//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: Red, White, and Blueblood // by kingtiger666 //------------------------------// “I am Mephistopheles. Great are the works of your Lord, But greater still are those of mine. For this world is wicked. It is cruel and vain, giving no alms to the weak or lame. Does your Lord, Creator of All, allow such things to be? Yes! But mine shall destroy this imperfect creation For he is Lucifer, bringer of light. All apples are his seed And all Apples shall bear his-” “Git outta here! Ain’t nopony touchin’ mah lil’ sister! Git!” Applejack kicked the demonic creature in the face, sending it crumpling to the floor. The assembled ponies stared wide-eyed at the unconscious monster, which quickly burst into flames and disintegrated. Granny Smith turned her head to Blueblood and spoke. “Now then, y’all were gettin’ dinner?” ←-----------------------------------------------------------------------------→ The walk to the dining car was... Uninteresting, to say the least. It was a walk. They moved one step at a time, down the hallway, into the next car, then the next, and through there to the dining car. This description is already boring you, isn’t it? Well it should! It was a boring walk! Anyway, they’re in the dining car now. Comfortable straight-backed booths in red vinyl lined both sides of the carriage, and at the back was the silver serving counter of the galley. It was surprisingly empty for such a full train, with only an earth pony couple sitting near the door and a bored-looking waiter leaning against the far wall. Upon noticing the newly arrived... Well, I wouldn’t say couple, maybe duo, he lurched to his hooves and grabbed two menus before approaching them. “Y’guys can sit right there,” he said, nodding towards the booth next to them. They complied, and a moment later were staring at their menus. A cornucopia of choices, what would be correct? Blueblood gazed over the listing and started to sweat. What if he ordered something light, and Mac ordered something big? Some working ponies ate meat for extra protein, high society would never allow one of their own members to be associated with a meat-eater! Luckily for the poor stallion, he found the choice made for him by his compatriot. “Ah’ll have an apple pie, then.” One can’t expect such a high class unicorn to know what an apple pie is, but his growing connection to this simple stallion was cause enough for Blueblood to go out on a limb. “Same.” The waiter looked at them strangely, then trotted down the aisle to the kitchen, leaving the two sitting awkwardly. Mac wasn’t speaking, and Blueblood’s eyes shot all over in search of something, anything, to serve as a distraction from the hardworking, strong, muscular, virile- ‘Ah. There we go.’ Next to him on the seat was a folded newspaper. Picking it up, he beheld a copy of the Equestrian Enquirer, a bastion of journalistic integrity and credibility. Sure, they might’ve hacked somepony’s message crystal, or beaten up a few dozen immigrants, but it was all surely in the best interests of Equestria, and since when has that stopped anypony from committing morally-dubious deeds? The newspaper offered little of interest. Apparently there was a giant chicken attack in the Crystal Empire, some hairless monkeys appeared in Ponyville, a couple sentient robots were put down in Manehattan, all quite ordinary. ‘If only something interesting would happen, like a train crash or a murder or something...’ His pondering was cut short by the arrival of the waiter with their meals. “Here’s your orders.” Blueblood looked up. His eye twitched. He slowly recoiled from the plate and the ‘culinary masterpiece’ that sat upon it. It was hardly what one would term haute cuisine (*), sat wafting steam into the air. He held his breath to keep the scent out of his nose. He couldn’t just leave, heads would start turning, he was beginning to make a scene! Glancing side to side, there was the waiter with a covered cart, if he could reach it before Mac noticed-- “Uh... Yer highness? What’re you doing?” Found out. Blueblood slowly inhaled as he slouched back forward. “I’m, uh, stretching?” Mac didn’t notice the uncertainty in his voice, or at least decided not to point it out. Blueblood looked down at his plate. Upon it sat the single most despicable ‘food’ in the civilized world. It was mushy. It was brown. It was an apple pie. Dark and steaming, a hole in the centre revealing what was assuredly a pile of slippery, mushy, brown sugar-coated apple slices. Mac stopped chewing. “Y’all ain’t eating.” He pointed out. This was it, no alternatives. Blueblood inhaled, exhaled, and lifted a slice up with his magic. Inside, one could see the spotted brown apples, the slime holding it all together between two flat and mushy crusts. For Equestria! He thought, disregarding the question of whether his eating an apple pie was truly of national importance. The slice slowly moved towards his face, the scent filling his nostrils. Mac was staring at him, he must be, of course he is! I’m a prince and I’m eating carnival fare and he’ll tell the tabloids and my reputation will be ruined and-- --he took a small bite. It was warm and moist, two things Blueblood absolutely hated in food. Chew. It wasn’t... Terrible, at least. Not poison. Just... Apples. A couple seconds of that, eyes away from his dining partner, and swallow. Mac broke the silence. “See, not so bad.” “Whatever makes you think I was at all reluctant to eat that?” Blueblood huffed indignantly. “Nothin’.” He said, stifling a chuckle. “Hmf.” A short while later, the two found their plates empty (Come up with better wording for this.). The conversation over dinner was more-or-less nonexistent, and the quiet at this point was... Painfully awkward. Mac broke the silence, “Ah’m on a trip to visit mah cousin Jaffa. Real friendly, you should meet him!” “I’m afraid I might not have time, you see,” he leaned in closer, “I’m not actually here for the Orange Festival at all.” “What, then?” “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” “Hardy harr, Ah guess.” “No, I’m serious, if I told you what I’m going to Saddle Arabia for, I’d have to magically stop up your veins, killing you within minutes.” “That’s... Kinda dark.” Mac said with a bit of trepidation. The unicorn clapped his hooves together. “I know! That’s what makes it so funny!” “Wait, so that was a joke?” Blueblood’s eyes were bright with humor. “It depends! Would you like me to?” “No, not really.” “Then I won’t!” And again, silence. Horrible, awkward silence. Many things could’ve happened at this point. An alien robo-pirate attack is just one of them. Unfortunately, what happened was a lot more (or, quite possibly, less) realistic. The stallions looked at each other across the table, the rest of the world dimming around them, a certain glimmer shining in their eyes. Closer, closer they leaned, their lips just brushing-- It’s right around this point the train went over the cliff. ←-----------------------------------------------------------------------------→ (*) Due to a recent lawsuit by Mr. Legal Limbo, Esq, on behalf of ponies whose names are also common phrases, we are required to mention that the intention of this story is not, nor shall it be, to mock Mr. Haute Cuisine, nor to draw negative attention to himself, his family, or business. See also: Donkey Show, MD, v. Donkey Show Adult Entertainment Inc.