//------------------------------// // Five Pies and One Apple // Story: Taken for Granite // by Cloudy Skies //------------------------------// She couldn’t quite decide what had made her let Pinkie Pie lead her off the train. If it was guilt, then she only had herself to blame, because Pinkie Pie certainly didn’t hold a grudge. Perhaps it was curiosity, and regardless, Pinkie Pie was right. While Pinkie had never explicitly asked before, it seemed a shame that none of them had visited Pinkie’s family before. Applejack had met Twilight’s parents, Rarity’s parents lived right there in Ponyville, and she’d met Fluttershy’s mother a few times. She’d even seen Dash’s father, though Dash tried to make them all forget that particular incident. But no. Pinkie had never asked. Her family was busy, shy, and they kept to themselves. Being asked to visit meant something, then. It meant a whole heck of a lot, in fact. It would only be fair to respect that. To honor that. Applejack trotted after Pinkie Pie, down a frosted dirt road in a bitter chill. The road was bumpy, winding down and around and over small hills where Pinkie moved with the casual ease of the familiar. Like Applejack wove around the orchards’ trees. The area was unwelcoming, but all she remembered was Pinkie’s smile when she asked. Hope and happiness. Wanting to show Applejack something. The road took them over a small hill, and then another. The main road, if it could be called such, led towards a small town not entirely unlike what Applejack imagined Appalloosa would look like in a hundred years: A small township well maintained but still showing signs of age. A clock tower stood as the single building of any notable height, ticking faithfully towards three o’clock. “I guess that’s Rockopolis?” Applejack asked. Pinkie Pie nodded, taking them off the road and down a smaller path between boulders, rocks, and winter-barren trees. Pinkie stopped to wave at the town before it went out of sight, smiling wide. “Yep! That’s the hustle-y and bustle-y centre of town where I bought my first pack of balloons! Mrs. Crag who runs the colonial store ordered them by mistake, so she gave them to me! Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to throw my first party!” Applejack smiled despite herself. “Right. I guess we all in Ponyville owe her thanks, then.” Pinkie Pie responded with a smile, hopping along the road now, bouncing until she stood on top of a rock that had rolled into the middle of the road. The freezing wind tugged at her mane and tail, but she didn’t seem to care much. “Hey, that’s a great idea, actually! Maybe one day we can go visit her and all the other ponies in town, too! I’d love to show Mrs. Crag and Mr. Shimmer and all the others how great and fantastic my friends are!” Pinkie beamed. “Yeah. Some friend I’ve been.” Applejack snorted, the hot air sending out a satisfying little puff of mist. She followed the vapour with her eyes until she couldn’t spot it against the grey clouds. “You need to stop saying those things, right now,” Pinkie said. She hadn’t moved, staring down at her from her little rocky perch wearing a small frown. “Stop saying what, exactly?” “‘I’m a stupid sillyhead who’s angry because I made a tiny little mistake,’” Pinkie said. “Or ‘I’m a terrible friend just because I didn’t RSVP for a little bit.’ You sound like you think you’re some kind of comic book villain with a mustache and a cape, and that’s really stupid, because you wouldn’t look good with a mustache at all. Maybe a cape though!” Applejack didn’t very well know what to say. It was true enough. She’d acted like a bone-head, Dash had said her piece and been her annoying self, and now it was over and done with. Apology accepted, mystery solved, visit Pinkie’s family because it was convenient and made sense, then go home and carry on, friendships intact. It was that simple, yet she couldn’t seem to leave it at that. What was left to say? Applejack rolled her jaw as she rummaged through her brain. If she had any good sense, she’d leave it well enough alone, but there was in fact one thing she still hadn’t figured out. “Right. I’ll try and keep a lid on it, but if you knew how I felt, why didn’t you say anything? You said you figured this out, but you never said a single darn thing.” “Oh.” Pinkie scratched her snout sitting down on top of the rock. “Huh. I guess I don’t really know. That was really silly of me, too?” Applejack clenched her jaw, quelled a small surge of anger and let it out as a sigh. It didn’t matter. “Okay. Great. Thanks a bunch for that.” “Hey, I wouldn’t look good with a mustache either!” Pinkie said. “I tried. I had Twilight cast a spell on me and everything!” “Let’s just go,” Applejack muttered, passing her by. She heard the clatter of hooves on hard soil, Pinkie following after her. It was probably a good thing on account of Applejack having no idea where they were going. All was grey and brown and snowless winter. “I just got caught up in hanging out with you, I tried to have fun instead of asking you about things that maybe made you sad,” Pinkie said, lowering her voice a tad as she continued. “I’m sorry. See? You’re not