granny Smith's ancient, wobbly tea cart with a steaming cup of sloshing tea on the top.
"They're gone," Sketch said simply.
"Sketch, you didn't…" Applejack asked with a note of frustration in her voice.
"Applejack, they're up to no good, I just know it!"
"Sketch," Applejack said in calm yet stern voice, her eyes narrowing. "This here is mah house and you've no right to run anypony outta here."
"But you should have heard what they said about you! They-"
"Mah… house…," Applejack repeated, her voice rising. "And ah'll grant ya that you've obviously had a bad relationship with yer parents, but they're still yer kin. There's no call t' be treatin' 'em like that."
Sketch wanted to keep arguing, to make Applejack see his point of view. But he knew it was useless. Only he knew what it had been like to grow up under his father and mother. Only he knew what they had done and what they were capable of. And the two of them were always able to charm anypony onto their side. So, filled with anger and frustration, Sketch just shook his head and walked out into the warm evening air in the direction of his studio with the same question repeating in his head: What were his parents doing in Ponyville?