//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: For the Better // by Craine //------------------------------// If experience taught Applejack anything, Twilight Sparkle and farm-life didn’t mix. And not because of Twilight’s physical ineptitude, her lack of stamina, or even her tendency to obsess and overanalyze the simplest task—no, those were very solid reasons to doubt Twilight. More than once, Applejack’s eyes swept over Twilight’s… much-less-than-impressive physique. Indeed, she’d been rested and restored to full strength. But how much ‘strength’ could really be in those flat, undefined little legs? Perhaps a little, if she could carry two full saddlebags from the library to the farm. Still, Applejack couldn’t help but shoot uncertain glances toward the unicorn walking beside her. Twilight finally noticed, and met Applejack’s glance with a raised brow. “Sugarcube, are y’all sure you’re nice and rested up-like?” Applejack asked. “Farmin’ ain’t a walk in the park, ya know.” Twilight smiled. “I think three days is plenty of time, Applejack,” she said. “We either do this now, or not at all.” It wasn’t much, but Applejack clung to a small rush of relief. Twilight truly was dedicated to this. Not surprising, really. Anypony as obsessive as Twilight surely had a one-track mind. Applejack’s smile waned when Twilight stared at the grass they walked on. “I’m… sorry I yelled at you that day, Applejack,” Twilight said with wilted ears. Applejack slapped Twilight’s shoulder with a *pfft!*. “That was a lifetime ago, Twi.” Then her smile sharpened as the unicorn winced at the sting. “Ain’t sayin’ I’ll go easy on ya.” A thought occurred to Applejack, and this time, her smile completely vanished. “What’s wrong?” Twilight asked. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” Applejack said mostly to herself. “Twilight? What about the Library. What about Spike?” “Oh, Applejack,” Twilight said with a wavy hoof. “I thought you’d have more confidence. Spike’s proven enough that he can hold the fort for a while. Besides, Pinkie Pie agreed to help out when she ca—“ “Ya said what, now?” Applejack cut in with a vivid grimace. “Pinkie? Alone with Spike? Without parental supervision?” Twilight shook her head and giggled. “Your grasp of the obvious inspires me. What’s the big deal?” Applejack’s eyes slowly lifted to the sky. “I just spent two hours baking that jewel-cake Pinkie…” Spike says, his voice eerily calm. “And you jumped in it.” Pinkie shakes the globs of frosting off her hooves. “I-I didn’t mean it! But I saw one of those nasty little spiders and… and—“ “Two. Hours. Pinkie.” “I’m sorry!” Spike blinks once. Pinkie blinks twice. “Run…” Spike mutters. “I-I… what?” “Run.” Spike pulls out a nail-bat from behind him. “Now.” “Applejack?” Twilight calls gently. “Applejack.” “Wha-huh?” “We’re here.” Twilight pointed to the overpass of Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack cleared her throat in what she hoped was a professional manner. Despite the implications, she’d just have to trust Twilight’s judgment. There were far more important matters at hoof. Applejack continued along the path, but Twilight stopped dead in her tracks. “I… I don’t know about this, AJ,” Twilight said. Applejack also stopped, sighing in defeat. She was afraid of this. She knew three days was too long. She knew she should have convinced Twilight to rest up at her farm. At least that way, she’d have little choice but to do the deed. Now Twilight doubted their conviction. All the same, Applejack gave Twilight her most winning smile—the one that always worked. “I believe in ya, Sugarcube. We can make this happen. After I’m done with ya, you’ll be haulin’ bricks for sport.” Applejack was always an honest pony; if she didn’t believe her own words they couldn’t be true. But in that moment, Applejack hadn’t believed anything more in her entire life. If only because she had to. Despite herself, Twilight smiled with a tiny blush. “It’s not that,” she said, her grimace returned. “I know you’ve already talked with your family about this, but… I don’t want to impose.” Applejack just stood there, staring at Twilight like her mane jumped off her head and ran off. “Impose. Impose, Twilight? Really?” Twilight gave the farmer an inquisitive stare. “Well… yeah? I mean, I’ve never lived on a farm before. Never bucked apple trees, planted crops by hoof, or slopped