//------------------------------// // Chapter Four: Exploding Happiness // Story: We'll Meet Again // by unipie //------------------------------// Chapter 4 – Exploding Happiness Two Years Later An icy chill stabbed my hoof, as the frothy liquid sloshed into the glass. The satisfyin’ gluggin’ sound that accompanied perked my ears. I was sure I'd get the hang of it … eventually. Raisin’ the opaque object t' the light, it occurred t' me how wrong I was. Froth, always froth dagnabbit! I shook it a little, creatin’ a mini beverage bubble bath. The glow barely broke through the white sludge fillin’ the pint three quarters. “Applejack, I’m guessing you need some help?” You’re darn right, I needed help. I didn’t know what the heck I was doing here, in more ways than one. I looked down at the brown, tatty carpet. “Kinda,” I grumbled. My uncle, Strong Bow, rounded the bar laughin’ towards me. I’m sure my pathetic pourin’ skills were trivial t' a pony like him. I mean come on; the feller had a bottle o’ beer for a cutie mark. He knew everythin’ about runnin’ a bar, alcohol and makin’ and sellin’ drinks. As ya’ll can guess, I ain’t no bar maid. So, I didn’t know diddly-squat! Well, cept’ maybe a little about cider, which this wasn’t, as he kept on “kindly” remindin’ me. “This ain’t cider remember? This is lager, so you gotta pour it like this,” he complained, pullin’ the wooden pump handle, whilst tiltin’ a glass under the nozzle. “You need to tilt the glass or you’ll get all head and no pint.” I could see he was gettin’ annoyed. Why wouldn’t he? I’m darn sure he’d told me this twice. Ya’ll would never o’ guessed makin’ a drink could be so difficult. I scratched my noggin’. “U-uh, head?” I gulped, confused. He gave me a stern look and grunted, “That’s froth to you.” “Oh,” I answered, my convincin’ smile makin’ him more doubtful, as the pump tap spat and gurgled. Was like pullin’ the plug outta a big tub. My uncle didn’t waver, but I stepped back. “Crikey, that was quick!” He tapped the spout, the last drop flickin’ out. “Be useful and go change the barrel, Applejack.” Sweet niblets. Way t' boost my confidence. He should’ve jus’ blurted it out there and then, “Applejack, can’t pull a pint t’ save her life.” Good job nopony was around to hear it – that would’ve been the icin’ on the cake. My night was already turnin’ out t’ be a big ol’ disaster. In two shakes of a sheep’s tail, I scampered to the cellar. Uncle Strong’s angry moanin’ encouraged my speeds increase, but also indicated the fact that ... I wasn’t very useful. However, luggin’ a heavy barrel was within my capacity apparently. I hated t’ be useless. That’s probably why I'd agreed to this goddess awful job, cos I believed I wasn’t. Well, it’s true; ya can’t teach an ol' dog new tricks. Case ya ain’t realised, I’m referrin’ t’ myself as the dog in this instance. Not that I’m old or nothin’, its jus’ there was one thing I knew and one thing only. Apples. Everyday apples. I’m sure there’s some kinda metaphor or moral I should tell ya’ll about “stickin’ t’ your guns”, but I dunno. It’s a might hard t’ actually live by em’ with Granny Smith around. It was all her idea, ya know? Me, comin’ t’ help out Uncle Strong Bow. And before ya ask, I did try t’ reason with that old coot. I said it was New Years Eve. I said it was meant for “family time”. She wasn't haven’t none o’ it. And she calls me stubborn! I can see why, it runs in the dang family. I lifted a barrel of lager down, takin’ a quick peek at the label. Ingrained into the wood was a logo of a rearin’ stallion firin’ a bow and arrow – that was Uncle Strong’s brand, ya see. He had many a homemade ale and cider, the latter bein’ renowned throughout Equestria. Maybe that’s why his tavern had become so popular? But raisin’ popularity comes with a price – hard work. Plus a load o’ bits, especially on holidays like New Years Eve. Now that I think about it, shouldn’t have Uncle Stong been thankin’ me? I was helpin’ him on the busiest night o’ the year when nopony else would. See, I was useful! I screwed the pipe tight with my teeth, nudgin’ the barrel t' check it was workin’ good and proper. No doubt this would be the first of many barrel changes tonight. I sighed, thinkin’ about all those payin’ customers. Oh please, Celestia, make me a fancy bar maid and I’ll write a hundred letters t' ya. Anything t’ make this