//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: The Prince of Dust // by redsquirrel456 //------------------------------// Waking up to the crow of a rooster wasn’t nearly as bothersome as Rarity thought it would be. In fact, it was downright charming. There was something delightfully bucolic about it, like waking up to find herself in one of her old novels set before alarm clocks were invented. Back in Ponyville she lived far enough away from Applejack’s farm and Fluttershy’s cottage that the animals didn’t bother her in the mornings, except when the cows or rabbits or pigs or chickens decided to stampede through the town. And even then, there was something to be said about having one’s day spiced up by a giant mob of red-necked anoles visiting for breakfast. She hurried to the washroom and raced to get herself spruced up for the day. First came the ablutions, gently wiping away whatever had settled onto her the night previous. Then came the gentle ministrations given to her mane, followed by the vigorous combing and styling she applied every day, refined to a speedy science. And then came the care for her coat, applying every dirt-repelling enchantment she knew and then some. Just a few squirts of perfume. A little brushing to make sure her cutie mark was visible. All done before five-thirty. She grinned to herself in the mirror when she finished brushing her teeth, magically adding a little twinkle. There was a glamour spell for just about everything, and she knew all of them. And then she sighed, because she knew all her work would probably be undone by the time the day was over. It wasn’t the hard work; it was the air. Braeburn had told her: “You had to learn how to love a thing first before it would love you back out here in Appleloosa.” Rarity had yet to learn to love the air, dry and hot as it was, and it didn’t show any compassion for her mane whatsoever. She pushed open the window and breathed in the dry heat of a new day, and realized it was going to be another scorcher. That’s what she got for coming right in the middle of harvest season. She levitated a sun hat onto her head and stepped onto the front porch. “Mornin’ there, miss Rarity!” Apple Tart said with her usual pep as she jogged by. “Ready for an honest day’s work?” “Oh, darling,” said Rarity, “don’t tell me you subscribe to the notion that dressmaking is not an honest living?” “Ha!” barked Apple Tart. “I got me a fancy dress not too long ago, a hoof-me-down from my Ma? Sequins an’ buttons an’ all kinds a’ duds an’ doodads. Believe me, anypony who has the patience to sew somethin’ like that together is worth-ee of re-spect! Yer gonna need that attention to detail today.” “What’s our task?” Rarity asked as she joined the earth mare in her leisurely trot. “Apple sortin’!” chirped Apple Tart. “Most of the boys an’ girls are out buckin’ the trees, so we need ponies to help point out which apples are an’ ain’t worthy of consumption. We got ourselves buyers as far away as Vanhoover an’ Manehattan, so we gotta give ‘em only the best.” “The best is what I’m best at,” Rarity quipped. “Lead me to it!” The nearby orchard was overflowing with as many ponies as it was apples. At its edge were groups of ponies gathered around massive barrels, watching the applebuckers hitch themselves up to their wagons. The crowd was small but growing quickly. “Goodness,” Rarity murmured, “some of these ponies seem to never sleep!” “They like to get their duties done early,” said Apple Tart. “That way a lotta these worthless lumps can while their day away in the Salt Block or at the bakery. Them’s happenin’ places; I’ll treat you if you like!” Rarity didn’t answer, too busy scanning the ponies. Most of them were still dull in the eyes and clutching mugs of coffee for dear life—it was disconcerting to note that most of those mugs were the ones they drank cider with! The rest were perky morning ponies, looking chipper and energetic. There were more mares than stallions, but there was less of a disparity than in Ponyville. She took a deep breath and plunged into them, tossing her mane back and adding an extra strut to her step. “Good morning, Appleloosa!” she cooed, smiling as her smooth, cultured voice drew the attention of nearly everypony in attendance. “Your latest addition to the work crew is here!” “Introducin’ miss Rarity of Ponyville!” Apple Tart said, leaping into the performance with a flourish of her hoof. “Ya’ll may ‘ave met her at the get-together a couple days back.” “Hey, yeah!” one mocha-colored stallion shouted without any prompting. “She’s that there fancy pony all the way from the big city! So you’re the one Braeburn said was joinin’ us?” That one cry of familiarity set off an avalanche. Rarity quickly found herself mobbed by bright-eyed, bushy-tailed farmponies who had never been as far as Dodge Junction. Ponyville was the biggest city most of them had ever seen, she reminded herself, and took the barrage of questions in stride. And she did let herself feel a little doted over considering most of the ponies who approached were stallions. “Is it true that city ponies like to butter both sides of their toast?” “What’s the biggest buildin’ ya’ll ever seen? I hear Canterlot’s got towers as tall as a mountain!” “How’d you get your coat so white? Is that some of your unicorn magic?” “I really like your mane!” Rarity raised a hoof and warded them off with a calm smile. “Now I know it’s quite an experience to meet a new pony, but a lady must have her space! As for the rest of your questions, I’ll be here all week. Plenty of time to get to know you all!” She watched them disperse, noting how several of them backpedaled to keep her in their field of view, some more obviously than others. Apple Tart