“You don't have to do this.” Applejack said, not for the first time.
“Of course I do! It's only fair, darling.” Rarity nodded, resolute. “That's what we agreed, wasn't it? I'd take you to to an art gallery opening, and you'd take me to...uh, whatever this is.” Rarity looked at the barn and fought down the sudden rush of apprehension. “A...schindig, you called it?”
“This is bigger than a schindig, sugarcube.”
“Oh. So, uh. A hoedown, then? I vaguely recall you mentioning hoedowns at some point. Does it have something to do with garden tools?”
“Nope. Bigger n' that.”
“What's bigger than a hoedown?”
“A hootenanny!”
“I have absolutely no idea what that is.”
“A hootenanny's like a hoedown, for the whole town.”
“That's not exactly helpful. I mean, would you say that this is a black tie, or white tie event? Er, proverbially speaking, that is. What's the equivalent? Black hat or white hat?”
“Uh.” Applejack turned her green eyes upwards. “My hat's brown. That help?”
“Not...exactly, no.” Rarity huffed. “Look, I just need to know how important this event is in your particular social circle. I'd hate to ruin the hilight of your social calendar, Applejack.”
“Aw shucks Rarity, you ain't gonna ruin anything. Stop worryin'. Sure, this is a right proper hootenanny, but it ain't gonna be a barnburner, so you're fine.”
“What's a barnburner?”
“Bigger n' a hootenanny.”
“That doesn't help!”
“Welp, lookit it this way. The barn ain't on fire, so you ain't got anythin' to worry about.”
“On fire? That's...a euphemmism, I hope?”
“Aw, don't get your purdy head all worried, Rarity.” Applejack reached out to ruffle Rarity's carefully-coiffed mane, but the unicorn shrunk back and gave her a warning glare. Applejack ignored it. “Just relax, have a coupla drinks, n' have a good time. Aint' like ya gotta be all polite-like, y'know? S' just a good time to cut loose. Not worry 'bout rules, y'know?”
“Gasp!” Rarity said the full word. “No rules? That's terrible! How else am I supposed to fit in?”
“I dunno. Take a coupla shots of whiskey?”
“How is that supposed to help?”
“It'll slow ya down, for one. Really, Rarity, I think you're just overthinkin' everythin'. Little bit a booze'll put things inta perspective.”
“I'll...take that into consideration.” Rarity's steps slowed as the barn grew closer, and the noise from within the barn grew louder. “...are you absolutely sure I should be tagging along, though? I'd hate to embarass you, Applejack.”
“Shoot, iffin' you can put up with me at your fancypants schindig-”
“Gallery opening.” Rarity corrected.
“Whatever. After that, shoot- you'd have ta try really, really hard to embarass me, darlin'.”
“So you're saying it's possible!”
“I s'pose so. N' that's just a risk I'd have to take.” Applejack turned her head to give Rarity a reassuring peck on the cheek.
Rarity felt her cheeks flush pleasantly, and she watched Applejack open the barn door. The ensuing wave of sound hit Rarity hard enough to make her flinch. The sounds of laughter, clinking glass, and shouted conversations all roiled over each other, each individual noise trying its damndest to be louder than the others.
“A bit loud, isn't it?” Rarity said.
“Shoot, this ain't nothin'! They ain't even started the show yet.”
“Darling, are you sure-” Rarity trailed off as Applejack walked brazenly into the fracas. The unicorn wondered if Applejack had even heard her, but followed anyway. As she walked deeper into the hootennany, Rarity did her best to take it all in. The arrangement was simple; a handful of musicians had set up shop at one end of the barn, mostly with stringed instruments: guitars, banjos, fiddles, an upright bass, and one grizzled old donkey with a jug that he was either playing or drinking out of, Rarity wasn't sure which.
At the other end of the barn, a makeshift bar had been built from old boxes and cider barrels. A steady line of thirsty ponies crowded around the rough lumber, while several enterprising ponies shuttled back and forth, providing libations as needed.
