Earlier that morning, Applejack had risen at her usual time, and her apple slices were sizzling in the pan as Celestia’s Sun climbed above the horizon. Unlike her brother and sister, the dawn was one of her favorite times, partly because of the promise each day held, but mostly because nopony else tended to be up, which gave her a rare chance to relax and think.
When Applejack noticed the dawn shadows shortening, she realized she’d been doing a little too much thinking. She wrapped her tongue around the remaining slice of fried apple, gulped down the last of her coffee, and chastised herself for being a slowpoke: “Yer burnin’ daylight, AJ, an’ there’s no excuse for wastin’ a good day. Them apples ain’t gonna sell themselves.” Pausing to don her Stetson, she stepped out the door and trotted towards the barn.
The barn door was ajar. Applejack frowned, for there were no good reasons for it to be so. She knew Big Mac couldn’t have left it open this morning; even from the barn, she could hear him snoring away. Apple Bloom could be ruled out as well – the absence of flames or any awful sounds of destructive creation meant the filly almost certainly wasn’t inside.
There was one other possible culprit, though, and she tipped her hat forward, for it never hurt to be prepared when confronting a Princess of the Night. Luna had recently discovered the joy of Sweet Apple Cider, and more than once Applejack had caught her doing what seemed an awful lot like casing the joint, looking for the Apples' Secret Cider Cellar.
Not that the Cellar existed. Especially not under the floorboards of Applejack's room.
Cautiously, she poked her head around the door. There was no Night Alicorn inside. In fact, there was nothing.
Her hat flew off her head in surprise. In the middle of the barn, where she had left the salescart after stocking up the previous night, was nothing except emtpy space.
“Mah... mah cart! Mah cart’s gone! What in tarnation’s goin’ on here?”
Then she noticed the space was not quite empty: On the floor lay a pile of apples and apple-eating accessories. “Mah... mah apples!” Her muzzle twisted in a snarl. “What sorta no-good, two-bit, flea-bitten, mangy-coated good-fer-nothin’ cart-napper would turn their nose up at mah apples?”
Applejack squinted, her hooves shaking in frustration, and through clenched teeth muttered, “Carrot Top!”
She ran back through the farmhouse, shouting, “Mac, Apple Bloom, sound th' alarm! Raise th’ levies! Cart-theft! Mayhem! Apple-disrespectin’! Ah’ve got ta get th’ Sheriff out here! Hold down th’ fort, Ah’ll head ‘em off at the pass!” And then she was out the front door, galloping towards Ponyville for all she was worth, her words trailing behind her. “Ain’t no carrot-munchin’ rascal gonna git away with this caper!”
As she clattered past his room, Big Mac rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. “Ah’m gonna have t’ check the ‘chug-by’ date on th’ breakfast cider. Again.”
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
As Twilight, Fluttershy, and Rarity stood in front of the fruit cart, an awkward silence fell over them, only broken by the occasional raspy outburst from down the street. Rarity smiled and blinked at Twilight, and Twilight grinned nervously in return and tried to looked anywhere but at Rarity’s eyes. Fluttershy began backing away slowly from the uneasy standoff, but let out a startled “Eep!” when Twilight used her magic to pick her up and bring her back.
“Fluttershy! I was... just about to ask for your help! I was having a hard time picking out the right fruit. Which do you think would be good?”
Fluttershy blushed and tried to hide behind her mane. “Oh, Twilight, I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I, um, I don’t know, erm, that much about fruit? Sorry?”
Rarity saw a chance to smooth over the uncomfortable moment and jumped in with enthusiasm. “M-m-maybe I could offer some assistance, my dear! I may not be an expert on fruit like Applejack, but I believe I can offer some the advantage of a more discerning palate.”
Twilight eagerly accepted her offer with a giggle and levitated the basket containing Rainbow Dash’s selections. “Well, sure, Rarity, thanks!”
Rarity tossed her head and took on a business-like air. “Now, let’s see what you ha– oh my pleats and plackets!” Rarity looked up at Twilight in horror. “Twilight, surely you didn’t intend these to be used for Pony consumption?”
From behind the fruitcart, there was the sound of a moustache-muffled “Hey!”