grinned and threw a hoof around her shoulders, making a loud clapping sound that made Rarity wince. “Well shee-oot, Rarity, you know how to work a crowd! Come on, we gotta get to work.” It was a simple task and one that Rarity was accustomed to. A row of large buckets awaited them, each labeled with crude scribblings for which held the poor and passable apples. She sat down amongst the others and watched as the apple buckers assembled in neat little rows, preparing to gather the harvest. An inspiring speech from one of the team leaders got their pep going and they wandered into the orchard, disappearing into the shadowy labyrinth of tree trunks. “Do we just wait here for them?” Rarity asked. “Yep!” answered Apple Tart. “Kinda relaxing, really. It helps the town come together, you know? Not too far off is one of the buffalo running lanes—sometimes you hear them stampede while we work. Just a nice little rumble, like thunder that brings the rain.” Rarity perked her ears and heard nothing but the quiet murmur of other apple sorters, and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It changed direction and words came to her, unbidden. “—come all the way from Ponyville of all places.” “Surprised they don’t got her pickin’ the trees clean—” The voices died down with the wind. “Apple Tart,” Rarity said quietly, “why do only earth ponies move out to the frontier?” “Hmm?” went Apple Tart, already leaning on their chosen barrel, hypnotized by the swaying of the apple trees. Such indolence charmed Rarity, and she rolled her eyes fondly before asking again. “I said, why have only earth ponies moved here, or to Dodge Junction, or any of the frontier towns?” “Hmm,” Apple Tart said again, pressing a hoof under her chin. “You know, I never did notice before. Somethin’ to do with the air, maybe.” “The air,” said Rarity, raising an eyebrow. “Sure! Somethin’ in the air. I guess maybe we earth ponies like open spaces. Ya’ll ever met a Mustangian? Can’t stop runnin’ once they get goin’, no sir.” Rarity took a breath to speak, but Apple Tart beat her to the punch and raised her hoof. “First round’s comin’ back!” Rarity watched a ragged line of ponies slide out from between the tree trunks. Behind them rumbled full wagons of fresh apples. They dumped their loads into the waiting barrels and trundled back into the orchards, disappearing among the shadowed trunks as if they’d never been there. The apple sorters went to work, dropping the acceptable produce into the giant barrels behind them. If she looked close, Rarity saw the apple buckers slipping between the trunks, flashes of color in the forest of brown. A memory struck of her mother reading bedtime stories of the flutterponies who hid in ancient woods before the time of the Princesses, teasing passersby with tales of riches and feasts to spirit them away to their home in Dream Valley. But the bounty being brought here was more than tangible, it was delicious. “Are you sure it’s alright to eat one?” she asked even as she took a prim, measured bite of the morsel Apple Tart passed to her. Apple Tart beamed, winking at her over cheeks puffed out with apple mush. “Of course! We got so many it’s fine to let a few of ‘em go down the gullet. S’where most of ‘em are headed anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t let any outsider go without tryin’ one fresh off the branch.” Rarity had to admit the apples were just as pleasing to the eye as any of Applejack’s crop, and their texture on the tongue was unmatched by fine silk on her hoof. The explosion of taste sent a shiver down her spine, but she refrained from digging heartily into their harvest even as Apple Tart enjoyed a whole apple for herself. These were, after all, the town’s profit. “Stupendous,” she whispered. “Ain’t it just?” Apple Tart said, wiping her hooves and digging into their batch to continue the sorting. “Course you’re gettin’ it straight from the source, unwashed an’ untainted. Whoops! This one’s a mite mushy, better toss ‘er in the waste barrel…” Rarity quietly settled into a routine as Apple Tart kept up a steady stream of words. She plucked up an apple with her magic, twisted and turned it in her grasp, and decided whether it was fit for consumption or not. Very few apples went into the waste barrel under her watch, but she couldn’t help but sneak a glance over her shoulder now and then at the other workers out of curiosity. Most of them worked at a quick, steady pace. Several in particular were caught staring right at her, and went back to work the moment they saw her look their way. Even for a pony as used to attention as her, she felt the familiar sensation of criticism creeping through her fur coat. One mare in particular, a pale green earth pony with striking highlights in her pink mane, gave her a definite glare before going back to work. Rarity brushed it off, drowning herself in her chores. The feeling of the sun on her back, the droning of Apple Tart’s voice, and the neverending supply of apples should have pulled her straight into a dull tedium, but it did not. This was a gentler laziness that had value in itself, like drifting down a quiet river or reading on the porch. “So what’s it like for you?” Apple Tart asked, lobbing an apple over her shoulder and into the ‘pass’ basket. “What’s that, dear?” Rarity asked. “Livin’ in Ponyville, o’ course! I know ya’ll think we’re mighty ignorant out here, but most of us still remember the first time you came. An’ we’ve heard so much about how excitin’ it is up there!” Rarity chuckled. “Oh, exciting is hardly the word I’d use. Perilous is more like it. Distracting, certainly. Ponyville has suffered such an inordinate share of hardships that whenever a new disaster strikes I must simply