night easier! There was one thing. One thing to relieve me of the overwhelming feeling of dread. My own anger swelled for bein’ shallow enough t' prioritize it. Bits. A good heap o’ them. What was I gonna do? When winter hit Sweet Apple Acres, it hit hard. Our gosh darn luck, ain’t it? Gettin’ two harsh frosts off the trot. Consarn weather ponies, Pegasi don’t understand farmin’ for the hill o’ beans. What did they say? “We can’t do anything, Applejack. Bumping up the heat affects the ecosystem.” What about my kin, huh? Well, these “affects” are freezin’ my fields! Can ya’ll tell I jus’ love the snow. Business was non-existent at this time, cos you couldn’t grow nothin’ for love or money. Ironically, that’s what we needed most – money. I guess Granny’s persistence had some reasonin’, so we could get some darn bits. Uncle was being a might kinder than I gave him credit for. Work all New Years Eve. Receive generous payment of bits. You’re darn tootin’, Uncle Strong! It was only one night, and I needed those bits t’ make ends meet. I had nothin’ t’ lose, cept’ for my hearin’ when Uncle Strong shouted at me through the cellar door. I trotted up, hatin’ the stupid holiday with a passion. New Years Eve. I reckon I was gonna need a new set of hooves after the night was through. I hate t' say I told ya so, but … I darn told ya so! All that shoutin’ and hollerin’, I couldn’t think straight. I was in a match box. Jus’ as I’d set hoof behind the bar, the tavern was crammed. Told ya this joint was popular. Ya’ll know what? Forget it. I am useless. My clumsy hooves had been responsible for three pint fatalities, a kamikaze glass and my own near demise on a puddle o’ goddess knows what. I missed my apples. They didn’t try and kill me like their cousin cider. On one of my very few brakes, I took a gander at the swarm around the bar. Bunch o’ hooligans. Was everypony in Canterlot a student? The place was crawlin’ with em’. Great cheese and crackers, those ponies could drink like fish! “Gimme another, sweet cheeks.” I shuddered, as a dark coated stallion heckled in my direction. Call me that one more time, and so help me, ya’ll have no cheeks. “S-sure,” I responded, grittin’ my teeth into the best smile I could. Oh, Celestia, strike me down! I noticed the sound of clatterin’ comin' from behind me. “Applejack! Applejack, there you are.” Uncle Strong galloped up from the cellar nearly mowin’ me down. “I have to go! You’ll have to hold the fort till’ I get back,” he blurted over the commotion. I steadied myself, with half a pint in tow. “Calm down, Uncle Strong. Wait, whataya mean go?” “It’s the yeast, Applejack –” He continued t’ shake me like a leaf “– my poor beer back at the brewery, she’ll be ruined!” he whimpered, lookin’ wild eyed. “She? What the hay –” “I’ve gotta save her. I’m coming my darling!” He reared up, jumpin’ the length of the counter and galloped out the door. That there scene gotta few drunken cheers. I followed him t' the bar top. “Uncle Strong, what in tarnation? I can’t run this bar on my lonesome! Uncle Strong …” Did that just happen? What was that stallion smokin’? I seriously was gonna launch my back hooves into somethin’. Somethin’ expensive. How could he just ditch me? “Hey, muddy, you gonna get my bucking drink or what?” I turned slowly towards the harsh, drunken voice. On second thought, I could just buck that colt right in his uglier than sin muzzle. T' you perhaps muddy just means, ya know, dirty or somethin’. T' Earth Ponies not so much – it's mean, evil. It’s discriminating us. Our race. I’ll let you in on a little secret us Earths like to keep. We hate not bein’ “magic”. So, callin’ us “muddy” or “Mud Pony”, it hurt. A lot. I know we possess magic is some respect, but it would be nice t’ fly or not get slaver over everythin’ ya wanna grab. Besides, I didn’t care. Be honest t’ yourself, that’s all ya can be. I was proud t’ be an Earth Pony. However, it couldn’t hurt t’ knock this guy down a few sizes. I should have, but when ya bar’s full o’ unicorns, the odds ain’t exactly in ya favour. “Beg pardon?” I growled, clutchin’ an innocent glass. Keep it together, Applejack. “You deaf? I said, I want a drink you muddy fu–” “Graphy!” A pretty, light blue, unicorn mare tackled the stallion in a powerful hug. Boy howdy, that runt was lucky. I turned t' get his drink. However arrogant, he was still