the only one who makes mistakes! I’m very good at having fun. And about forgetting things. Plus, I guess a tiny part of me waited and wondered if you were about to ask me out. You said you’re not going to, so I guess it doesn’t matter, but if you had asked, I would’ve said—” “Yeah, I’m not!” Applejack hurried to interrupt. “You’re right. it doesn’t matter any more. ‘Cause of me.” She didn’t want to hear those next words. More than anything, she needed not to hear them. No matter what she was about to say, everything would change. Too different. Pinkie Pie was Pinkie Pie. She was a creature of laughter and sugar. Might be Applejack let herself forget that—or perhaps even enjoy it—but how did that fit into the Apple family? Adding to the family, Granny Smith had said at dinner weeks ago. As a friend, Pinkie was the sugar in the oatmeal porridge to be sure, a friendship she couldn’t be without, but at the farm? Waking up to a—well. Applejack had to admit she had no idea what morning rituals Pinkie observed. She suppressed a small grin at the thought, tried to stifle an impossible little laugh. How she wanted that, but it didn’t fit. Applejack kept her eyes forward. Pinkie Pie trotted up to walk at her side, and this time, Pinkie didn’t make some nonsensical protest. Nevertheless, Applejack could feel her gaze boring into her, the force of her frown bearing down upon her. Pinkie Pie being Pinkie Pie, this lasted for a full three seconds before she distracted herself. “I hope Blinkie is still around. She usually doesn’t stay for as long as Inkie because she’s so busy, but I know you’re going to love them both—and mom! Dad’s a gem, too! Come on!” Pinkie hopped, skipped and bounced as she sped up, and Applejack didn’t have much choice but to follow. Once they crested the hill, a windmill loomed over the next, and the terrain slowly flattened out. With the pace Pinkie set, speeding up with each building that came into view, Applejack barely had time to note their surroundings changing. The haphazard boulders and scraggly trees disappeared, giving way to completely flat expanses of land scattered with rocks. Here, a large square of land with pony-sized rocks, there, smaller rocks in large amounts. They weren’t ordered in neat rows, but there was clearly some system to it. “Neat, huh? That’s the east field!” Pinkie said, finally slowing down a tad. “That’s where we take the younger rocks before they’re ready to yield. D’you like it?” “Frankly, I haven’t a clue what a rock farm’s s’posed to look like,” Applejack admitted. “But I can recognise a good and tidy operation when I see one.” “Aw. Thanks!” Pinkie said. “Oh, mom, dad! Hi!” Up ahead and past the windmill, the silo and other sundry buildings of the farm, a well-kept house dominated the farmyard, and Pinkie Pie homed in on the two ponies by the front door. There stood a brown stallion with grey chops, mane and tail, and a faded white mare whose teal mane was pulled back in a tight bun. Already wrapped around the two in a hug, Pinkie Pie waved Applejack closer. As was polite with these things, Applejack stopped a short ways off, waiting. Despite their rather severe first impression, she saw the two older ponies unable to deny Pinkie smiles in return. She couldn’t quite decide why this surprised her; Pinkie was Pinkie, and family was family, but the warmth with which they returned her embrace left Applejack puzzled. “I missed you so much! Sorry for the surprise visit because I know you don’t like surprises, but I thought at least you like me, so it might work out. Oh, and here’s Applejack! Mom, dad, this is Applejack. Blinkie! Inkie, too!” she burst before Applejack had a chance to say much. A blue-grey mare with a straight-cut mane stuck her head out of the farmhouse, soon pushed outside and followed by a lighter grey mare. Pinkie danced around her parents to offer her sisters a hug, too, and Applejack took a step forward and dipped her head. “Pleased t’make your acquaintance. I’m Applejack,” she said, reaching for her hat and cursing under her breath when her hoof hit nothing but air. It wouldn’t be the last time, she knew. “Sue Pie,” the older mare said, flashing a muted smile before she turned to Pinkie. “You’ve never brought guests before, Pinkamina.” “Clyde Pie,” the stallion said, reaching out to shake Applejack’s hoof. A firm shake, Applejack noted, even for a farmer. “I know! I have never brought guests before, so I thought I’d start now!” Pinkie said. “Applejack, these’re my sisters, Inkie—” the light grey one partially disentangled herself from Pinkie and waved. “—and Blinkie!” The other one with more blue in her coat gave a small nod. They both looked about Applejack and Pinkie’s age, but Applejack couldn’t find much by way of familial similarities, beyond them being earth ponies, all muted colours and straight hair. “Right, well, you’re welcome here, of course,” Pinkie’s father said, scratching his scraggly chops. “It’s not a problem, but you’ll have to share a bed since the whole flock’s home.” He turned to look at the ball of Pie sisters as though counting them to make sure. “S’okay!” Pinkie said, unceremoniously dropping her sisters