roll up my sleeves and tell myself ‘this is Ponyville.’” “Whew! I can’t even imagine. Clock tower’s the biggest building we got, an’ I heard your city hall is twice as big as that.” “Oh, not nearly. We do enjoy our comfort in Ponyville, and I suppose our houses can grow rather more affluent than necessary, even if many of us live alone in them.” “Huh! Most of us share our houses. We almost never get bigger, ‘cept for new arrivals.” Rarity paused to admire the shine of the sun off a particularly healthy apple, struggling with the urge to bite. “Not like me, I’m sure?” “Nah. I mean foals an’ such. We get a few every now an’ again, but we’re still a tiny place compared to where you’ve been. I’m sure it’s a change, comin’ all the way down here.” Another bushel of apples passed from bucket to barrel before Rarity had a moment of epiphany. She looked up at Apple Tart, who she realized hadn’t said anything recently, and was concentrating on the apples with renewed intensity. “Apple Tart,” she said quietly, “are you all right?” “Hmm? Me? Why, sure!” Apple Tart said with a huge grin. “Dunno why I wouldn’t be! Musta just dozed off. Anyway, let’s finish these apples!” Rarity let it be. Apple Tart recovered quickly, filling the empty space between them with a veritable fountain of words that would make even Pinkie Pie fold her ears back. One barrel after another was sorted, picked over, and filled. Morning slogged into noon, and noon brought lunch. The sound of a clear ringing bell called them away from the treeline, but not before Rarity stayed back to greet the applebuckers, who came with slightly hunched shoulders and sweat in their manes. “Excellent work, everypony!” she said to the gatherers, drawing their attention with a voice as clear as the bell. “Quite a harvest we’ve brought in!” A few of the more enthusiastic ponies cheered for their own hard work. One of the stallions who’d delivered more apples than most to Rarity’s basket passed by her, bashfully tipping his hat. “Only the best for a guest, miss Rarity,” he said in a quick, hushed voice, hurrying away with a little smile. “Don’t look now Rarity,” said Apple Tart with a little bump of her flank, “but I think you’ve drawn a few eyes. Ha, these boys’ll be infatuated with ya before the week’s out, an’ I bet a few mares too!” “Yes,” said Rarity. “Where has Braeburn been all morning? You’d think he’d be out here, wouldn’t he?” “Normally yeah,” said Apple Tart, “but he’s been busy.” “Whatever with?” Rarity almost cried. The thought of Braeburn still going out of his way to avoid her, even to the point of shirking duties to a town he proclaimed to love with all his heart, was galling in the extreme. Apple Tart shrugged. “I dunno! He an’ the town leaders’ve been squirrelin’ themselves away in city hall for days on end now! Rumors are flyin’ fast, but nothin’ bad has happened so far, so most ponies pay it no mind.” “You talkin’ about Sheriff Silverstar an’ the others?” came a mare’s voice from behind them. Rarity turned to see the same green coated, pink-maned mare from earlier that morning glaring the same glare at her through amber eyes. “Don’t go spreadin’ gossip, Apple Tart. Ain’t like an Appleloosan.” She said the last word with a steady stare at Rarity, flicking her tail as she outpaced them. Apple Tart blew at the tip of her mane. “An’ then we got ponies like her,” she hissed under her breath. “Her who?” “Bona Fide,” Apple Tart said, dropping her voice to conspiratorial levels of secrecy and leaning in close enough that Rarity smelled apples in her breath. “Most folks call ‘er Bonny. She’s just about the sourest apple in the bunch. She’s a senior planner for the orchard, so that means she has a share in the land, which means she’s got a share of the town. Lotsa folk respect her; she got her job at a young age.” Rarity took her place on the chow line and watched Bona Fide gather a small group to herself. They were all hard-nosed mares and stallions who seemed to be trying to match Bona Fide’s stern expression. They sat down at a table of their own and started conversing amongst themselves. “She appears to be more the leader of a gang than a pony to be respected,” Rarity pointed out, grimacing as the cook plopped a heavy glob of wheat pudding on her plate. “She wasn’t so bad not long ago,” Apple Tart said. “Always was a stern kinda gal, sure, but she’s started becomin’ downright mean. My advice? Just keep your head down around her.” “I don’t think she’s going to do the same for me,” Rarity muttered, and took a bite of cool applesauce. The day came and went, tugged along by the sun into its kennel beneath the horizon to make way for the night. All through it Rarity was haunted by flashes of a pink mane and amber eyes beneath, eyes that seethed with disdain and shouted a single word to her over and over again, translated into a word Rarity had labeled rude customers, ponies who came underdressed to parties, and even a dragon. Trespasser. ----------------- “Now, I’m not sure this is gonna be your kinda hangout,” Apple Tart said in a low voice. “No offense, but there’s some darn good reasons city ponies usually avoid places like this.” “Nonsense,” declared Rarity, fluffing out her mane with a shake of her hoof. “If I’m going to leave a good impression I need to ingratiate myself. Partake of the local cuisine, see the sights, and engage with the common pony!” She gulped as they stopped at the threshold of the Salt Block, listening to the distinct thud of a salt block breaking on somepony’s head. “Even if the common ponies have vastly different ideas of engagement.” Apple Tart gave her a worried look. “You know you don’t have to go inside, miss Rarity.” “But I do,” answered Rarity. “I told Braeburn I’d meet him