a customer. I wondered if he could tell spit from a spirit. While concocting this “drink”, I overheard the mare. “It’s great to see you. How was your vacation?” she babbled between sips of her vodka and lemonade. Her voice was piercin’ and lathered in an accent faker than a three bit coin. I assumed she was a brick shy of a load the way she continued t' drunkenly fall on the colt producin’ a grinding cackle. By his constant rump grabbin', the stallion didn’t seem t' mind. However, it was jus’ a tad more than I wanted t’ see. “Terrible, cos I couldn’t see you, babe,” he purred, causin’ the mare t' blush. I slammed the drink down, practically gallopin’ off in disgust. He grinned at me, and not in a friendly way. I’d seen pigs with more manners than that feller. I went back t’ cleanin’ glasses. Squealin’ erupted from their direction, when more ponies joined. Two stallions wearin’ jackets with the initials “CU” stitched on the breast gave the rude stallion a hoof bump. More Canterlot University students I presumed. He returned the gesture, towerin’ above his companions. Big Mac would've been miniature compared t' him. I saw his backwards baseball cap had the same initials, and his cutie mark was a white crescent. “Graphy, sup’ bro?” one of them spoke. I returned to dryin’ some wine glasses, tryin’ not t’ get caught gawkin’. “Graphite, there you are.” This voice was new, it was of a mare with a well-to-do accent, but not forced. It was genuine, sweet even. I could see why, as the stallions parted t' let the speaker through. That intoxicated mare was cute as a bug, but her, she was … downright stunnin’. After a good minute watchin’, the wet glass slid outta my hooves, landin’ with a shatterin’ clash. That’ll teach ya t’ keep ya eyes t’ yourself. Was I losin’ my mind? I followed the inside curve of the bar t’ fetch the broom, listenin’ as I pasted. “Rare! How you been, beautiful?” the stallion I now recognized as Graphite exclaimed, givin’ her a hug. She pushed him away politely, containin’ a slight redness in her cheeks. “I’m fine, thank you.” The light blue mare peddled away from Graphite, starin’ at the pretty unicorn. “Diamond Mint, nice to see you again,” she addressed the mare with a grin. “A pleasure as always, Rarity,” she said, injected with a snide tone, trottin’ away t’ a booth with the other stallions. The white mare hunkered down on a barstool, next t’ Graphite. She barely managed a smile. “Don’t worry about her, babe. She’s just jealous,” he roared, takin’ a swig. She looked at him dumfounded. “Jealous of what?” “You know? You going out with me.” She remained silent, appalled by the comment and his inability to keep the liquid in his muzzle. “What? It’s not my fault every mare at CU has the hots for me.” I snorted while startin’ to sweep. That mare was bein’ played like a banjo. Not that it was any o’ my business. “I’ll be in the booth, sexyness.” He grazed her rump with a hoof, walking away. Groanin’, she slammed her face against the cold, wood counter. That stallion was far too big for his britches, if he had britches. I finished collectin’ the broken glass, and walked over t' the mare. Gosh, her mane must o’ taken a day t’ get it that pretty. “You alright, sugercube?” I asked, leanin’ against the bar. She didn’t move. “I need a drink, a strong drink.” “Ugh ... any ideas?” Heck if I knew what fancy Canterlot ponies liked t’ drink. When she glanced up, I was taken back by the sparkle in her azure eyes. “I’ll have an apple martini, please.” Oh, pony feathers; I was sure that wasn’t on a pump. I felt myself panic, when I had no idea how t' even begin to make her drink. “Ya wouldn’t know what goes in that would ya?” I would have never been able t' fit in with the Canterlot way of life. Plus, I was the worse bar maid ever! “Vodka, lots of vodka,” she said, unwaverin’. I spun about frantically. Where’s that dang cocktail recipe card? Martini was a cocktail, right? “I’m gonna need a bit more than that. Where’s that silver thing, dangabbit?” I heard her laughin’, while I rutted around under the bar top. I rolled my eyes, gigglin’ along. “You must have some idea, apples are clearly your forte,” she chuckled, pointin’ t’ my cutie mark. She had no idea. I started t’ draw circles with a hoof against the cocktail shaker I’d found. “Well, ya’ll would be right bout’ that. Cider I can do, but apple