One of the many skills Peppermill had learned at his father’s side was that of multi-tasking, or as Pepperoncini had called it ‘the art of juggling courses’. It meant, as far as the colt was concerned, to be able to keep two or more different trains of thought going smoothly in his mind. Some ponies might have considered this a lesson in futility and possibly spectacular failure, but the grey colt had become rather adapt to it.
At the moment he was trying to keep the ideas of menu ideas and costume designs from meshing too much.
…
…
…
“I wonder…if there is…such a thing as…a taco costume.” This rather…obscure thought drifted through the youngest Apple’s mind as he made his way towards the back of one of the larger barns at Sweet Apple Acres.
After a little more debate-slash-bickering with Big Macintosh, the two Apple males had come to a compromise of sorts. They decided that they would work together and team up to win the coveted Best Costume prize at Nightmare Night. Of course, time was not on their side and both Big Mac and Peppermill were far too stubborn to ask for help. As a result the boys had basically gotten on the bad side of their female siblings with their near obsession and tendency to ignore their other chores.
For example, Peppermill at this time of day should have been beginning preparations for the evening meal. But he found that every time a meal idea came to him it would suddenly turn into a rather poor idea for a costume. He had decided that he needed to bounce some idea off of his older brother, if for nothing more than to clear his head. He knew Big Macintosh would be cleaning up after a hard day’s work in the orchards, and would be found at his ‘super shower’.
Being larger than most of the other pony’s in the area, Big Macintosh had learned pretty quickly that the standard tub-and-shower set-up for an average Equestrian home was simply not adequate enough to deal with his unique needs. But the stallion had proved to be just as handy (hoofy?) with construction tools as he was with apple bucking. Thanks to a bit of research and a few called-in favors in regards to plumbing and zoning laws he had pulled off a rather impressive building project.
Outside one of the more remote barns at Sweet Apple Acres, away from potential prying eyes, sat a large shower stall. It was large in the sense that a massive draft horse could walk in and out of it, not to mention turn around with ease. There were no less than four separate shower heads at the four cardinal directions, and the walls of the stall were solid stained oak. Big Macintosh took particular pride in the brass pipes he had fitted by hoof, not to mention the boiler that he maintained to keep the water hot and flowing hard.
Sure enough, Peppermill heard the sounds of the high-pressure water spraying before he spotted the stall and its lone occupant. He sauntered up to the hoof-made appliance and potentially waited, for once Big Mac began to let the hot water sooth his multitude of muscles he became oblivious to everything else.
Maybe I am…going about this the…wrong way. Maybe I…should try thinking…about costumes the…same way I think…about recipes. After all…it is a case of…’the sum of their parts’…” The colt was deep in thought, until he half-hearted gaze fell upon another familiar sight. There, leaning against one wall of the shower was Big Macintosh’s work collar.
Huh…the only time he…ever takes that off is…to shower and to sleep… thought the grey colt. The chef found himself with a rare opportunity to give the iconic harness a close look, and he decided not to pass the chance up. Taking one more moment to make sure the stallion was not looking, the colt crept up to the metal and leather device.
The colt peered hard at the worn, but still functional article of farm work. He found himself tapping the hard metal protrusions on the top of it, and noting the smoothness of the worn leather on the inside of the collar. It radiated the essence of power, and Peppermill was amazed at just how solid it was.
Hmmm… Peppermill leaned forward, noting that a small colt could just about squeeze through the space in-between the stall and the other side of the collar. The colt carefully pushed his muzzle into the gap and twisted his head, trying to aim for the opening in the collar. In his haste, he never noticed that the collar was no longer balanced properly and was beginning to slide.
He did notice when it slid far enough to drag him onto the ground, pinned underneath it.
“Ack!” squawked the colt in alarm, the weight of the collar shocking him. He always suspected that Big Macintosh’s collar was heavy, but not this heavy. No wonder he is so…strong… His alarm grew as he found it harder and harder to breath and his vision began to blur. He tried to call out, but nothing came out…
…
…
…
…until he found himself being lifted off of the ground. Peppermill gave a few massive gulps of air, and then peered up. He was indeed off of the ground, his body draped in the collar and the collar being held up by a less than impressed Big Macintosh.
“You know better than ta touch things that ain’t yers without permission.” rumbled the stallion.
“…sorry.” squeaked the colt, slipping out of the collar and onto the ground in a heap. The stallion put the collar back onto his mountainous withers, adjusted it a bit then peered down at his younger brother.
“Any particular reason why yer looking at mah collar?”
“I was…just curious…that’s all.” managed Peppermill, pulling himself to a sitting position.
“You know wut they say about curiosity and cats.”
“…is that…a costume suggestion or…a reprimand?” It was just like Peppermill to crack a joke in a time like that, and that was one reason why Big Macintosh could never stay mad at him for long.
“Ah ain’t sure ahd make a good cat…a tiger maybe…” Peppermill gave a small grin, and then a thoughtful look came across his face. The colt suddenly cocked his head, closed his eyes, pulled one foreleg tight against his barrel and tapped his temple with the other.
“Hmm?” Big Macintosh, as well as the rest of his family and friends, had dubbed this unique posture as the colt’s ‘heavy thinking mode’. It was considered good manners and a generally wise idea not to interrupt this, for quite often it resulted in a flash of in sight from the bright colt. Finally, the colt stopped tapping his head, and spoke.
“Big Macintosh…where would somepony…find a collar like that?”
“Well,” drawled the draft horse “Ifin I ever needed to get a new one, which ain’t gonna happen, ahd go the leather goods store. But ah reckon you ain’t got the muscle to wear something like that, at least not yet…”
“Humph…”
“But…”
“But?”
“Ifin it’s something that just looks lahk this, ah reckon you could go an’ ask Miss Cheerilee.”
“Miss Cheerilee?”
“Since she is the school teacher and all she keeps all of the stuff the young’uns need fer their learning. That includes all sorts of costumes and such fer school pageants. As ah recall, there is a collar that looks a lot lahk mine they have used. Of course, it’s colt-sized and a whole lot lighter. “
“Are you…sure about that?”
“Eeyup.”
“Hmm…” A slow smile crossed the cook’s face. “I just had…a brain wave.”