here at the end of the day, and a lady keeps her word. Remember that, Apple Tart: never say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ unless you mean it. I only hope that he received my message and will treat me with the same respect. I can’t tell what he wants from me and I can’t dance around the issue forever.” Apple Tart grinned and nudged Rarity with her hoof. “I thought a lady loved to dance.” Rarity breathed in and out through her nose. The dry air raked her nostrils. “Perhaps,” she answered, “but I found the charm of dances to be rather lackluster after the last one I attended.” She pushed open the double doors and stepped inside. Warm, smoky air flowed over her coat, and the smell of salt was thick enough it nearly made her gag. Alcohol was one thing, but salt was one of the cheapest and most addictive of low-class pursuits. She’d made a point not to indulge in it no matter how many aristocrats tried to court her with the ‘high-grade stuff’ imported from the salt plains of Zebrica. Braving the stench, she paused in the doorway as the doors swung shut behind her, letting her audience get a good look at her, and she a look at them. A diverse crowd of varying ages—but nopony much younger than her, she noted—peeked back, taking furtive glances out of the corners of their eyes to avoid upsetting their chosen entertainment. Ponies occupied nearly every available space. They crowded around the tables and hunched over cards they hoarded with as much greed as a dragon, shouted boisterously at each other from across the room, and  even perched themselves on the rafters, speaking in quiet tones or dribbling cider on unlucky passers-by. Only a few gazes lingered on Rarity, but one or two at the card table gave her long, steady stares, letting her know she was being watched before they went back to their game and exchanged harsh whispers. Rarity knew what they said: she doesn’t belong here, why’s she barging into this place. She should go home and drink champagne and rub shoulders with the rest of the fops in Canterlot. Rarity lifted her head and strolled into the saloon, gliding between bustling patrons who seemed to avoid her, whether out of respect for the purpose in her steps or some unconscious desire not to see her perfect coat ruined she did not know. “Watch it, unicorn,” one growled, even though he was the one to step out of the way. A chill ran down Rarity’s spine, and on impulse she looked back at Apple Tart to see what she made of such rough behavior. The other mare kept her eyes straight ahead, betraying nothing, but Rarity was more than sure her companion had been close enough to hear the very nearly prejudiced quip. Changing direction from the heart of the saloon she led Apple Tart to a raised dais in the corner of the saloon which seemed to have once been a stage; the irony wasn’t lost on Rarity as she suddenly found herself half a head taller than even the burliest stallions in the place. There you go, looking down on ponies, she scolded herself. No, she answered, I’m just trying to keep out of everypony’s way. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a good vantage point. But just look at them. Look at the way Apple Tart looks at me. She’s fast becoming a friend, but how she moves so gingerly around me, like I’m an eggshell to avoid being stepped on. “Well,” she said over the commotion and taking over the only empty booth seat in the building, “this is certainly more… boisterous than I was expecting!” “Heh, you need to come back around when we get the harvest over with!” Apple Tart said with a grin. “There’s ponies stuffin’ this place to the brim, an’ then we all wake up an’ dance off the hangovers in the street. If we’re lucky we get a visit from the Heartland an’ pegasi teams give us a late year shower.” “Lucky?” asked Rarity. “Don’t tell me they let the weather run wild out here!” “Well, not so much that as we don’t get a lot of attention. The pegasi don’t like to fly in our skies ‘cuz this whole area’s technically still wild an’ so far from home, plus there’s somethin’ to do with, uh, whaddaya call it—bar-o-medics?” “Barometrics?” Rarity offered. Apple Tart pointed and smiled. “That one! They just ain’t used to flyin’ in wild air, or somethin’. They make a few minor adjustments up in the Heartland, an’ then we get the tail-end of the weather changes they make. They call it ‘Trickle-Down Atmospherics.’” “An’ some of us,” said a green-eyed, cloud grey stallion with a deep green mane, “call it ‘Can’t Be Bothered.’” He plopped down next to Apple Tart, grinning as he slapped a heavy block of salt on the table. Rarity couldn’t help but notice the stallion was almost the size of Big Mac, if not bigger. “D’you mind?” “Not at all,” said Rarity, eyeing the salt block like she would an ugly patch in an old dress. It just didn’t mesh with her sensitivities, and knowing that irked her. She didn’t need more reminders of the distance between herself and Appleloosa, and Braeburn. The smell of salt suddenly seemed that much more pervasive, filling her nostrils and making her wince as if she’d just bitten a lemon. It made her head feel lighter than usual, but she was certain she could handle it. Where was Braeburn? “Lemme introduce Coldcock!” Apple Tart said, breaking into Rarity’s reverie. She threw a hoof around the grey pony’s shoulders. “Born and bred Appleloosan an’ train hauler. He’s been up an’ down the line to Dodge Junction an’ a few other towns.” “Been up an’ down the line, memorized every cactus,” he said with a grin full of pearly white teeth. “You must be that pony everypony’s been talkin’ about!” “Yes, I am she,” said Rarity. “Is the whole town aware that I’m here now?” “Just about, ‘specially with you stickin’ out like