Between the bar and the stage, dozens of ponies chatted, drank, flirted, and otherwise socialized with each other. The crowd was mostly earth ponies, though Rarity was relieved to see she wasn't the only unicorn in attendance. There were even a few pegusai flitting around amidst the rafters. The barn smelled of sawdust and spilt beer; Rarity hadn't been in enough barns to know if this was an improvement or not.
“Soooooo.” Rarity finally said, once her ears had adjusted to the general noise level. “What's a pony supposed to do at a hoedown-”
“Hootennany.” Applejack corrected.
“-at an....event like this?”
“Just have a good time, is all.”
“Yes, right. And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Have a coupla drinks, listen to the band, do some dancin. Normal stuff.”
“Ah. Yes. Normal.” Rarity adjusted her mane, even though a quick scan of the barn showed she was the best-coiffed pony present. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing. “So...what should we do?”
“Welp, first thing, we gotta start drinkin'.” Applejack made her way towards the wetter end of the bar.
Rarity followed. “That does make sense, yes. It's already a little warm in here- I can see the appeal of a brief refreshment.”
Applejack shouldered her way over to the bar, and pounded a hoof down on the rough hewn wood. “Two whiskeys! Neat!” The moustached pony behind the crates and barrels nodded, and poured two intimidating tumblers of bourbon in front of Applejack. The cowpony immediately took one of the glasses between her lips and kicked it back, downing the booze with practiced ease.
Rarity, meanwhile, stared at the remaining glass. “That...might be a little too refreshing for my tastes.”
“Aw heck, Rarity. I knew I shoulda bought you a drink, too.” Applejack downed the second whiskey, and a faint blush began to color her cheeks. “What's yer poison?”
“Well, if I must, could I get a Manehattan?”
Rarity's request earned a blank look from both Applejack and the bartender.
“An alfalfa martini, then?”
The bartender shifted uncomfortably from one hoof to the other.
“Hold up, sugacrube. You're makin' the poor feller look uncomfortable. Remember, we're in a barn. Ain't like they're gonna have anythin' too highfalutin'.” She rapped her hoof on the rough-hewn planks again. “How 'bout two apple ciders?”
“Coming right up!” The bartender, relieved, poured two frothing mugs and set them down with practiced ease. Applejack scooped one up, and pushed the other towards Rarity.
Rarity closed her eyes and sipped daintily at her cider, grateful for the cold beverage in such a warm barn.
“I suppose this isn't so bad, all things considered. Now, where do we sit?”
“Sit?” Applejack squinted at Rarity, as if she'd suddenly started speaking in another language (which, for the record, she did, on occasion).
“You know, for the concert.”
“Concert nothin', babe. This is a show. Ain't nobody get to sit down, 'cept maybe the drummer! N' even then that's only like half the time.”
“No seating? That's terrible! How else are we supposed to know who's who, if we all stand around like plebians?”
“Uh, maybe you could ask 'em?”
“Applejack, look at how many ponies are present- I certainly don't have anywhere near the time to talk to each and every one of them in depth. Wheras, if this were a proper outing with proper seating, I could surmise everything I needed to know based on where they were sitting- or, rather, who they were sitting next to. Why, one time in Canterlot, I was able to predict the next season's fashion trends based simply on who was sitting next to who at an evening at the Opera.”
“This ain't the opera, hon.”
“Perhaps, but the principle's the same! Or, well, at least it's similar.”
“Ain't nopony gonna start singin' 'bout a spear n' magic helmet, iffin' that's whatcha mean.”
“That's...not what I mean.”
“Course, ain't everypony s'posed ta wind up dead at the end of an Opera? That's kinda like a proper country song, innit it?”
“I wouldn't know.”
“Welp, you're gonna know! Ain't nopony put on a show like Fiddlesticks!”
“Who?”
“Fiddlesticks. She's my third cousin' twice removed. Or second cousin thrice removed, I forget.”
“I don't think I've had the chance to meet her.”
“Well, that's fine, 'cuz she's goin' up on stage right now!”
“How y'all doin!?” A vaguely familiar looking pony with a yellow coat and a violin yelled at the the crowd. Rarity wasn't sure how one pony could be so loud without either using a microphone or being of royal stock. A deafening whoop rose up from the crowd in reply. Rarity looked at Applejack so she could observe proper whooping etiquitte.
