//------------------------------// // Chapter Four // Story: Dressed-Up Apples // by Mr Merritt //------------------------------// “Ah reckon is wuz just not meant to be…” This deep lament came from the morose Big Macintosh as he went about his duties in the orchard alongside his sister Applejack. “Honestly Big Mac, ifin ya keep moping lahk this ahm gonna hafta do the buckin’ mahself!” grunted Applejack. Her older brother had been carrying on about costumes and Nightmare Night for three full days and she was at the end of her limited patience. “You just ain’t able ta understand. You’ve been using the same scarecrow costume fer years…” “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that there costume!” “You’ve worn it fer so many years ahm surprised it hasn’t fallen ta pieces, let alone fit ya…” “Ah hope fer yer sake that wasn’t supposed to be a joke. Ah might not be fussy about my looks lahk some, but ah will still buck ya one ifin you are trying to say something about mah appearance.” “Eenope…though ah reckon ya have been asking fer thirds of Peppermill’s cookin’ more often…” The stallion braced himself for the inevitable kick to the ribs from his sister for his comment, but not even the brief flash of pain could relieve the ache in his heart. In truth he was feeling far sorrier for his little brother than himself, upon learning Peppermill had never been trick or treating or wore a costume in his life. There are just some things a youngun’ ought ta do…and ah ain’t about to let mah little brother down… *** “I’d make a joke…how size does matter…but it would be…too obvious.” The grey colt was once again with his equally grey filly counterpart Silver Spoon, as the two of them discussed the recent turn of events up in the chef’s loft. “I never would have guessed Big Macintosh was so into something like that.” admitted the filly. “Tell me…about it.” sighed the colt. “He dragged me…to where he keeps…his trophies and…told me all about how…he wanted that costume contest…award since he was…my age.” “I still don’t get why it is such a big deal for you boys. It’s just dressing up, isn’t it?” “I guess a filly…with a massive closet…full of designer dresses…wouldn’t understand how it is…for a guy who maybe has…one or two articles of clothing…during a lifetime.” “Ok, that is strike two!” “Oh come on! Every…filly and colt…in town knows…you have them…” “And every last one of them was either an unwanted gift or something forced upon me by an overzealous ‘got to look better than every other filly’ Diamond Tiara…” grumbled the filly. “At least you…have options. I have no…idea where…I am going to find…a costume that could…fit Big Mac.” “Big Mac? I thought you were trying to figure out something for yourself?” In response, the colt produced a calendar he had brought with him and showed it to his friend. “I have plenty of…Nightmare Nights I can celebrate. But the same…can’t be said…for Big Mac. What kind of brother…would I be if…I didn’t try to help…my big brother fulfill…his lifelong dream?” *** “Eeyup…ah reckon that is the only thing ah can do.” The determined face of the red stallion didn’t do much to remove the unimpressed glower on the face of the orange mare. “This had better have somethin’ to do with apple bucking…” “Am gonna help Peppermill come up with a costume fer Nightmare Night. Ah intend to make it the best one he has ever had!” “And ya ain’t gonna try to live…wuts the word Twilight told me…vicarious-lahk through him?” Big Macintosh gave his sister an amazed look. “Ah reckon that wuz the fanciest word ah ever heard you say AJ…ahm mighty impressed.” “Thank ya kindly.” beamed the mare. “And you can bet ah ain’t going ta be vicarious at all. Ah just want wuts best fer him.” “Good.” “In fact, ah reckon ahm gonna find him right now and the two of us ken figure out the best dang costume Equestria has ever seen!” And with that, the stallion jogged off. Applejack, still preening over her increased vocabulary and complement, suddenly blinked. “Hey! Ya ain’t finished the bucking! Dang nab it Big Mac!!!” *** “Well, should it come to it I would be happy to lend you the bits to get a professional costume for Big Macintosh.” Silver Spoon waited at the bottom of the ladder as Peppermill descended. “Let’s call that…Plan B.” Peppermill jumped off the last rung onto the ground just as the big door to the barn swung open thanks to a mighty heave. The impact of the door startled the two young ponies, causing Peppermill to fall flat on his face at the filly’s hooves. “Peppermill?” rumbled Big Mac, looking around. “Um, over here Big Macintosh.” called out Silver Spoon, motioning to the colt who was picking himself off of the ground. “Honestly…is there some…rule that says…Apple ponies always…have to slam doors open…and closed?” grumbled the grey colt. “Sorry ‘bout that.” mumbled the stallion. “Ah was just excited is all…” “Excited, about what?” questioned Silver Spoon. “Well, ah has decided that ah am gonna do everything possible to make this coming Nightmare Night the best Peppermill has ever had. Ah reckon he is gonna knock the horseshoes off of every pony in Ponyville with the costume ah am gonna get him.” “The costume…you are going…to get me?” asked Peppermill. “Eeyup…” “Well, that is…all well and good…Big Mac but…I am the one that is…going to get you a…costume for Nightmare Night.” “You are getting’ me a costume?” “Ahem…eeyup.” “Well that is all well an’ good but ah reckon yer ain’t. Ah am getting you a costume, and that’s that.” “Big Mac…you will never win…that costume contest…without a little help…” “And a fella that ain’t never wore anything more fancy than a tie don’t know the first thing about costumes!” “Oh…and I suppose you…are an expert?” “Yer looking at a fella that has been studyin’ costumes fer years…a lot longer than you have been alive ah reckon.” “Big Mac…your idea of…’fancy dress’…is a tie. My Mother…was a fashion model so…I think I might…know a thing or two about…dressing up…” It…doesn’t sound like a fight…but… Silver Spoon could only stare as the two male Apples attempted to assert their respective opinions. Considering they were nose to nose (albeit with Peppermill up on his hind legs to do so) but still speaking in a civil tone did not make her feel any better. She decided that it might be a good idea to beat a hasty retreat before things got out of hoof. She scurried away, with the boys oblivious to her leaving. “Ahm making yer costume!” “I am…making yours!” “A young’un needs to enjoy the holiday!” “You need to…fulfill your life-long dream!” “Dang, but yer a stubborn one…” “That is the…pot calling the kettle…black…”