martini, that would be a no,” I mumbled, lookin’ at my reflection in the metal. Was she thinkin’ I was jus’ a dumb farmer? “Perhaps, I can be of assistance –” She levitated some bottles across in her magic, not disruptin’ her posture an inch “– here, I’ll teach you.” The bottles danced about me t’ create a boozy brew within the shaker. The way she controlled the objects with so much precision and ease, led me t’ believe she was a talented unicorn. I clopped my hooves when she made the streams of liquid cross in midair. Finally, she screwed the cap on. “You look like a strong mare.” She looked me up and down, floatin’ it over. “Give it a shake.” Strong mare? Had she jus’ … nah. “S-shake?” I spluttered. “Precisely.” “Y-yes, ma’am.” I shook the thing vigorously in my fore hooves, only stoppin’ by the mare’s instruction. Her aura wrapped around the shaker. “Stop, darling. You’ll be shaking all night if you don’t,” she warned, grinnin’ as she collected a pretty glass. I unscrewed the top, lettin’ the fluid flow. I was proud as punch t’ have made an actual sophisticated cocktail. No pun intended. The last drop left a small ripple. “No disrespect, Miss, but I thought it would be more fancy lookin’. Its jus’ … green,” I inquired, dippin’ down t’ get a closer look. “Perhaps, but I do admire simplicity now and again –” She swirled the glass, then took a light sip “– and I’ve just come to realise that ... I’m rather fond of the colour green.” I had no idea what she was goin’ on about, and yet I absorbed every word. Dang fancy talk. “H-how does it taste?” I beamed in anticipation. “Cheap.” She smacked her lips, studyin’ the flavour. Perfect, why do I bother? “Is that bad?” Of course it was bad! “Not for the purpose I’m indenting it. Hmm, this needs something.” She peered over the bar. “There!” She nodded at an assortment of cocktail decorations. I lifted the box, very confused. “These?” “Yes, give me … that pink umbrella,” she chirped. I’d never known a cocktail stick with a paper umbrella t’ bring so much joy. I smiled awkwardly, passin’ it t' her. “Thanks, dear. See, now it’s perfect!” She took a much bigger swig this time, the umbrella ticklin’ her muzzle. At least I had one satisfied customer. “I’m guessin’ ya’ll be wantin’ another after that, considerin’?” She stopped mid gulp. “It is wrong to assume a lady, such as myself, would want to indulge in alcohol.” I was about t' apologize, when she continued. “But, yes … I really would.” “Since ya so good at makin’ those martinis, ya’ll can help yourself. I’ve got other more rowdy customers that ain’t as nice as you. It would be less hassle for me, that’s for sure.” “Nice as me? Aren’t you the one supposed to be buying the drink if trying to sweet talk me? Not the other way round,” she smirked, lappin’ up the last drops. Wait, I … what was happenin’? I didn’t mean t’ say it like that. She was “nicer” than some of the other customers – stop talkin’, Applejack. I think all I managed t’ say was, “I-I didn’t … that not what … well you are … what I mean is -” “I’m joking, darling. You wouldn’t believe it, but some ponies in Canterlot do actually have a sense of humour you know,” she said in her sweet voice, and headed towards her coltfriend and other pals. Watchin’ her walking away, I slapped my noggin’ with a hoof. Get a hold o’ yourself! Jus’ gotta tend t’ the bar, that’s the plan. I collected up her bits she’d left from the counter top, and went back t' servin’ and sweepin’ “Graph, have you done it?” “Done what?” “Broke up with her you twit! Get rid of that repulsive creature or I will.” I’d been “overhearin’” their conversation for a while, tryin’ not t’ alert the pair as I restocked the potato chips. I’d heard a good lot about somepony called Diamond Mint gettin’ busy with Graphite, only t’ realised it was that drunk mare. I felt bad for his marefriend, or should I say soon t’ be ex-marefriend. “I’m gonna, babe. B-but, well …” “Well, what!” Diamond Mint growled. “She’s … so hot!” he protested. What’s worse was that useless colt didn’t even sound sorry. He was darn right proud! I thought I heard a hoof connectin' with his chest or side. “Seriously, I can’t believe you just said that!” “I’m talking lava hot here, babe. But, she’s so frigid it’s unbelievable. It was killing me not being able to ... ” “To what?” “Tap that.” I tried t' control my laugh at that one, I must