//------------------------------// // Dash's New Hat // Story: Taken for Granite // by Cloudy Skies //------------------------------// Applejack didn’t know when, but at some point her trot had become a canter. Bit by bit she sped up while she made her way down the streets that led from the library to Rarity’s Carousel Boutique. Going through the whole ordeal of explaining once was unfortunate, but twice, that was somewhere well past annoyance. Even if she stopped and stood still, she knew her legs would quiver with frustration. Why should it be kept a secret? She dearly wished she’d taken the time to ask Pinkie Pie about exactly that, though she knew why she hadn’t. In the barn last night, questions seemed infinitely less important than trying to find answers for Pinkie Pie, and this morning—well, as much a surprise as her awakening had been, that she’d forgotten to ask was no shock. Her brain had always taken a while to fully wake up. Never before had that bothered her quite as much as now. One question could have saved her so much grief. Her frustration wasn’t borne of some stupid adherence to truth. All those who were close enough to know Applejack was the Element of Honesty also knew Applejack could lie just fine. Truth wasn’t about breaking out into a rash at the thought of letting slip a white lie. She could lie even if she didn’t like it, but in this case, it all just felt so unnecessary. So stupid. Each and every one of Pinkie Pie’s friends loved her. Despite, or perhaps exactly because of her eccentricities, the pink mare was an integral part to all of their lives, and she brightened the day of all the ponies she touched. Applejack knew she must’ve looked sillier than a coconut on an apple tree with her anger momentarily sidelined in favor of a grin, but it was gone the second she turned the next corner. They all loved her, and they all cared about her, which was why it made no sense at all that she’d try to hide the truth from them. And if there was no reason for something, then you didn’t do it in the first place. That was how the world worked. How the world should work, rather. Applejack grunted and nodded, pleased with what seemed only good sense. Finally, she approached a familiar door set in a large, circular building. Ignoring the beautifully written “Sorry, we’re currently closed” sign, she knocked twice, immediately rewarded with a sing-song “It’s open, dear! Do wipe your hooves, please.” Applejack hesitated a bit before pushing the door open, sticking her head in first. “How in the wide world did you know it was me? Or, well, somepony you know?” she called, stepping into the Boutique’s empty main room. “Because there are only two ponies who knock so hard it makes me worry for the safety of my front door,” Rarity replied, her voice drifting in from her crafting room. Applejack trotted past mannequins and dress sets until finally she stood at the threshold of the open studio where Rarity did her work. “And the other one of you two brutes is here already,” Rarity finished. The unicorn didn’t even look up from her work, speaking around a set of needles in her mouth. She levitated a multicoloured hat-in-making over a workbench, over a dozen other tools hovering near her, none of which Applejack could even name. By the far wall, Rainbow Dash bounced a ball of yarn from hoof to wing to hoof again while Opal hissed and clawed at the air, trying her best to snatch it from the far faster pegasus. “Hey,” Rainbow Dash said. “What’s up?” Applejack waited at the threshold for a few seconds, her momentum blunted. “I could ask you the same. What’re you doing here, and so early to boot?” “It’s winter. My ears get cold sometimes, and Rarity makes some rad hats,” Dash shrugged and kicked the ball of yarn. A furry white projectile shot across the room in pursuit. “Were I to risk being slightly rude, I would comment that I made you a rather lovely hat last winter,” Rarity said, her eyes never leaving her work. “Yeah, I loved that hat,” Dash said, smiling. “I think I dropped it somewhere over the Everfree. Or maybe over some mountain. But hey, uh, everything you make is better than the last thing, right? Just like how my tricks always get better.” “Well. When you put it like that. Thank you, dear.” Rarity smiled and straightened up a little bit. Finally she peered over the rim of her work glasses at Applejack. “Whatever is the matter, dear? You look rather out of sorts. Would you like something to drink?” Applejack shook her head. “No, we need to talk, is all.” She wouldn’t have