Twilight lifted the fruit, letting the basket fall to the ground, and looked at them critically. “Really? I didn’t actually look at them. Rainbow–“
“Rainbow Dash??”
Twilight and Rarity both looked at Fluttershy in confusion – while such an outburst from Rarity would not have been surprising, Fluttershy’s exclamation had stunned both of them. Now that the attention was focused on her, though, Fluttershy ducked her head and was trying her best to disappear behind her pink mane. “Oh, um, I mean, I’m sure the ones she chose are very, um, interesting, but, um, you might want to look at them closely.” If possible, her soft voice got even softer, and Twilight and Rarity strained to hear her. “Rainbow, um, well, the last time she cooked, well, um, I had... I...” Fluttershy trailed off in utter embarrassment.
Rarity, ever observant, jumped in to help her friend. “Oh, my dear, I understand completely! I was wondering why you had a bumper crop of flowers behind your cottage. Say no more!”
Rarity, ever observant, jumped in to help her friend. “Oh, my dear, I understand completely. I allowed her to assist Sweetie Belle in making hay sandwiches the other day, and the results were, shall I say, digestively challenging? Thanks to her, my afternoon was quite unlady-like. I had to cancel several fittings, lest I gave an impression of barbarity!” With a smile, she leaned in and whispered, “However, on the bright side, I was able to tell Sweetie Belle that hers were the best sandwiches I’d eaten all day!”
The three friends shared a laugh, and Rarity turned to the floating fruit. Suppressing a shudder, she plucked one from Twilight’s aura with her own, and brought it close for inspection. She donned her glasses, and looked at it critically. “Bruised, and with a slight discoloration from overexposure to sunlight.” With a casual toss of her horn, the citrus dropped into the empty basket.
The salesPony’s moustache twitched, and sh–he lifted a hoof to scratch it, though the motion looked remarkably similar to somepony re-affixing a slipping fake soupstrainer.
With a ruthless efficiency, Rarity began appraising the other fruit Rainbow Dash had chosen, quickly dismissing them all: “Cut... Smudged... Used as a miniature hoofball... Gnawed by fruitbats.” She proceeded to work her way through a portion of the pile on the cart, prompting the proprietor to postulate a perfunctory proposal: “How ‘bout you do less squeezin’ an’ more buyin’? Y’all have been jawin’ in front a’ mah stand fer near a quarter hour! ”
Rarity paused and looked at the little proprietor, whose two-gallon hat was about one gallon too big for his head. “I’m sorry, but you don’t really expect customers to accept substandard merchandise, do you?” She placed a hoof on her chest and continued, “I, too, operate a business establishment, a quite successful one I might add, and I cannot stand the thought of delivering a dress that does not dazzle the customer!”
The salesPony was unimpressed. Holding up a lemon that matched the shade of his coat, he shot back, “See this? It’s a lemon. It don’t matter if there’s a scuff or two, most Ponies squeeze ‘em inta lemonade. 'Cept maybe for Sour Puss over there.”
Across the square, a stallion with a wrinkled face smiled and waved back, then pulled a lemon from a sack and bit into it. He whinnied in ecstasy as his muzzle scrunched up even more, then tossed the rest of the fruit in the air and swallowed it in one gulp.
“Dunno what’s wrong with him, but he’s mah best customer, so Ah figure it don’t pay to ask too many questions.”
The three mares shuddered as they watched, their own muzzles curling involunarily. Fluttershy squeaked and Rarity frowned in disapproval as the stallion swallowed the lemon.
Turning back to the salesPony, Rarity lifted her nose in the air. “Regardless of the, er, eccentric tastes of some of your customers, I’m sorry to say I cannot accept any of these examples of your wares.”
The diminutive cartmonger gave Rarity an appraising look. “We-e-elll, I weren’t gonna say nothin’, but you look like a right selective sort, if’n y’all know what I mean.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice, eyes shifting about as he spoke into Rarity’s shoulder. “Ah don’t like to advertise it, but Ah do have a more private stock, Ah keep it on hand for Ponies what have a more discrimin–”
He broke off as the thunder of galloping hooves rose about the general bustle of the market. At the far end of the market, a cloud of dust was rising, and at the head of it was an orange mare, her blonde mane streaming behind her.
“Aw, horseapp– horsequmquats!”