admit. You could say it was full on eavesdropping now, havin’ stopped packin’ chips five minutes ago. If that was my coltfriend I’d –- well I donno, I guess I would’ve been happy to have actually had one. “You know what? She’s lucky to be getting dumped, because you’re such a dog!” she gasped, slammin’ a glass down. There was an awkward silence, before a second thud came from the bar, and it wasn’t a glass, if ya’ll know what I mean. I peeked through a crack in the store room door t’ see them writhen around on the back o’ the counter. Hooves made bottles clatter around them, while they played a revolting game of tonsil tennis. Sickened by the show, I walked back through the bar, considerin’ t’ hurl in an old, rusty, water pale. Ponies are so darn strange. I jus' heard their discussion as they left out the back. “Let’s go to my place,” Graphite panted. “What about her?” “Just leave her; I’ve got better things to do. Get it? Do.” “Buck sake, let’s go,” the mare grunted. The tavern was nearly deserted, as I trotted in clenchin’ a rack of chinkin’ empty bottles. Everypony had headed up t’ the castle for midnight and the firework display. Thank Celestia this night was through. A few more jobs and I’d be huddled up in my bunk. I couldn’t wait. I shouted a “ya’ll come back real soon”, when the last group of ponies left, chattin’ about the display. Fireworks weren’t really my thing; the most I’d seen was a sparkler and a rocket or two. Nothin’ eccentric, and that’s exactly what the Canterlot display was. In fact, the whole town was like that. Life went by like a stream train, while I was jus’ fine t’ plod along and look at the scenery. Guess it’s a country thing. Jus' when I thought I was done, a pile o’ bits and several empty fancy glasses were resting on the corner bar top. How’d I miss those? I threw the money in the register (I could count that tomorrow) and began rinsin’ the glasses. If I’d never seen another pint, bottle or wine glass again, it would’ve been too darn soon. I stopped t’ listen t’ the splashing of the sink, when swear I heard a clatter yonder side of the tavern. There it was again, a tinny clank. Bein’ a tad alarmed, I crept lightly about the bar’s timber frame. Reckon it was some critter who’d got in through the back, I reasoned with myself. Ya know, a bird or a racoon or somethin’, it was cold out after all. The dim lights weren’t helpin’, as I continued my search. Don’t fret, Applejack, tis’ jus’ nothin’. Please don’t be a burglar, please. Not that there was anythin’ a might interestin’ t’ steal, jus’ bottles and the smell o’ old liquor. I took notice of a dim, blue light castin’ strange shadow around me, though I was still blind as a bat. Tis’ fine, jus’ breathe. Readyin’ my pouce, I took a peep at the figure. It couldn’t have been a pony, everyone had left and it was slumped in a black heap on the ground. The blue light had vanished, leavin’ the area dark. Well, better get this … whatever it is, outta here. “Hold it right there, partner!” I lept near the creature, kickin’ a hoof at the light switch. I’d already pinned the thing, when the lights flickered to reveal the pest. Oh, for ponies sake. “Mummy, five more minutes,” she murmured, pushin’ my fore hooves away. Mummy? I face hoofed, whisperin’, “Ya’ll have gotta be kiddin’ me?” It was the attractive, white, unicorn mare, lookin’ not so attractive, and heck o’ a lot drunker. She was downright hammered. Her eyelashes fluttered at the disturbance of bright light, whilst I shoved into her side. I ain’t playin’ babysitter! “Ma’am, get up,” I commanded in her ear. If she’d used all o’ Strong Bow’s sprits, I was in a heap o’ trouble. Me and my big mouth, she really had “helped herself”. She was awake now; jus’ refusin’ t’ budge. “No, I-I … don’t -–” “Up with cha’” I hauled her up t’ the nearest chair, lightly slappin’ her cheek. Unmovin’, her purple, dishevelled mane drooped over her muzzle. I trotted t’ get her some water, shoutin’, “Stay put, ya hear?” When returnin’ with her glass, she was awake with her face up in a lamp. “Did you hear me, Graphite? Our relationship is terminated, you … pig!” she cheered, the floor lamp bobbin’ about her in a spell. “Are you talkin’ to … a lamp?” I pulled her away by the shoulder. Uncle Strong was gonna pay for this! “Thanks! –” She snatched the glass, glupin’ it down “- ew, it doesn’t taste of anything!” Her