on to the ground to only mild protests. She beamed brightly at her mom and dad, nosing the door to the farmhouse open. “Did you get my letter, huh?” “We did,” Pinkie’s mother said, nodding. “I have it in the drawer somewhere. We missed you, you know.” The entire Pie family reached some sort of wordless consensus while they spoke, the family making to move inside the farmhouse with Pinkie Pie at the front. Pinkie’s hooves were loud against the wooden floorboards while she bounced, but her voice was louder still as she fired off questions and comments, often to single-word answers from her parents—but there was always an answer given, and they couldn’t quite not smile. Even Blinkie Pie, who had said nothing, slunk after her sister. “Something wrong?” Applejack hadn’t noticed Inkie Pie had stayed outside. The light grey mare gave Applejack an odd look from behind the bangs of her mane, and it was warranted, she supposed. Applejack’d been staring. Inkie’s eyebrows were raised, reinforcing the question. “Nothing much. Just a bit more noise and hustle and bustle’n I’m used to, I guess,” Applejack said. It was far nicer than admitting she had expected Pinkie’s family to offer a cool reception just because Pinkie never spoke much of them. “Pinkie Pie talks a lot about you,” Inkie said. She held the door open for their guest as was polite, but she still looked like she had something very particular on her mind. Applejack chuckled, nodding her thanks in passing. “Don’t know what she’s been saying about us or if I should be worried, but I reckon there’ve been a fair few stories about the whole changeling mess and everything what went on up in the Crystal Kingdom.” Inkie tilted her head, her mane falling on front of her face. “Huh? Oh, she mentioned something like that, too, sure. Anyway. We should probably go inside; don’t mind Blinkie. She’s a little shy. Uh, and dad can be a bit of a pain. And mom too. You know how families are.” Applejack exhaled through her nose. “Right. Thanks.” Through the doorway and into the heart of the Pie family home, it quickly became apparent that Pinkie Pie was a different creature in her childhood home. Different but the same, rather. They’d interrupted dinner-making, judging by Blinkie’s stirring a pot of something that smelled heavenly. Clyde had a cleaver in his mouth, busy dicing vegetables, and Sue made the table. It looked like a completely normal family preparing dinner, even when Pinkie was taken into account. Almost, at least. Pinkie Pie did a little bit of everything. She was a blur, darting between helping her mother with the table, tossing vegetables in the pot without asking, and being everywhere else a Pinkie Pie would fit, always talking, asking how the townsfolk were, how the rocks were doing, but never taking charge of the dinner—never, as Applejack half expected, suggesting they add marshmallows to their dinner, and never once being asked to stop or simmer down. Applejack’s stomach let out a loud growl. When was the last time she’d eaten, anyway? She entertained the notion of asking if they needed help, but given that Inkie didn’t appear to find anything to do either, Applejack settled for keeping out of the way. She could’ve watched Pinkie Pie bustle about the kitchen all day long, but instead made a point of looking about the house, not eager to be caught staring again. The large room was simple, given no more furniture than what was strictly needed but certainly not lacking in personal effects. Through the open portal that separated the joint kitchen and dining room from the living room, Applejack could see tiny sculptures, home-made tablecloths, a heavily burdened hat rack and all that came with a home that had been lived in for generations. It was hard not to feel at least a little at home. Old pictures lined the walls, too, which wasn’t all that surprising. A little more surprising was how new some of the pictures that hung in places were. The Blinkie Pie who faced the camera from outside the walls of some large, overgrown fortress titled “Mossy Rock, 1002” looked an awful lot like the pony stirring the dinner pot, and next to that, Pinkie Pie smiled down at her wearing last year’s Nightmare Night costume. “She sends a lot of pictures and letters,” Inkie said, walking up to her side. “Seems she ain’t the only one,” Applejack said, eyes still roaming the walls. “None of y’all live here?” “Oh. No.” Inkie cast a glance towards the dinner table which was being set, eyes settling on Blinkie with a smile. “Blinkie plays the clarinet. She’s always travelling with her quartet all over Equestria, and I travel a lot too.” She gestured to her flank, adorned with a cluster of crystals. “I have to travel to look into how other farms work, and I love exploring caves and such. Maybe one day I’ll come home and take up the family business. And Pinkie Pie? She’s busy saving the world, I guess. You’d know, huh?” “Sounds about right. Saving the world one pastry at a time,” Applejack said, grinning at Pinkie. Pinkie turned and smiled as if she could sense them talking about her. She then waved as though they weren’t in the same room, too. Applejack crossed her