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// Manehattan 
// Story: Bradel's One-Shot and Minific Emporium 
// by Bradel 
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I never rightly understood why they call that place the Big Apple. I spent my time there, sure enough, and I can tell you it ain't no place for apples. My mother Clementine, rest her soul, she was from Manehattan. And that's where she met my Pa, but that's a story for another day.

What matters is this: when I was a filly, Manehattan always seemed like the most romantic place in all Equestria. Specially after the accident.

Ma always used to show me pictures. All the skyscrapers clawing their way up like trees in a forest, some of them stunted and little, some of them like towering, limbless oaks built all out of stone and steel. The sun rising over the ocean, shining down the long alleys of buildings like the rows of an orchard. The first home she and Pa ever knew, a little apartment tucked into the basement of a white plaster building in a run-down old bit of the west side. I think she missed it, a little.

After they were gone, Manehattan became something else for me. I don't got the words for it, really, but it had a kind of... magic. When you lose somepony, it carves a little hole in you. Cores you out, just like an apple, I suppose. And you want so bad to find a way to fill up the empty space inside. For me, that's what Manehattan was. 

My brother was born there too, but I reckon you already know that.

Getting away from the story here, though, ain't I? Okay, why don't we start over.

So Rarity, the old fussbudget, she walks into the barn one day. I'm baling up some hay for the cows. Got a nice rhythm going, too.

She coughs, all polite like. You know the way she is. "Oh Applejack, dear. How would you like to come to Manehattan with me for Fashion Week?"

Rarity's a friend and all, so I can't rightly tell her that I'm busy, and the rain gutters on the barn still need fixing, and that Manehattan is pretty much the last place in Equestria I've got a mind to visit. I already been there once, and y'all know how that turned out. So I bite my lip, and I find something truthful to say. "Sure thing, Rarity. I always like spending time with my friends."

And that's how, four days later, I find myself stepping off the train and into the City that Never Sleeps. It's pretty much just the way I remember it—loud, and ugly, and full up with tin and spit. But this time, I'm here with friends, and that makes all the difference.

Rarity, she's a wonder. She's high-class, just like my aunt and uncle, but she ain't snooty about it like some ponies. She don't make you feel like she's better than you are. Different, sure, but there ain't nothing wrong with being different. And before you can say giddyup, there she goes, helping ponies out, just like she always does. I'm proud she's my friend. But I'm worried about what Manehattan might do to her. I know what it tried to do to me.

Then again, maybe I'm wrong to be afraid for her. Rarity takes Manehattan as she finds it, and sure enough, she's making new friends before she's been there ten minutes. She's helping everypony out, same as she always does. Even I get into the spirit—I help her fix the wheel on a taxi that's broke down. Then she's running off to make some appointment or other for her fancy dress competition, and it's just me and the other girls—and Spike, of course—for the rest of the afternoon. We go see the Equestrian Museum of Natural History. Twilight insists. She's got a real thing for the  Hayfield Planetarium.  We do a little more sightseeing, but everypony's distracted by the fact that we're going to see "Hinny of the Hills" this evening. After a couple hours, we make our way back to the Manefare Hotel.

Rarity's there, waiting for us.

Her mane's frazzled, real frazzled, and one look at her says she's been crying. And I know, sure as sin, that Manehattan's claimed its latest victim. My friend, Rarity.

She tells us the story. She tried being generous with some mare from Ponyville she used to know, and it backfired. This Suri somepony stole Rarity's fabric, or designs, or something. I don't know a whole lot about fashion and I don't rightly follow what she's saying, but it's plain as plums she's been hurt pretty bad. She came here dreaming of the skyscrapers, just like me. But steel is cold and stone is lonely, and maybe it takes an earth pony to realize that for some of us, there ain't no such thing as magic.

That's not what you say to your friends when they're down, though, is it? So instead, I tell her to buck up. I reckon if someone copied her dresses, she just needs new ones, and I tell her as much. And then she's looking around the room, and I can see those gears in her head starting to click. Before you know it, she's pulling the curtains off the windows and the sheets off her bed. She's sizing them up like a new crop of apples. Fluttershy asks if there's anything she can do to help, and Rarity gets this big grin on her face. She whips out her red sewing glasses, and she puts us to work.

But this is a different Rarity. Manehattan's already started to change her, and before long everypony can see it. She's meaner, and harsher. That Suri must have done some real damage. This ain't a pony I can call my friend no more. We miss dinner, and then we miss "Hinny of the Hills", and even when we're ready to drop off from being so gosh darned tired, Rarity demands that we keep working. And we do. We want her to succeed, after all. And everypony has a bad night, now and again. My friend's still there, hiding somewhere behind those red glasses. Isn't she?

We finish the dresses about three in the morning, and Rarity goes haring off to the place where they're holding the contest. She doesn't get a lick of sleep that night, I reckon. The rest of us, we're too exhausted. I collapse on a bed next to Rainbow Dash.

Next thing I know it's noon, or near enough, and I've got pegasus feathers in my mouth and a hoof in my stomach. Rainbow don't sleep gentle. I look at the clock, and it takes a couple seconds for the time to register. When it finally clicks, when I realize the fashion show starts in less than four minutes, I hear the most godawful whinny. Takes a moment to realize it was me. Then I'm on my hooves, trying to pry the other girls out of bed. That ain't no easy task, especially with Pinkie. She kicks, and she don't like waking up.