thought the words would get much a reaction at all beyond two sets of ears in her direction. When Twilight Sparkle raised her voice, ponies truly listened, but Applejack had never had the same level of command. Now, Rarity finally put down her work, and Rainbow Dash’s easy smile disappeared. Maybe some of the frustration Applejack felt was plain on her face. Maybe it was the way she kept tapping her hoof on the floor and couldn’t stop. “Uh, is this serious?” Dash asked. “I need y’all to come to Sugarcube corner this afternoon.” So far so good. One word at a time. “I’m askin’ on behalf of Pinkie Pie. Yes, it’s a party, and yes,” Applejack silenced Rarity with a look when she opened her mouth, forestalling any protests. “I know it’s short notice. I know. Probably you’ve both got things what needs doing—” “I don’t,” Rainbow Dash said, raising a hoof. Applejack didn’t even pause. “—but that doesn’t matter. She’s wanting you all to think it’s just another silly party the likes of which she throws every day what rhymes with clay, but it ain’t, okay? She wants to have a memorial of sorts for Granny Pie, but she reckons that her gran would’ve wanted something happy, so a party it is, and that’s just fine and dandy with me, but you can’t tell her I told you.” Rarity, who’d looked a touch hurt when Applejack had refused to let her get a word in, levitated her glasses off her face. She wore a very small frown, walking around her workbench to close with Applejack. Rainbow Dash scratched her head. “Hey, what—” “I don’t know!” Applejack said. “I don’t know why it’s supposed to be a secret, and were it up to me, it wouldn’t be no stinkin’ secret because it shouldn’t matter—and it doesn’t matter! All that does matter right now is that you say yes, ‘cause, well,” Applejack swallowed and grit her teeth. “It just matters. It matters a heck of a lot. We owe it to her to be there for her.” Applejack didn’t know when she’d raised her voice to become so loud, but now she clapped her stupid jaw shut. She said nothing when Rarity stepped around a few bolts of cloth piled up on the floor, hugging her tight before stepping back and facing her square on. “I’m going to ask you again, and I hope perhaps you’ll answer this time. What’s the matter, dear?” Rarity’s voice was not unkind, but there was no hint of mirth in her expression. “Of course we will be there if it’s that important, but I haven’t seen you this upset in years.” It was hard to bring herself to care about how silly she must have looked and sounded. Normally, she’d be at least a little annoyed at putting on such a show in front of Rainbow Dash, but Dash didn’t seem to find this particularly funny, either. “It’s important to her. That makes it important to me—to all of us,” Applejack said. Her voice was rough. She tried to clear her throat to bring it back in line, but it didn’t help much. “I just don’t want to ruin this all, heh. She trusted me with this. I should’ve asked proper before I went off the rails, though. Sorry for bein’ rude.” She sought Rainbow Dash’s eyes and flashed a small smile. “That’s quite alright. Think no more of that.“ One of the corners of Rarity’s lips tugged up a smidgen, but it was clear she wasn’t quite satisfied with the answer. Applejack sighed. She didn’t have much more to tell. She was tired of thinking, of trying to make sense of the whole mess. Of course she’d do no less than her best for any friend—or family member—who needed her, but she also knew she was acting strange. Perhaps too light a breakfast and being rushed from her bed was enough to topple her today. “Right. I better get going.” Applejack brought a leg up to rub at her face. “The Cakes let her have the place for the day, so just come on over around four in the afternoon. I’m gonna go help her out with the food.” “I still don’t get what the big deal is,” Dash said. “It’s not like—ow!” “Do let us know if you need help with anything,” Rarity said, neatly stepping off Rainbow Dash’s left forehoof. “Sure thing,” Applejack replied, turning to leave. Rainbow Dash muttered under her breath, but Rarity said nothing, staring at her with pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes until Applejack halted at the threshold to the main room. “Rarity? I’ll be fine. Just all this secrecy and nonsense getting to me, is all,” Applejack said, not daring to turn to face her again. “Oh naturally, I wasn’t suggesting you have a personal stake in this, or that there is something you’re not telling. That would be terribly bad form. Hmf!” “Uh. Right. That’s