forelegs, leaning against the wall. “Just surprised, if’n you don’t mind me saying. You seem as close as any family.” Inkie didn’t take offense. She smiled and shrugged. “Sure. We visit as often as we can, and the letters probably help. We got to keep in touch somehow, right? Things would probably be different if we didn’t work at it, but we’re a close family, so we do, and they aren’t.” “There’s a nugget of wisdom if I ever heard one,” Applejack said, letting out an appreciative snort. “Food!” Pinkie declared. “Come get your yummies! We’re having, um—” she paused, trotting after Blinkie as she carried the large casserole over to the low dinner table, Pinkie desperately craning her neck trying to get a peek. Blinkie slid the casserole on to the table, and Pinkie finally got her look. “Food. We’re having food,” she concluded, planting her tush by the tableside as the first one to do so. Her sisters sat at her side, crowding one side of the table, and with her parents on the ends, it left Applejack with one side of the table all to herself. It looked a little bit too much like an inquisition. “It’s your father’s summer day casserole,” Sue said. “At least it was until you added sweet corn and beans to it.” “Can’t hurt, I’m sure,” Clyde said. “Somepony say thanks, then.” Blinkie, the quiet-most of the three sisters, closed her eyes. “For day and night, for bread and oat, Celestia, Luna, thank you both.” “You know, I told Celestia thanks last time I saw her. It’s fine.” Pinkie giggled, reaching for the ladle, only to have her mother tap her hoof to deny her. “Guests,” she said, simple as that. “Oh! Oopsie.” “Aw shoot, no need to stand at attention,” Applejack said, but Sue didn’t look like she was taking humility for an answer. The glare directed Applejack’s way over the rim of her glasses was every bit as steely as the one that had told Pinkie Pie “no.” Tradition and manners would be observed, then. “But, uh, right. Thank you much,” Applejack murmured, wishing she had her hat to hide the way her ears were pinned back in reflex. She scooped up a healthy three full ladles of stew and nodded her thanks, noting Pinkie’s covert little grin and Inkie’s giggle. Clyde wasted no time in going for the food the second Applejack let go of the ladle. It smelled divine, and tasted even better. Applejack didn’t concern herself too much with the table politics until her belly was full, and the Pie family apparently didn’t chat much at the table while eating. It suited her just fine. The only surprise was that Pinkie Pie didn’t say too much, either. Grinning, beaming, smiling and bouncing in her seat, certainly, having atrocious table manners as per usual, yes, but no chatter. Twice, Pinkie began to tell a story, but both times she plugged her own muzzle with a hoof and giggled. Only after the last plate was clean were muzzles used for anything other than eating. “Thank you kindly. Was some fine eating, that,” Applejack said. Sue nodded once, adding her own thanks, as did the others. “I’m really glad you liked it! I thought maybe you wouldn’t think it was that tasty because it didn’t have any apples,” Pinkie said, “And then I remembered that you love plenty of things that don’t have apples!” “Pinkie, you know I ain’t actually allergic to everything what ain’t apples. Nopony’s that simple. Don’t see you all here refuse to build your farmhouse out of wood ‘cause it ain’t rocks.” Applejack frowned inwardly, wondering if maybe she’d misspoke. “Unless this is some kind of wood-like rock, ‘cause if it turns out all you ever do here is stuff what’s all, uh, rock-y, then that’s fine too.” Clyde laughed. It was a sharp, coarse noise that drowned out Pinkie’s own laughter or her sisters’ own giggles too. Applejack was glad of it, though she felt her cheeks heat up. “Pardon. I have to admit, and I’m sorry to say, I ain’t got a clue as to what rock farming’s really like,” Applejack said. “It’s not so much about the rocks,” Inkie said, scratching her head. “Actually, mom, can we show Applejack the barn? You still haven’t shipped for the season, right?” “Not until next week, no, and you know you girls don’t need to ask for permission,” Sue said, getting up. She fixed Applejack with a look, then her husband. “Actually, Pinkie, give your dad and me a hoof with the table, will you?” Pinkie stopped dead in her tracks, mid-bounce towards the door. “Aw, but—but—moom. No, wait, I mean, daaad!” she tried. Clyde looked between Pinkie’s mother and Pinkie herself, shrugging before he started ferrying things from the table to the kitchen sink. Pinkie let out a loud, theatrical sigh and picked up a single plate, carrying it like it weighed more than Mount Canterlot itself. “Come on,” Inkie said. Blinkie disappeared outside, and the light grey mare waited by the door. “Pinkie will live.” “Maybe!” Pinkie said. She made her back sag under the imagined weight of two empty glasses. Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes big, wide and pleading. “This work could scar me forever! Maybe I’ll never bounce again, maybe—” “Pinkamina,” said Sue. “Aw fine. See you in a bit!” Pinkie waved. Applejack laughed. “Right. Thanks again for dinner.”