When they're all awake and ready to go—and let me tell you, as a genuine championship rodeo pony, that herding them fillies is a good sight harder than rounding up some unruly sheep ever was—we gallop on out. By the time we reach the contest, though, it's over. And Rarity's gone, just up and ran off in the middle of all the fancy pageant walking.

Suri's there, though, with some cute-as-a-button little filly named Coco Pomade or somesuch. She gives us the story, tells us that the contest judge was furious after the scene Rarity made, and that she's still in a right snit about it all. I don't see much reason to trust what Suri has to say at this point, but Coco confirms it. Coco tells us all about the competition, and tells us that Rarity lost. That's a shame, but after all, this is Manehattan. Manehattan ain't good for much, aside from crushing ponies' dreams.

We hear some noises from out in the lobby, and we trot on out, and there's Rarity. Her mane's a bit of a mess again. Looks like she got caught out in a rainstorm. Manehattan gets an awful lot of those.

Twilight tells Rarity that the contest's over and that she lost, and Rarity... well, Rarity takes it pretty darn well, if you ask me. Says she doesn't even care. Maybe Manehattan's not going to ruin her like it ruins so many other ponies. Maybe we'll get our friend back.

I glance over at Suri and Coco. Suri's wearing a big old grin now, but Coco looks almost as upset as Rarity had been the night before, near as I can make out. There's something wrong here.

The girls are talking now, but I'm paying them no mind. Mostly, I'm thinking about what I could do with this Suri, if I found her in a dark alley. But that look on Coco's face, that's floating around in my head, too.

I overhear Rarity telling everypony she's going to make it up to us, that she's taking us to an exclusive performance of "Hinny of the Hills". She starts to head back outside, the girls in tow, but I stop her for a second. "Rarity," I say, "I'll meet up with y'all in just a little while. There's something I want to do, first." She just nods, looking a lot happier than she had last night.

When the girls are gone, I turn back to Suri and I do my best to imitate that look Fluttershy gives her chickens when they're misbehaving. And then I give her a piece of my mind. Her and Coco both, 'cause by now I've figured out that they're in cahoots. They've been lying, and if there's one thing I can't abide, it's lying.

I don't know how long I'm there, but I make a real fuss. Eventually, the contest judge shows up, some pony named Prim Hemline. Reminds me of the Equestria Games pony—what's her name, Harshnelly? Anyway, I make a big stink about Suri stealing dress patterns or whatever it was. Then Prim's making a fuss her own self, and Suri's coat's gone from pink to white. Coco's looking more upset than ever. Eventually, I get tired of yelling and let Prim take over, and I just work on practicing that Fluttershy glare.

Suri slinks off, eventually—never to be seen again, I hope. And Prim tells me that no, Rarity won the competition, even with those outfits we made from the sheets and curtains the night before. I really don't understand these fashion ponies. If you can win a contest with sheets and curtains, why does everypony put so much time and effort into designing fancy new dresses. Don't make a lick of sense, if you ask me.

Prim gives me the trophy and tells me to take it to Rarity. She didn't get to meet all the designers who came out for the show, but given how much they liked the hotel curtains, maybe that's no great loss. She can get something, anyway. And Coco, wonder of wonders, asks if she can come with me, to give it to Rarity. I almost say no. But she's just trying to make up for lying, and that's a notion I heartily approve of.

So the two of us, we take the trophy and we march on down to Bridleway. Coco starts to get cold feet, but I'm having none of that, so I shove her on into the theater. It looks like Rarity's private performance of "Hinny of the Hills" has just wrapped up. I march Coco down the aisle, give Rarity her trophy, and...

Wait, that ain't how the story went, is it?

Well, you see, there's a reason for that. I ain't been telling you quite the whole truth, here. Rarity wasn't in the room when we got back from sight seeing, for example. And I can't use a sewing machine to save my life. And all this stuff about Suri, and Coco, and Prim, and me? Pure fabrication.

'cause here's the thing: I'm what y'all might call an "unreliable narrator".

If there's one thing Manehattan taught me, all them years ago, it's that honesty doesn't mean telling the truth. Any two-bit horse can twist the truth into a pack of lies, and don't I know it. No, honesty ain't about telling the truth. It's about making sure ponies understand the truth.

And the truth about Manehattan is that it takes a lot of good ponies and turns 'em bad. It tried to turn me bad, and it near succeeded. But not everypony comes out like that. Some of 'em come out like our Rarity, a little singed around the edges but more generous than ever.

And some of 'em, every once in a while, come out like that Coco Pommel. You see, I never stayed back to talk to her. I never said a word to that nag, Suri, neither—and boy howdy, did I want to.

Coco didn't need no help from a mare like me, though. She didn't need me to tell her she'd done wrong. She didn't need Prim. She didn't need anypony. Manehattan threw everything it had at her, and she just set her shoulders, stood up, and told that city what it could go do with itself.

Manehattan ain't all bad. It's stone and steel, sure, but it's got ponies pumping through its veins like lifeblood. And a lot of them are like those skyscrapers—pretty to look at, but cold and lonely and hollow inside. But not all of 'em.

No, not all of 'em. Ma taught me that.