any hogs. And don’t get me started on pulling plows.” She winced at that last mention. If there was a force on Heaven or Equestria that stopped Applejack from laughing her flank off, she’d find it one day, and personally thank it. “Sugarcube, let me be clear as water on this,” Applejack said, her face falling even. “My family loves you.” Again, Twilight smiled and blushed. “Oh, well… I always thought I was a good family friend but—“ “Loves. You.” Applejack was sure she’d unnerve herself if she caught her own wide-eyed stare. “Sure, they were right fond of ya when ya first came to Ponyville. But after your fancy organizin’ with that whole ‘Flim-Flam’ deal? Land sakes, Twi, they wouldn’t shut up about ya for a week!” As though it were even possible—amazingly, it was—Twilight turned even redder. “R-really?” “Got three empty bottles of aspirin to prove it.” Applejack gave a light frown. Obviously the new information was sinking in. Twilight gently scraped at the grass and couldn’t erase her smile. “Wow. I-I didn’t think…” “I don’t lie, Sugarcube,” Applejack proudly declared with a hoof to her chest. “Now quit your fussin’ and get a move on. Gotta get ya reacquainted with the land, and all.” With that, Applejack marched forward, her pace brisk and focused. She perked her ears, listening for Twilight’s hoof-steps to follower her. They did. The two mares crossed the over pass into the acres, completely oblivious to the other’s smile. ********** Fresh morning dew. Strong healthy trees. Sweet-scented apples. Earth. These filled Twilight’s nostrils as she woke in a bed that wasn’t hers. The back of her mind registered imminent danger, at first, being surrounded by so many unfamiliar things. Until memories—fond and sickly sweet—flood her vision. Twilight had arrived at Sweet Apple Acres with Applejack the previous day. As promised, a full tour was given, complete with a list of duties, work locations, and sleeping arrangements. But it was Twilight’s exceedingly warm welcome yesterday that had her smiling at the ceiling of her new room. She’d never seen Big Macintosh light up like a Hearths Warming tree before. To boot, she was downright terrified that Granny Smith—bless her heart—would cook her a meal she couldn’t possibly finish. Which happened, of course. And Applebloom? Twilight swore that filly ran on batteries that never died. Running in circles around her. Squealing with delight. Asking her again and again how long she was staying. More than once, Twilight was tempted to empty a bottle of aspirin herself. Yet, all Twilight could do that morning was smile tiredly, the sun barely peeking behind the distant mountains. Twilight yawned and snuggled deeply to her soft, welcoming pillow. Memories could wait; sleep was calling to her. Seducing her. Promising her the world and more if she gave in. With gentle snores and a dreamy smile, that’s exactly what Twilight did. The door swung open. “Rise and shine, Twilight!” Of course. Of course Applejack was a morning pony. Twilight wanted to stay silent, but a tired, much-too-early groan escaped from beneath the sheets. Bit by bit, any chance for more sleep was knocked away by Applejack approaching steps. “Up and at ‘em, Sugarcube!” Applejack cheered and yanked the blanket away with her teeth. “Breakfast is waitin’ for us downstairs, and we got a whole day ahead of us!” With another groan, Twilight futilely reached for sheets that weren’t there anymore. Then realized Applejack wouldn’t leave until she got up. Did that encourage Twilight to start the day three hours earlier than normal? No. Applejack leaping onto the bed and nudging her off the edge, however? Well… ********** “Aw, come on, Sugarcube?” Twilight ignored the farmer nestling against her, much preferring to glare at the fields of apple trees before them. “I said I was sorry.” “And I said I’m not talking to you,” Twilight replied. Was Twilight being fair? She certainly thought so. Shunning Applejack away seemed a perfect exchange for the welt on her forehead. “It was an accident. Y’all know I’d never do that on purpose.” Try as might, Applejack couldn’t hide her pleading tone. “Really,” Twilight said flatly. “You seemed pretty eager to me.” By that point, Applejack stopped nuzzling Twilight and offered a bright, apologetic stare. “Shucks, Twilight, I feel downright low,“ she said. “Just… Just tell me what I gotta do about this, alright?” This