very gracious of you?” Applejack asked. She could feel Rarity’s eyes burning into the back of her neck until she was out of the boutique proper, Rainbow Dash’s raspy voice raised in question just as the door shut behind her. Applejack stifled a yawn, closing the oven door on the last cake to be baked. She was glad of Sugarcube Corner’s prodigious workspace; her own kitchen would never have fit half the pastries and baked goods that now occupied the benches, tables, and—as was the case with one or two cookies and muffins of every batch—Pinkie’s stomach. Applejack glared as another apple cobbler disappeared down her gullet. “Are you about to make me regret bringing out a bushel of our private stock of late-winter apples?” Applejack asked. To her credit, Pinkie paused mid-chew, sinking down behind the counter with her ears splayed until she finished and swallowed. “Sorry. Mr. and Mrs. Cake almost never mind because they say they know when I eat something that the food’s gone to somepony who really can appreciate it, and you’re the best baker in all of Ponyville! Sure, I can do caramels and everything, but these—” Pinkie paused only to snap her jaws around one of Applejack’s chocolate chip cookies. “—ahe juft fanfafhic!” “I’ll take that compliment and thank you kindly for it,” Applejack said, dipping her head while she trotted around the food-laden bench to demonstratively push Pinkie a good two or three ponylengths away. “So long as you let the others have some too.” They were rapidly running out of things to do. Applejack let out a sigh of relief as she let her eyes roam the kitchen’s array of edibles, ending with another glance up at the clock. Half past three. Pinkie had decorated the main room just the way she wanted it, all the food was prepared, and they had time to spare thanks in part to the Cakes helping out. It’d been a heartwarming sight to see the two shop owners take turns in helping move furniture and taking care of their own foals. “Do Mr. and Mrs. Cake often help you out with decorations?” “Nope! I think this is the first time, actually.” Pinkie beamed. “And given how they didn’t comment even once on the way you wanted the place set up, I take it you ain’t told them what this is really about, huh?” “I told them what I told everypony else.” Pinkie stuck her tongue out of the side of her muzzle. “They know I love winter, so they never asked. They just looked really happy I asked for help! Why?” Applejack sighed and bent down low to the floor, wiggling out of her apron. She folded it before giving it over to Pinkie, who flicked it over her head to land it neatly by the sink. “‘Cause maybe you could’ve told them the truth.” Applejack shrugged. “Why do you think they’re being all extra-nice?” Pinkie Pie squinted like a pony presented with a particularly troublesome riddle. “Because, uh, wait. Because they’re super nice ponies? But wait, they usually let me handle decorations, I just told you that. Oh shoot. Can I buy a vowel? Or call a friend? I could send a letter to Princess—” Applejack rolled her eyes. “Because they know something’s up, and they noticed you were feeling a little down, even if you ain’t no more.” “Oh. Okay. Sure!” Applejack trotted over to the far bench, retrieving her hat. Putting it there had saved it from the worst of the inevitable mess, but still she had to brush some flour off. “Just don’t see the point of all this secrecy. You said yourself you agree, that keeping this all bottled up is silly. There ain’t no need to lie about this.” Her voice sounded needy even to her own ears. Imploring. Begging, almost. “Oh. I know,” Pinkie said. She didn’t sound half as pained or subdued as Applejack had expected. “I just didn’t want everypony to feel sorry or worry too much about being happy. If everypony knows, they’ll maybe feel like they’re supposed to feel bad for me or Granny Pie. That’s super silly and not what I want!” Pinkie shook her head. “Maybe Fluttershy will be so sad she doesn’t want to come at all, and Twilight might think you can’t have a party when it’s about something sad—I don’t know. I’m not stupid, silly! I just think this is best, and the super-most cleverest way to make everypony have a great time. I can tell ponies anytime, later, if I want!” If she wanted. Applejack closed her eyes and turned back to her hat so she wouldn’t have to look at Pinkie Pie. She pretended to clean her hat still, brushing away imaginary flour and make-believe sugar. Somewhere along the line, she’d forgotten who this was about. It was a ridiculous secret, an