eyes rolled about, finally focusin’ on me. “It's water, it never does,” I complained. “Get that down ya, we gotta get ya sobered up … sorta.” She obliged happily, closin’ her eyes t’ knock it back. Even blind drunk, this mare looked astonishingly beautiful. Must be unicorn magic. “Thanks, darling,” she cooed, swayin’ like a wheat field in a twister. I thought she might fall, but she steadied herself. “Ya’ll know ya should’ve dumped that feller when ya’ll were sober, that lamp is jus’ an innocent bystander.” I knew she couldn’t even see straight, never mind make sense of my words. No reason t’ not have a little fun, after tonight I disserved some. She ogled at the lamp, then back t' me. “Graphite?” she said sternly. “Now Miss, I don’t wanna pry, and I know it ain’t any of my business, but -” I moved closer encase she toppled over “- I overheard yer coltfriend and this mare talkin’ and well, I think they’re -” “Banging.” The flatness of her tone, along with her genteel accent made me crack up. I’m sure she even managed a smile when she realised her words. I felt worse for her learnin’ she was a pleasant pony, not a Canterlot snob like her discustin’ “coltfriend”. “Err … I was gonna say involved, but I reckon that’ll work too,” I pondered. Her happy expression evaporated. “I’ve known for a week, I saw them hooking up in the projection room above the auditorium,” she whispered. “Oh? I’m a might sorry. Why didn't ya tell that runt ya’ll are through?” She smirked coldly. “I-I was seeing if he had any sort of self respect left and admit it. I guess not. What a surprise.” “If ya don’t mind me sayin’, he don’t disserve ya,” I advised, makin’ her wipe a single tear with a hoof. That was before she bucked out, decapitatin’ the lamp. “Take that, babe! I hated when you called me that by the way.” I held her back, draggin’ her towards the door. This mare was madder than a wet hen. Where the heck was Uncle Strong? I was gonna need therapy after tonight. “Please don’t tell me ya’ll got drunk jus’ t’ get over that stallion?” Squirmin’, she retorted, “N-no, what are you saying? I am … completely over him!” I could spot a lie a mile off. You could tell she obviously had. “Well it’s been a ... pleasure talkin’ t’ ya’ll, but ya gotta leave. You know? Gotta clean up and all that stuff. Busy, busy,” I pleaded, shovin’ her skinny hide out the front door. The chilly breeze slapped my face, the light snow felt cool on my coat. It had really come down these past few hours. Too bad this mare had t’ walk home in it. “Okay ma’am, have a good evenin’, ya'll get home safe and sound,” I uttered, as she stumbled into the desolate, white blanket that was the street. “Bye bye, floating hat,” she grunted, eyein’ a direction t’ go. I looked up at my hat, huffin’. Floatin’ hat, really? Just walk away, Applejack. She started down the street only t’ slip on a lump o’ snow, rollin’ round like a pig in mud. It’s not your responsibility, jus’ turn around – oh my stars, is she talkin’ t’ that snow? I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Why was I such a nice pony? She was spinnin’ like a top when I trotted out t’ meet her. “Miss, ya look a bit lost,” I questioned sternly. “I am not! I’m just trying to find the sky and I’ll be on my way,” she barked back, lookin’ at the snow’s bright sheen. “Alrighty … I’ll walk ya home, ya much too drunk. Where’d ya live?” If she couldn’t find the sky, how the heck could she find her house? It ain’t like I knew Canterlot like the back o’ my hoof either. Scanning the length of the backstreet, she shrugged. “I-I … hmm …” “Well, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re a CU student. So, do ya live near the campus?” She looked about my age, give or take a year. She danced on the spot in a filly like way. “Yes! Now I remember. You’re good at this. –” She began at a brisk trot “- come on, Applesauce.” What? Seriously, what the hay? This was the worst decision of my life. “Hold ya horses, girly,” I yelled, gallopin’ up beside her. “Apple sauce? Whatcha’ talkin’ about?” The mare’s hooves scuffled over the frosty cobbles, while she winked at me. “Simple. The three apples on that pretty flank. You’re obviously called Applesauce.” I was takin’ back by her drunken stupidity and the fact she thought my flank was … pretty. It was just the drink talkin’. “No, it ain’t. My name’s Applejack,” I