time, Twilight tried harder to ignore the other mare, turning her head further away. Applejack constantly poked her head around Twilight to establish some kind of eye contact, but was always denied. “Please?” And there it was; a smile pulling at Twilight’s lips. She squashed it, though, finally looking at Applejack. “Fine. How about you get to bucking those trees, and I’ll think about it.” Applejack’s ears wilted, and Twilight smile almost escaped her grasp. “Meanwhile, there’s a wonderfully shaded spot—all the way over there—with my name on it.” There was a long pause. When Applejack leveled her brow, Twilight finally smiled. “Y’all know that ain’t happenin’, right?” Twilight sighed. “Yes… but it was worth a shot.” Immediately, the worry melted from Applejack’s face. Her ears perked again and she laughed. For all she was, for all she’d done, Twilight couldn’t stay mad at Applejack. No matter how much the sting on her forehead disagreed. “Come on, then.” Applejack turned sharply toward to trees. “Ornery lil’ cuss…” Twilight would’ve liked to counter that remark, but most ponies found it hard to speak after a tail brushed against their face. Twilight sputtered and shook her head straight again. She glared at the retreating Applejack, and knew—just knew—she was smiling. Which was fair. Twilight was smiling too. Twilight followed her friend, and after a short trek, both stood before their task; acres and acres of apple trees, ready to be bucked, surrounded by gaggles of straw-baskets. Twilight stood tall with her fellow mare, all but questioning a rush of excitement. She had seen Applejack work before, though rarely. Hard and unending, driven by years of toil and burning sun. Yet, no matter how little Twilight had seen, to simply watch her was exhausting. Every deep, crackling impact of hooves against tree bark. Every muscle rippling and shredding beneath that orange coat. Just the thought of it shot aches through Twilight’s legs, and she imagined how it must feel. The impact. The force powering through her bones. The sturdy *crack* of tree bark. “Alright,” Twilight said, her smile sharpened. “Let’s do this.” Just as Twilight took her first step, something clamped her tail. She gave a displeased grunt and looked behind her. It was Applejack. The farmer dropped Twilight’s tail from her mouth and frowned. “Not so fast, Surgarcube,” Applejack said. “Remember what we agreed on?” Twilight rolled her eyes and sighed. “No magic,” she answered flatly. Applejack narrowed her eyes, and Twilight shuffled on her hooves a bit. “Good. Now remember, I see that horn o’ yours go off, ya get flicked.” With a clipped nod, Applejack approached her side of the trees—the left side. Twilight approached the right side. She stood before her first tree of the day, every conceived image flashing past her like city lights. Although, Twilight didn’t remember the trees being so big. Or so thick. Or so very, very intimidating. Of course, before, she could use magic without Applejack crushing the chance with a domineering hoof. She shook those away. It was ridiculous to back down now. She’d promised Spike. She’d promised Applejack and the others. She’d promised herself… And it was a tree. A tree! Twilight restacked her resolved, and with a diamond-cutting stare, observed her opponent. She’d studied this foe once before, dissecting every strength, weakness, benefit, and detriment of this ‘Apple-bucking’. More pointedly, the trees. This tree was thick enough to land both rear hooves without any embarrassing slips. But with its height and probable density, she’d have to exert the corresponding force for optimal fruit descent— “Uh, Twilight?” Applejack called out. “Yoo-hoo? Twilight?” “Wha-huh?” Twilight turned left to see Applejack buck her fourth tree. The unicorn’s jaw nearly dropped through the earth’s crust. “Just kick it, hun.” Applejack gave her friend a sly smile. “It ain’t gonna bite.” Twilight practically threw her stare back at the tree. “I-I know that! I was just… analyzing my options—“ “Overthinkin’ it, like always. Gotcha.” Applejack turned away from her friend and walked to her next tree with a smirk. Twilight whipped her head back toward the farmer. “I do not overthink things!” she declared. Applejack emptied her tree with one solid buck, and turned back to Twilight with that smirk. “That so? ‘Cause where I’m standin’, I see five empty trees on