a sore hoof. I saw ya’ll from across the room.” Coldcock plucked up his salt block and took a long dragging lick from it, pursing his lips and shuddering to fight back the pungent taste. “You got a coat as white as snow, an’ out here that ain’t just sayin’ somethin’, that’s a miracle!” “I do?” Rarity asked, feeling a blush sizzle under her cheeks. “Well shoot, miss Rarity,” said Apple Tart, tilting her head to one side, “ain’t that why you work all them fancy spells? You’re practically glowin’ with ‘em! You’ll have to show me some, I’d love to know how to keep my mane from feelin’ all ratty after a long day!” Rarity fidgeted in her chair, idly flicking her mane with the tip of her hoof. Around them the bar seemed that much less colorful, that much less bright, and here she was exposed like a model on the runway. Self-consciousness had been an alien feeling; if anything it was a four letter word. One didn’t succeed in life without putting oneself into the spotlight. But here, somehow, she didn’t feel noticed—she felt exposed. “A lady must maintain her image,” she murmured. “I guess so,” said Coldcock. “Sure is a nice change of view.” Apple Tart thumped him in the ribs, scowling good-naturedly. “Don’t mind him, miss Rarity. These stallions don’t know about all those stories of gentle cowponies you got up in the Heartland.” “Oh?” Rarity asked with a coy smile. “What do you know about those stories, Apple Tart?” The mare flushed and retreated as if she was avoiding a bee, fiddling with her own hooves. “Oh, well, you know, I… I listen! I get curious, an’—” She paused, tapping her hooves together. “Only a few,” she muttered, and then looked up at Rarity with an outstretched hoof, as if she were afraid Rarity were already walking out the door. Instead, Rarity sat very still with a small, timidly appreciative smile as all the pieces fell into place in her head. Suddenly, Apple Tart’s irrepressible nature and insistence that she not leave Rarity’s side all day made that much more sense. “I’m so sorry!” Apple Tart cried. “I didn’t wanna say, but I just got so excited when I heard a pony like you was comin’ back to our town, an’ I kinda maybe asked to be the one to show you around town, an’ maybe I was really really happy to sit with you in in the orchard today an’ help with the apple countin’—” “It’s perfectly all right,” Rarity said, reaching up and lowering Apple Tart’s hoof with her own, “I know what you mean all too well. I’ve been there, believe me.” “What, you?” Apple Tart said with a nervous laugh. “Tryin’ to impress ponies you don’t know? I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d need to!” “I’ll gladly take that compliment,” answered Rarity, “but trying to impress ponies I didn’t know was a very large and very unwelcome part of my life, until I…” Her throat squeezed shut, making her trail off with a strangled squeak. The thoughts inside suddenly refused to come out. She glanced down at the table, forcing her throat to open again with a nervous gulp, and said in a quiet, thoughtful voice: “Until I got to where I am now.” “Where’s that?” she was asked. Rarity shook her head. “I’m not sure. I thought going out and working today would help, but I’m still so… confused. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is really right.” She rubbed her hoof over the rough, old wood of the table. “Is it all the same as before?” “Well, that sounds like some really deep thinkin’, Rarity. Good thing ya’ll came in here. Nice place to lose unwelcome burdens.” “Yes, quite—ahh!” Rarity jumped when she finally lifted her head to face the speaker, and was greeted by Braeburn’s gently smiling face. She was suddenly aware of how much harder her heart was beating, and she scooted back in her seat until she was nearly pushing into the wall. Braeburn slid easily into the space she left behind. “Much obliged,” he said, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the hooks that hung above the table. He shook out his mane—It’s even more wild up close, Rarity noted—and pulled out a flask, taking a quick swig from it. “Ahh,” he hissed, “last drop of cider for the day.” “Busy?” Coldcock asked. “Far from it! Boring!” Braeburn moaned, dramatically raising his hooves in a way that reminded Rarity far too much of herself. “Talk, talk, more talk, go here, look at a township, talk some more… I just don’t see why all these ponies can’t be happy. So much we got to be thankful for, an’ they’re actin’ like the sky’s cavin’ in!” “What’s the fuss, Brae?” Apple Tart asked. “It ain’t the buffalo causin’ a stink again, is it?” “Nah, nothin’ like that,” answered Braeburn, waggling his hoof. “It’s just—well, look, ya’ll remember a couple months back when there was that hustle n’ bustle over them, uh…” His eyes turned towards Rarity, who raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Them?” she asked. “Unicorns,” Coldcock grunted. “Two of ‘em. They came ‘round an’ stirred up things somethin’ awful with their magics an’ machinery.” “An’ those stupid show tunes!” Apple Tart lamented, rolling her eyes. “Good riddance to ‘em.” Braeburn shushed them. “Don’t talk like bein’ unicorns is what was wrong with ‘em,” he hissed. “There’s enough a’ that goin’ around town!” “I did notice quite a few chilly stares,” Rarity said. “I daresay I picked out more than my share of absolutely adequate apples, but a few of the townsfolk seem less than welcoming this time around. A few were downright inconsiderate.” In a calculating gesture she flicked her mane as if it were nothing to her, but kept her eyes on Braeburn, aiming to draw a reaction from him if he was still feeling less than forthcoming. The stallion flinched and turned to her, eyes aglow with concern, then dawning comprehension, and