Applejack drained her cider (at least, Rarity hoped it was cider) in a single, messy draught, and looked over to Rarity with a not-entirely-sober glint in her green eyes. “C'mon darlin', it's time ta throw down!” cried Applejack, “at the hoedown!”
“But I thought it was a hootenanny?” Rarity squeaked.
“Hold up!” The yellow coated pony on the stage said. “I said, HOW Y'ALL DOIN'?!”
An ever louder chorus of whoops and yells rose up from the crowd.
“That's better!” The pony with the violin laughed, and put her instrument to her shoulder. “Anyway, I'm Fiddlesticks, n' these here fellas are the Brokebottle Boys, n' we're here to get ya'll right n' rowdy!”
This earned another enthusiastic (and not entirely sober) cheer from the crowd.
Fiddlesticks belted out a “One, two, three four!” and the show began.
The band threw themselves into their instruments, and the ponies on the dance floor threw themselves into each other. The yellow-coated pony with the fiddle immediately started singing a rowdy, fast-paced song about having whiskey for breakfast. To judge by the crowd's enthusiastic response, Rarity guessed this was a somewhat common occurence in earth pony circles.
Applejack whooped and yelled even louder than the rest of the crowd. The boards of the dance floor shook and trembled as a gaggle of ponies stomped in applause. Rarity daintily chipped away at the hardwood with her own hooves, just to blend in. Nopony seemed to notice. Nopony seemed to notice anything, caught as they were in the sudden eruption of music and dance.
The dance floor wasn't violent so much as chaotic- ponies bumped and bounced off of each other, often spilling the better part of their drinks on themselves or on the floor (before downing the rest). Rarity let out a few squeaks as she was jostled about, though each bump managed to send more cider out of her mug and onto her coat. And, like a sudden, violent summer shower, the song ended as quickly as it began, leaving a crowd of disheveled (but no less enthusiastic) ponies in its wake.
Whoops of approval and stomps of applause echoed from the rafters, dying down as Fiddlesticks tipped her hat to the crowd. “Hey y'all, we're just gettin' started!” she said, “hope y'all can keep up!”
Applejack yelled something unintelligeble but enthusiastic back at the stage.
Rarity realized it was going to be a long night.
Despite the uncouth surroundings, the absolute lack of seating, and the propensity of certain ponies to bump into her on the crowded dance floor, Rarity still found things to admire about Fiddlesticks' performance. The band's enthusiam impressed her, of course- but on top of that, Rarity appreciated the musical complexity of the songs performed; from Fiddlesticks' violin to the drummer to the donkey on the jug, each of the musicians on stage knew exactly what they were doing. It was just a shame about the songs' subject manner. Fiddlesticks and her Brokebottle Boys kept returning to darker subjects more often than not; broken hearts, lost dogs, and a whole gamut of crimes: murder, robbery, cheating at cards, and so on. As the evening progressed, each song seemed to blend into the next- which, Rarity told herself, wasn't at all influenced by the two ciders Applejack had foisted on her over the course of the evening.
Or was it three?
“Hey y'all, lissen up!” Despite the sheen of sweat on Fiddlesticks' coat, and the heaving of her sides, the violinist looked even more energized than she had been several songs before. “Imma need some help singin' this next song!” No less than a dozen ponies shouted their willingness to assist.
“Hey y'all, shut the hell up!” Fiddlesticks laughed, and drained a glass somepony had helpfully foisted on her. “There's only one filly here who can sing this song right- n' that's my third-cousin, twice-removed, Applejack!”
“Applejack?” Shocked, Rarity turned to the cowpony- but before the unicorn could ask any more questions, the crowd pushed Applejack towards the stage with all the inevitability of tectonic movement (albiet at a much faster pace).
“Uh. Hey.” Applejack murmured into the microphone.
The crowd (save for Rarity, it seemed) hollered in a nonsensical but enthusiastic reply.
“Don't be shy, Applejack!” Fiddlesticks clapped Applejack across the shoulders. “There ain't nopony who can sing this here song like you can!”
“Which song?” said Applejack.
“You know the one.” Fiddlesticks raised her violin to her shoulder, and shot her third-cousin twice-removed a wink.