this side, and on yours? Well…” Twilight narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Are you saying I’m slow?” “What? Me? No! No, no, no. Psh! No!” A brief pause. “Pfffft—yeah!” Suddenly, analyzing was stupid. Trees were stupid. Analyzing trees was stupid! With shrilled growl, Twilight spun on her fore-hooves, lifted her rear-hooves, and launched them at the tree. And it was every bit as satisfying as she imagined. The impact. The force powering through her bones. The *crack* of tree bark. With a smile, Twilight hooves fell to the ground. A new sensation tickled her, and she shuffled where she stood again. Her legs trembled against the feeling; like the tiny wing-beats of a million flies swarmed inside them. Adrenaline pumped her veins and her smile grew. “See that, AJ?” Twilight proudly challenged, willing herself still. “Hmm… Eeyup.” Twilight raised a brow at her friend, whose eyes peered into the treetop. Twilight followed the stare, and a lone apple met the tip of her horn with a crunchy *splat*. She yelped, shook the apple away, and glared cannonballs at its unfallen brethren. “One apple? One apple, are you kidding me—“ “Tut, tut, tut. Give it a sec,” Applejack said. Moments passed… and four more apples fell in the baskets below. Twilight’s eye gave a creaky twitch. “That’s… But I… What the—“ “Just kick it harder, Sugarcube,” Applejack assured. “They’ll all fall down. Today… Maybe.” “Rrr! Applejack!” The farmer chuckled. “Oh, I’m just teasin’,” she said. Applejack stepped to Twilight’s tree. “Here, Twilight. Watch me.” Twilight was half-tempted to ignore Applejack and finish the job herself. But Twilight knew a thing or two about foolish pride; a lesson learned from Applejack, in fact. She may not have asked for it, but Twilight needed help. So she sealed her lips shut, and fell back on her haunches. “It’s all in the backbone, Sugarcube,” Applejack instructed, assuming the position. “Use it to steady your front-hooves, use it to guide your back-hooves. Keep your back straight, your head low, and push!” On her final word, orange hooves crashed into the tree with, not one, but many *cracks*. The tree wobbled and quaked, and Twilight found herself doing the same. Her eyelids pulled back, almost painfully so, as every remaining apple fell without a fight. Absurd, is what it was. Twilight had seen this many a time before. But only now, after diving into apple-bucking for the first time, Twilight could only stare, barely catching the drool peaking from her mouth. “How… H-how’d you do that?” Applejack steadied herself and adjusted her hat. “Years o’ practice, Sugarcube,” she said. “But I kicked it as hard as I could. And you… you made it look so easy.” Twilight didn’t notice, but Applejack blushed as she quickly turned around. “T’ain’t nothin’, really. Now pick up your jaw and start buckin’, pony-girl. We still gotta haul these suckers back,” she said, pointing at the apple-filled baskets. The shock hadn’t worn off, but Twilight did as instructed. Just as she prepared for her next tree, her eye caught Applejack, whom was already on her seventh. Just then, everything she thought she understood about farm-work came undone like a ball of yarn. One shot—one kick—and every apple fell. Just like the ones before, and the ones after. Twilight found her eyes combing every fiber of her friend’s muscles. Admiring them. Fearing them. Envying them. She glanced down at her own flat, undefined legs, still tingly from her first buck. Weak. Pathetic. Incapable of the feats Applejack merely sneezed at. Suddenly it all made sense; more than it had when Applejack first said, ‘I want ya to be better.’ The teasing, the forthright demands, the discipline, the ‘no magic’ nonsense. That wasn’t just Applejack being Applejack. It was Applejack living up to her own word, her own promise. As she had the day Twilight first met her. “You’re so strong, “she muttered. Twilight was not. Yet she smiled contently. Because she knew, if she stuck around, if she listened to Applejack, learned from her, rejected her own pride and accepted the Apple way, she could be everything her friends wanted, everything they needed. It worked for Applejack. It could work for Twilight too. It had to. After all... a promise was a promise. With that buzzing tingle far and forgotten, Twilight trod to a full tree and bucked for the second time. Then the third. Then the fourth.