omission without merit, she’d told herself—all without remembering that it had never been her call to make. Applejack’s mouth tasted sour. She’d made it to be about herself, placed herself front and center for reasons she barely understood, and in doing so betrayed one of her friends. “D’you think you will? Tell them, I mean?” Applejack asked, trying to keep the conversation going. She put her hat back low on her head. “Probably. Maybe,” Pinkie shrugged and smiled. “I talk about Granny Pie a lot anyway. It’d be totally weird to tell them I tricked them, but it’s almost like a prank, I guess! Besides, if we’re gonna have another party next year, I have to tell them!” “Yeah. Sounds good.” Her own smile was sick and diseased, fake on her face. Applejack bit onto a tray of muffins and indicated the arc separating the kitchen from the main room. Pinkie Pie nodded enthusiastically, slid a bowl of crisps onto her back, and followed. “But that’s next year!” Pinkie said. How she kept the bowl from spilling as she pronked in Applejack’s wake, she’d never know. “They’re all coming, right? Fluttershy and Rarity and Twilight and Rainbow Dash and Spike, too?” Applejack chuckled around her cargo, putting the muffins down on the snack table in the centre of the room. “Yeah. I told you twice already. You really ain’t much used to lettin’ somepony else help you out with your party planning, are you?” “Well, you didn’t get RSVP’s!” Pinkie rolled her eyes and head both. “You gotta get RSVP’s! Rarity actually writes me these little cards, and they’re so pretty, I can’t make myself throw them away!” “Considerin’ how many of these get-togethers you throw every month, I imagine you’ve a whole drawer full of the things by now then.” Applejack smiled and made for the kitchen again, the two ponies busily ferrying the food and snacks from the kitchen—and every time Applejack re-entered the main room, her eyes were drawn to the front door. Any moment, one of their friends would enter. “Two and a half, actually!” Fluttershy or Twilight would probably be the first to arrive, and then what? Would she hope they kept the secret? Would she hope that everything went without a hitch? “Right. Well, I still have the Heart’s Warming card she made last year, so I can’t blame you. She’s got mighty good quillwork.” Was that the best case scenario? Which would be worse? One of them slipping up and giving away the whole thing, or a lifetime of knowing she’d failed to respect Pinkie’s wishes? “Oh, you know who else has really pretty writing?” Pinkie asked. Another tray of cupcakes passed from kitchen to snack table. “Fluttershy! I bet you thought I was gonna say Spike, but I think he writes so much, he’s given up on pretty writing, but you stick a quill in Fluttershy’s mouth, and oh my gosh, she has the neatest curves!” It wasn’t as though it was a secret to ruin lives. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. The reason each and every one of them had even agreed to this was because it was harmless, and it was motivated by a desire to do well by Pinkie and her gran. “Didn’t know you had an interest in calligraphy,” Applejack heard herself say. She didn’t even know what she carried on her back, but onto the snack table it went. And the motivations were what she was starting to doubt now. Specifically, she was doubting her own. Even if it began pure, it didn’t matter. Even the smallest of lies and omissions had a tendency to keep on growing. To fester and rot. “Oh, I don’t, but I love pretty writing. I think that’s the last of it!” Pinkie said, a bowl of sarsaparilla the last item to go onto the large central table. She pulled back and looked at the sugar-laden table with something resembling a mother’s pride before turning over to Applejack. “Hey, Applejack?” Applejack didn’t have time to think or reply before Pinkie collided with her, forelegs wrapped around her neck. The soft mare squeezed her tight, drawing a loud breath and letting it out again with a whispered “thank you!” It wasn’t as though they’d never hugged before. Half of Pinkie Pie’s communication was done with body contact, but there was something ridiculously simple and honest about those two words. Her gut clenched and ached. It was a terrible contrast to how much of a liar Applejack felt. She stood there and let Pinkie hug her, her own hooves squarely on the ground. She was afraid to return it. The first thing that needed to be said and done now was the full truth. “Pinkie Pie? I—” It was about as far Applejack got before the door slammed open.