“Oh, that'un.” Applejack said. The band behind her launched into a slow, steady country tune, and Applejack didn't miss a beat, pulling her microphone close.
“Ya once said ya loved me, / n' that's all that I heard!”
“Ya just fluttered, yer lashes / and I believed every word.”
Rarity raised a hoof to her muzzle, unsure if she should've been flattered or mortified. Still, she admitted to herself Applejack's heart was in the right place, as it usually was. Rarity shouldered her way towards the front of the crowd to see better. Applejack continued to sing with scratchy-voiced enthusiasm.
“But now I know better / just seems so absurd!”
“And that's why I'm singin' this song!”
“Well I woke up, this mornin', / with a poundin' in my head.”
“Which got me, to thinkin' / 'bout all that you said.”
“And I guess that explains why, / I'm in an empty bed!”
“'n I ain't seen you since dawn!”
“Well you're better off gone!”
“Yeah, you're better off gone!”
“It just dawned on me / hell it took way too long!”
“Shoulda known from the start,”
“You'd break my damn heart!”
“And that's why you're better off gone!”
By this point, every pony in the barn (except for Rarity) was singing along. Applejack shut her eyes and belted out another verse.
“Ya said I was your only, / but how was I to know?”
“That all of your lovin' / it was just for show.”
“You'd use me, n' leave me / then pick up and go!”
“Guess it's time for me to move on.”
“Well ya spent all my money, / and ya just wouldn't quit.”
“And I kept on givin' / down to my last damn bit.”
“But those days are over, ya lyin' piece of-”
Rarity gritted her teeth and shoved her way to the back of the crowd. Thankfully, the barn's accoustics weren't the best, so between the general din of the crowd and the less-than-perfect sound system, Applejack's song degraded to rhythmic warbling by the time Rarity reached the bar.
After entirely too many verses, Applejack's song wound down, and the crowd (except for Rarity) let out a rowdy roar of approval. Applejack hugged Fiddlesticks, and a few other members of the Brokebottle Band besides, and then daintily stepped down from the stage (at which point somepony helpfully thrust a fresh mug of cider into her hooves).
Rarity shoved her way through the crowd, and met Applejack just as the farmer was raising her well-earned free-drink to her lips.
“Applejack. We need to talk.”
“Beg pardon?” Applejack said. Even when the band wasn't playing, the barn was ridiculously loud. Perhaps louder, as everypony took the opportunity to start talking during the lull between songs.
“APPLEJACK WE NEED TO TALK.” Rarity repeated, at volume.
“OH. OKAY.” Applejack said, at an approrpiate volume. “WHAT'S UP?”
Rarity paused, then leaned in to yell into Applejack's ear. “PERHAPS WE SHOULD DISCUSS THIS MATTER ELSEWHERE?”
“WHERE?”
“SOMEPLACE QUIETER?”
“LIKE OUTSIDE?”
“THAT'LL DO!”
Rarity pushed the barn door open. The sudden change from the inside to outside temperature made her shiver. She rubbed at one of her ears, wincing at the ringing within them. She ignored the pain, and turned a Look upon Applejack.
“You could have told me, you know,” the unicorn said.
“Told ya what?”
“Everything!” Rarity prodded Applejack in the chest. “Of all things, did you have to sing a song? In front of everypony?”
“I...don't follow, sugarcube.”
“Don't call me that!” Rarity shrilled. “After everything you said- or, well, sung, you're going to try to call me pet names? So fine, the gallery opening in Canterlot could have gone better, but you could have just told me! In prose! In private! But nooooo, you just had to go and sing a song in front of all your uncouth friends!” Rarity sniffed, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I hope you're happy.”
“Hold up.” Applejack raised a hoof. “You gettin' all riled 'bout that song I done sung?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“I mean, it was just an old song. Or, wait-” Applejack looked at Rarity from the corner of her eye. “Y'all didn't think that song was about you, didja?”
“No!” said Rarity. “Er, ah...yes. Maybe?”
Applejack broke out laughing.
“Stop that! It's not funny!”