finally resigned understanding. “Bona Fide,” he muttered under his breath. “Am I right?” “Is she that much of a problem?” “She ain’t a problem,” Braeburn said, with more emphasis than Rarity expected to hear. “But her sentiment is. It’s somethin’ I gotta deal with now, Rarity, an’ I…” He sighed. “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t get caught up in it, is all. Not right when you were set to come out here.” He shut his mouth and struggled to find words, just like last night. Rarity wasn’t going to have any of it, not anymore. She’d come here, made a decision, and dug her first furrow in the ground. She’d lain the first few seeds, and from the way Apple Tart and Coldcock acted around her she’d chosen good ground. Now came the long watchful days to see if something sprouted. She reached out and touched his hoof, smiling at him in the way she’d seen him smile at other ponies. Guileless, unassuming and full of nothing but good wishes. From the way she saw the faint blush on his cheeks, it worked. “You said this was a place to lose unwelcome burdens?” she asked. “Uh-huh,” Braeburn muttered, glancing down at her hoof. “Then let us lose them now.” Rarity gave his hoof a squeeze, wondering where her boldness came from, but neither she nor Braeburn seemed to mind. Salt was in her nose and ideas were in her head and she wasn’t about to let any of them go. “You know,” Braeburn said, looking up to meet her gaze, “you’re right. We got all day to worry about stuff like that. I came in here to relax, and darn it I’m gonna!” “Hear hear!” Apple Tart said, thumping the table. “Sounds good to me,” Coldcock said with a shrug. “And to start,” Rarity said, her mind slowly gearing up from inertia to buzzing activity, “I think we should order a round of cider and have a toast!” “What to?” "Why, to Appleloosa of course!" Rarity declared, loud enough to draw a few curious glances. "To the town and its ponies, and all those who have made an already fine place a true diamond in the rough. To new friends one and all, who have made my coming here more bearable than I ever expected it to be. And most of all, a toast to the apple tree that gave us such divine drink." "I'll drink to that!" Coldcock said, jumping up to get them all cider. "As will I," said Braeburn. "You know Rarity, I got a hunch you're just sayin' all that to get on my good side." She answered his good-natured smirk with a dagger-sharp smile of her own, sitting down and leaning forward in just such a way that her back curved suggestively, resting her chin on her hooves. "A lady," she said through a steady, half-lidded gaze, "is only deceitful when the situation calls for it. And I can tell you truthfully right now, mister Braeburn, that I have every intention of getting on your good side." They picked up the cider mugs when Coldcock brought them, with Rarity making a conscious decision to forgo her magic and use her hoof, and looked at each other over the rims when they prepared to drink. "Well miss Rarity," she heard Braeburn whisper, "I'd say it's workin'." "To Appleloosa an' all the fine ponies therein!" Apple Tart said, and they drank all at once. Rarity took a dainty sip and moved to set her mug down, but when she saw the others downing at least half their portions in one go, she quickly lifted the mug back up and made a show of gulping as much cider down as she could. It sizzled on her tongue and warmed her throat before dropping heavily into her stomach. “I’d say this is even stronger than Applejack’s,” she said with a girlish giggle. “Oh, she’d throw dirt in my mane if she heard me say that.” Braeburn grinned and gestured for her to lean closer. “Well, I’m not usually one to give away family secrets, but lil’ AJ’s got a habit of keepin’ the real stuff to herself!” Rarity gasped, feigning alarm, but of course she was always up for hearing gossip about one of her most straight-laced and temperate friends. “No! Honest and hard working Applejack with her hoof in the pot? For shame!” “You shoulda seen ‘er back at the reunion we had in San Palomino,” Braeburn said with a laugh. “Oh, that girl polished off a whole tankard by herself, an’ darn near threw up on the mayor!” Rarity laughed aloud. It wasn’t often she could laugh about her friends without shame, but distance and the simple image of Applejack being a drunken fool was just too much. The apple farmer had her share of silly moments—as do you, she reminded herself humbly—but drunkenness was a spectacle she simply had to try and take advantage of when she went home. “And then there was this other time—” Braeburn began, but Rarity put a hoof on his shoulder. “Now now,” she said coyly, “we mustn’t waste all the good talking points on the first night. Allow me one!” The others leaned forward, eager to hear a little of the glamorous pony’s life. Rarity drank in their attention, subconsciously smoothing out her coat. It was time to play the crowd. Delighting in the way their eyes lit up when she talked, the way they immediately hung on their words, confirmed that she was still a pony worth paying attention to. Any time earlier in the day she might have thought twice about it, but here, swamped by the noise and the lights and emboldened by the familiar buzz of alcohol in her blood, Rarity found her stage presence emerging. She regaled them with stories of her days in Canterlot, when she seized the attention of crowds and once launched an airship. She sprinkled in times when she was caught embarrassed or spoke out of turn, and she was suddenly the mare out of water, no longer the glowing porcelain goddess that Apple Tart and Coldcock seemed to see her as the longer she went on. She was in a world of her own, where she controlled the mood of everypony