corrected her. “I disagree, its Applesauce,” she snorted. I stomped the pavement. “Jack!” “No, mine sounds better.” “It ain’t, cos it’s Applejack!” “Calm down, Applesauce. And here I thought you had a sense of humour. ”Apparently I had no sense, cos I hadn’t ditched this crazy filly already. “Land sakes, missy. For the last time it’s -–” I couldn’t finish, as she thundered off towards the castle and Main Street. “Chop chop, Applesauce. Keep up,” the mare snickered, roundin’ a corner outta sight. Nopony tells me t’ “keep up”. I gave chase, bein’ careful not t’ slip on the many ice patches. Main Street was deserted as well, leavin’ jus’ me and a sea of gleamin’ rooftops and pathways. The unicorn was nowhere t’ be seen. I slowed t’ a steady trot. “Quit ya messin’!” My voiced echoed with each call. “Ya’ll would be easier t’ find if ya weren’t so darn -” I glanced to my left at the intersection “- white.” I’d never seen the castle with my own eyes, and boy was it amazing. The clear night sky created the perfect backdrop in contrast t’ its pale peaks illuminated in moonlight. I wished my family could’ve shared the moment with me. Dang, I missed them. A silver shimmer from the highest tower caught my eye, endin’ the daydream. The ball lowered slowly on its spike, followed by distant cheers carried on the wind, as it kissed the bottom. A high wine and a rolling boom reached my ears, preceded by an explosion of shimmerin’ colour. Its light wrapped around the street, paintin’ it entirely gold for a moment. More lights followed, each dyin’ Canterlot a new strikin’ colour. Despite all the annoyances that night, the captivatin’ spectacle melted them away. I’d changed my mind, I loved fireworks. They were like … explodin’ happiness. “Happy New Year, Applesauce,” the mare’s voice murmured. She was jus' behind me, her side changin’ from red t’ gold, while the fireworks continued. I blinked hard, removin’ a collection tears. Turnin’ t’ face her, she plodded t' join me. “H-Happy New Year to you too, Miss,” I choked. Don’t cry, is jus’ a firework. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I suddenly became aware it was jus’ us there in that street, nopony else. It was only for a second, I can’t explain it but … it was nice. “It’s quite beautiful, isn't it?” she stated. I continued t' watch her, long after she’d looked back at the sky. “Sure is.” I had no idea what was wrong with me. Maybe I was comin’ down with a fever? The unicorn skipped away, singin’ some sweet song with fancy lyrics. I gave the castle one final glance, absorbin’ all its beauty. I needed t’ come back with my kin, AppleBloom would’ve loved this. I found the mare outside a flower shop, movin’ a litter bin flap with her magic in time t’ her odd singin’. “On Old long syne … when angel deserve to DIE!” she screamed the last part, makin’ me jump outta my skin. “Come on, we gotsta keep movin’.” I knew the accommodation buildin’ was around here some place. This was takin’ forever, and I was so tired. “No, I’m talking to this gentlemanly trash receptacle, if you don’t mind. Now, what were you saying Sergeant?” For the love of apples! I’d had it. I barged under the mare, liftin’ her on my back. “We’re leavin’!” I snapped, as she squealed like a prize pig. Bein’ a smidge taller, her hooves couldn’t touch the ground. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. “Stop, put me down at once! I’m not a saddle! Hello, are you listening?” she hissed, her hooves beatin’ against my sides. “Don’t get ya feathers in a bunch. We’re almost there -” She kicked my rump hard “- Ow! And quit yer squirmin’.” “But I’m a unicorn,” she informed, settlin’ down. This mare couldn’t handle her liquor at all. “It’s an expression, sugercube.” She shifted forward, grabbin’ my neck for stability. “Oh, I see.” The cold was gettin’ t’ my hooves, as fresh snow had started to fall, pepperin’ my face with each gust o’ wind. The white mare had remained lifeless all down Main Street. I’d been concerned she’d passed out, right before she whispered in my ear. “Applesauce?” she groaned, restin’ on top o’ my hat. “C-can I tell you a secret?” Cotton headed filly, what was she yakkin’ about now? I had jus’ started t’ enjoy the quiet. Well, at least she was keepin’ me warm. Carryin’ her was like a light, fluffy (but annoyin’) blanket. Don’t think I was enjoyin’ this, cos I wasn’t! “I’m