“Sorry.” Applejack bit down on her lip and stifled a snigger. “But think 'bout it, Rarity. Iffin' I was mad at you, why do you think I'd sing a song 'bout it? Don't ya think I'd just tell ya upfront?”
“That...” Rarity took a second to process this. “That does make a little more sense, yes. It's just...that song was so terrible.”
“You sayin' I'm a bad singer?”
“No, not that. In fact, I dare say you're a rather accomplished vocalist...too good, in fact.” Rarity sighed, and pushed her hair back. “You sounded so...genuine. Like you were legitimately mad at somepony.”
“Yeah, well,” Applejack scratched at the back of her neck. “I guess I was?”
“I knew it!” Rarity sniffed again, “I should have known this was only going to be a fleeting-”
“Not you!”
“Why not?”
“'cause I ain't mad at you- lookit, here's the thing. Long time ago, there was this one feller. Nothin' that serious, mind- but, turns out, he was cheatin' on me with Fiddlesticks...or maybe he was cheatin' on Fiddlesticks with me, so once we found out, the two of us got together n' wrote a damn song 'bout 'im. For revenge. Had nothin' to do with you. Heck, had nothin' to do with anypony- I think that feller went n' moved to Phillydelphia or somethin'. So really, it was just me n' Fiddlesticks reminicin' 'bout the good ol' days, y'know?”
“But why couldn't you sing a happy song?” Rarity said, “why can't any of them be happy songs? It seems like every other one was about getting one's heart broken or getting into a fight or having too much to drink-”
“Or all three!” Applejack said, cheerfully.
“Exactly! In fact, the more terrible the subject matter, the louder the audience got!”
“Well, that's how the country blues work, darlin'. Way I figure, it's better to just sing 'bout all that kinda stuff instead a' havin' it happen to you, y'know? It's like...relaxin'.” Applejack looked over to the barn at the sound of breaking glass and another rebel whoop. “Sorta.”
“Wait.” Rarity's eyes went wide in realization, “it's catharsis, isn't it?”
“Catharsis? I think my Granny Smith's got that. 's why her knees hurt when it rains.”
“That's...not the exact definition.” Rarity said, “but I think I'm seeing your point- there's something to be said for releasing stress and emotion out through song. Why, now that I think about it, there's a slight similarity to classical opera-”
“Oprey? Like when everypony's dead at the end 'cept the big lady with the helmet with horns on it?”
“That's a simplistic way of looking at it, but yes.” Rarity sighed. “But the general principle's the same.”
“Hold up,” Applejack raised a hoof, “I know where this is headed. Y'all's gonna drag me to the oprey next, ain'tcha?”
“One, it's pronounced 'Opera,'” Rarity drew an extra syllable or two out of the 'o' word. “Two, I doubt I could drag you anywhere you didn't want to go, stubborn as you are. And three, well...with how your big Canterlot Society Debut went...I'm slightly disinclined to bring you to any more social events. Something tells me we're on the same page here.”
“Sounds 'bout right.”
“If that's the case, let me propose an...agreement. From now on, Applejack, I promise not to take you to any high society functions...unless you really want to go. For some reason.”
“Don't think that's gonna be a problem.”
“I thought you'd say that. But...in return, I must make a request.”
“Whassat?”
“Please, Applejack, whatever happens-” desperation tinged Rarity's tone as she pulled the cowpony close. “Never write a country song about me.”
Applejack stared into Rarity's eyes, and she felt her heart beat a little faster- at least until the two of them broke out into laughter.
“Welp, I don't think that's gonna be a problem, darlin.” Applejack leaned in and kissed the unicorn on the nose. “I mean, what rhymes with Rarity anyway?”
“Clarity? Hilarity? Disparity?”
“Welp, when ya put it that way, I guess I gots ta write a song, don't I?”
“Now you're just taunting me on purpose.”
“Eeeyup.” Again, the pair broke into subdued laughter.
“Really, Applejack- we've got to find better ways to spend our time together. Maybe next time we should just spend the evening...in.”
“Why would we do that? Sounds kinda borin'.”
“I wouldn't think so. I mean, there's something to be said for just lazing around, sometimes. Perhaps we could just relax-” She fluttered her eyelashes.”On the couch?”
“Oh.”