around her. Somehow, one or two other ponies had joined in, taking seats at the edge of their table, and then a few more, until Rarity realized she had lost count of her drinks and she’d inadvertently drawn the attention of a dozen other ponies—most of them stallions. Maybe they were mesmerized by how much the city slicker could drink, or the way she kept standing up and looking them in the eyes, making them feel like she was talking to them personally. But she didn’t dominate the conversation so much as steer it, letting others have their say, answering questions both bold and meek, laughing when another off-color joke was passed between Appleloosans. It’s an act, you know, she whispered to herself, hissing in her ear. You’re playing them. You want a prince all over again and you’re going to regret all this sooner or later, he didn’t even want you here you silly, stupid mare, it’s not going to work— She drowned her sibilant conscience in more cider. Through it all one pony kept drawing her gaze away from the others, and when she looked at him she was furtive, skittish, refusing to look at him more than a few seconds at a time. She told herself it was because of her natural paranoia in a crowd, determined not to clue ponies in on anything she didn’t want them to know. It took a special talent to put certain meanings into a glance, a brush of the hoof, even a pause in conversation. She knew, however, that the reason she touched her mane and twirled it around her hoof, the reason she stammered and skipped over a word just that much more, was because Braeburn was sitting right next to her, smiling all the while the same way he’d smiled at the reunion, looking at ponies who were happy and being happy that they were happy. He was happy that she was happy. But the same thing that dragged her to him almost two months ago now nagged her still. Was he happy? She kicked back another drink, and suddenly she was aware that she had lost count of how many she’d had. Was it even still cider? Her head felt too light and her mood swung back and forth too much. Her throat was parched. “Water!” she called out, and somepony gave her some. She gulped it down greedily and chuckled. “So I told her that a song’s beautiful even to a pony without ears. Songs… songs come from in here, you know,” she said, and reached out to tap a pony’s chest. It was Braeburn’s, she realized after a moment’s consideration, and decided to let her hoof linger. Goodness, his fur was soft. She was vaguely aware of ponies looking their way, and she didn’t care. “You know,” said Braeburn, “You, uh, never really told me why you wanted to meet me here of all places. Ain’t exactly a high class place.” “No, I didn’t,” Rarity said, her voice light and tremulous. “And no, it isn’t. But I don’t mind.” “Well, that’s very high class of you to say to.” Rarity giggled and wasn’t sure why, but she was very clear on the point that her hoof was still on his chest and wasn’t moving. “So then why?” Braeburn prompted. Rarity glanced over his shoulder, at the good cheer and happy faces. “Why, this, Braeburn,” she said. “All of this. I didn’t realize it until just now, but I wanted to show you this.” Braeburn was struck silent or a time. His eyes drooped and then rose like half-full balloons, his gaze hovering somewhere between her mouth and her eyes, staring until Rarity felt herself blush. “When you came here,” he whispered, and somehow his voice overpowered the clamor of the saloon, “I wanted you to see the face of Appleloosa. That’s its ponies, Rarity. The ponies are what make a place. You understand?” Rarity heard the unspoken worry in Braeburn’s voice, slurred and raw with alcohol though it was. Her groping hoof became a comforting gesture, stroking back and forth. “Of course,” she said, and meant it. Ponyville was nothing without her friends. Carousel Boutique was nothing without its visitors, and the occasional squeak of her sister’s voice. “Braeburn, what’s the matter?” He opened his mouth and shut it again. She saw his eyes turn from one thing to the next, certain of nothing. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he muttered. “For bein’ such a bad host. I’m gonna change that startin’ now.” “Oh, Braeburn,” Rarity said, smiling and drawing nervous circles on the table with her hoof. “Don’t even worry about it! You had a right to be nervous, the way I stomped in here demanding attention. I probably would have been just as apprehensive as you.” “Nah,” said Braeburn. “Nah, it ain’t just that. Everypony’s been treatin’ you nice, haven’t they?” Rarity blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Why, yes. Everypony’s been lovely. Absolutely lovely. Am I right?” she called across their table. Coldcock, Apple Tart, and a great many other ponies lifted their glasses and cheered. “You see? There’s nothing to worry about.” Braeburn smiled back. She saw the way he had to pry the edges of his lips upward. “Guess so.” That was good enough. She didn’t want to pry much more, and let herself lean just a little towards him which he didn’t seem to mind, listening to him breathe as they watched the other ponies. Apple Tart was almost out, and Coldcock was hoof-wrestling pony after pony. Everything seemed hazy and wonderful, and Rarity let herself drift into thoughtlessness on fluffy white clouds that tasted of salt. “I wanna believe that,” she heard somepony whisper, and then everything went blank. ------------------- She woke up immersed in lukewarm water. Without thinking she lifted her head to take a breath before she was roughly shoved to one side and dropped onto a rough, wooden floor. Water clung to her in thick, heavy drops, racing down her cheeks and making her mane feel like lead. The room was