all ears.” If this was some personal matter, so help me, I would bury her in the nearest snow pile. I was not a therapist! “Most p-ponies think I’m white … but a-actually, I’m light grey,” she squeaked. “Shh, don’t tell anypony.” I barked a laugh. Gosh, I wish I was so care free. I guess Canterlot wasn’t that bad after all. We’d passed through a brickwork archway t’ an aged courtyard. A metal sculpture of two noble, rearin’ stallions held a sign spellin’ “Canterlot University” soldered into rusted steel. “Ya’ll know, ya the happiest Canterlot resident I’ve meet since I got here, and not jus’ cos ya under the influence,” I spoke, crossin’ t’ a large buildin’ with pillars. There were so many, it looked like it was give me a cheesy grin. “I’m not from C-Canterlot, and I’m from … Pon -–” she gulped, raisin’ a hoof t’ her lips. Oh hay no, don’t you dare hurl on me. I placed her down slowly outside a huge double door, havin’ found it only by her grunts of “that way, no that way”. Finally! “Oh hello, Door. Look, one is back!” she exclaimed, strokin’ the door frame. She focused on me again. “Thank you, Applesauce. You’re very kind. Unlike some ponies in this bloody town … y-your coltfriend is a very lucky pony.” She was certainly optimistic I’ll give her that. Some ponies weren’t as fortunate t’ be as pretty and talented as others. Why did I think this stranger, I barely knew, was more interestin’ than ponies I’d known for years? I had no idea. “If I ever have one I’ll err … tell them,” I murmured. Jus’ tell everyone why don’t cha'. Applejack, “the undatable”. She produced a smirk much different from any previous. “Oh, I get it,” she purred, movin’ closer. “Huh? Ya’ll don’t have t’ make fun. It’s not my fault.” Stallions never gave a farm girl a sideways glance. Way t’ rub it in! “Of course not, I’m just saying you --” “Well don’t “jus’ say”, it’s alright for you, I bet ya’ve had pleaty o’ special someponies,” I retorted, lookin’ away across the courtyard. Her mouth hung open, as she pondered, “Yes, but I think I need to fall for a different type, if you see where I’m coming from.” That was the only logical thing she’d said all night. “Darn right, that guy’s all hat and no cattle. Ya’ll need t’ give him a piece o’ your mind,” I huffed. She didn’t respond and jus’ poked a collection of murky slush, where ponies had trodden. It made me realise how fragile Canterlot could turn a pony. “It’s rather impolite to speak one’s mind, if hurt inevitably follows,” she instructed, failin’ t’ remain composed. I’d never thought about it like that. The moment I wanted t’ say somethin’ I would jus’ blurt it out, no hesitation. “Okay, what about if it was somethin’ nice, or would make somepony really happy? Would you speak your mind then?” Ugh, why was I havin’ a complex conversation with this drunken crazy? Wide eyed, she shuffled back. “I have issues with that as well I’m afraid.” A high-society mare not bein’ able t’ speak their mind – that was a first. She brushed over the utterance swiftly. “I-I …ugh,” she gagged, startin’ t’ look a lot paler for a white (or should I say light gray) mare. “You alright, sug –” I started, before she pushed me aside t’ empty her stomach in a nearby trash bin. Why me? Brushing her mane back, I soothed her neck with a hoof. I ain’t gonna lie, it sounded and looked awful. I sighed deeply, keepin’ my eyes on anythin’ but. She cleared her throat, proddin’ the bin away. “S-sorry, I’m so pathetic!” she whined. “You ain’t! Now, get your skinny hide home -” I pointed t’ the doorway “- and get lots o’ bed rest. Okay?” I spoke sternly, but reassuringly. Smilin’ strangely again, she whispered, “Okay, Apple … I mean … Miss.” Inchin’ slowly closer, she hugged me softly. I jus’ let it happen; it didn’t come as a shock. I felt her nuzzle into my damp coat, her breath rufflin’ it slightly. My heart did this weird kinda jump thing, as she let go. All I could do was gawk at her. “Bye,” she spoke softly. After standin’ a second longer, she stepped into the mammoth door. I tipped my hat, as she’d walked away, listenin’ t’ her hooves against the title floor. When the clops faded, I watched the slow flutter and glide across the courtyard. Takin' a final look back at the magnificent buildin’, I trotted away into the cobbled street. Well, that was that. I smirked t’ myself. “I got some martini glasses t’ clean.”