lit, but everything was blurred and fuzzy. Air scraped at her dry throat with every breath. “Ow,” she grumbled. “What—” “Gettin’ real friendly, aren’t ya, city pony? Just like all the others. Just like everypony who comes through here.” “I don’t unnershtan’,” Rarity hissed, her lips flaky and sticky in spite of the water she’d been dunked in. “Gettin’ your manicured hooves an’ fancy perfume all over this place, all over Braeburn, all over—” “Excuse me!” Rarity snapped, waggling a hoof in the air until it smacked against a rough vest, curling into the tough fabric. The pony underneath grimaced and shoved her hoof away. “Excuse me!” she said again. “Who do you think you are, sir or madam? Where my hoovesh go is none of your business, and it is rude to akyoosh me of being some common shtreet horse!” “What else can you be, actin’ like you own the colt? Got designs on him an’ the town just like all the others, huh?” A pair of rough hooves shoved her and she stumbled in the dark, blushing at how helpless her squealing sounded when she hit the ground, scraping her elbow on what might have been the corner of a table. “Look at you! Sloshed an’ salted. Some lady, huh?” Rarity waved her hooves in the air. A growing sense of panic cut through the alcohol as she realized how helpless she was. Her horn sputtered and fizzled as she tried to direct a spell through it, but the magic couldn’t find its way out through the muddled mess of her mind. “Don’t touch me,” she growled, and got a cruel laugh in response. “I don’t gotta do nothin’. You’re makin’ a right fool of yourself already. But if you keep diggin’, don’t be surprised if more than words come your way, city pony. I know your type. Push hard enough an’ your true colors come out.” “Hey!” a distant voice snapped like a whip. She heard hooves running towards her and hooves running away. She felt somepony reach down and take her up in their hooves, and afterwards came voices and moving shapes. “Get her some water.” Oh, that sounded delightful. She just needed a drink. Just a little sip, and then— ------------------- Rarity’s eyelids tried to flutter open, but she felt them stick against each other and pull before coming apart. She was struck immediately by how dark it was. “Hello?” she called out, but her voice would go no higher than a simpering mewl. “Is somepony there?” “Rarity?” an equally dismal and tuckered voice answered. “Izzat you?” “Apple Tart,” Rarity grumbled. She turned her head and her stomach followed suit. “Gracious me. What happened last night?” Apple Tart snorted, which soon devolved into a fit of giggles that echoed around the dark room. “You,” she started, and then fell back into laughter. “You, an’ me, an’, an’ there were so many other ponies!” She saw the vague outline of hooves flailing around in the dark nearby. “Yes, dear, I remember a party of some sort,” Rarity grumbled. Apple Tart’s voice wasn’t just irrepressible, it was painful. She rubbed her temples and curled up on her side, groaning aloud. “Too much cider. Too much salt. The salt! Oh, curse the pony who dug up salt! It must have been in the air.” “Ha ha ha,” Apple Tart cackled. “Can’t take the strong stuff, eh, city pony?” “City pony,” Rarity said. She sat bolt upright and stared into the dark, her headache vanishing in the tide of concern that washed over her. “Apple Tart,” she whispered, “where was I found last night?” The other mare tittered. “Found? I guess wherever I was found. It was a ca-raaaazy night, girl! Whoo!” “Erm, yes,” Rarity muttered. “Whoo-hoo indeed.” She relaxed into the soft mattress, willing her mind to gather itself up and focus on remembering. Last night came back to her in fits and starts, little snippets of memory that danced at the edge of her mind’s eye. She remembered the Salt Block, and talking to ponies, ponies who stared at her, both amazed and begrudging. Most of all she remembered Braeburn, and lifted her hoof to peer at it. She still remembered him letting her touch him, indulging her perhaps because she was full of cider. The thought stung her—she was a lady of grace and sophistication, not some floozy who tossed away inhibitions at the first drop of alcohol. But then she also remembered being exceptionally thirsty and still was, and then she leaped off her bed searching for a glass of water to wash her mouth with. She remembered something else, something unfriendly, something that came at her when she was most vulnerable. Now that she thought about it, it was terrifying to realize. “And where are we now?” “Where everypony who drinks like we did belongs,” Braeburn said as he creaked open their door, an intense silhouette against the light flooding in, making Rarity blink and throw a hoof over her face. “Back home.” Rarity’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘home.’ For a ghost of a moment, horrible visions of being kicked out of town and sent packing to Ponyville in shame flashed through her mind. But then she remembered that if Apple Tart and Braeburn were here, she couldn’t possibly have been carted all the way back there. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, realizing that the light was falling across her uncombed mane which felt disheveled and sticky, and her awful, dingy coat that probably had who knew what stuck to it now, and oh goodness was that some kind of stain on her hooves?! She lunged for her bed, grabbed her blanket and threw it over her head, then dove under the pillow for good measure. “Don’t look at me!” she wailed, well aware her undignified behind was sticking up into the air. “What kind of uncouth stallion walks in on a lady before she’s had time to make herself presentable?! I haven’t even had my coffee!” She heard Braeburn chuckle and watched his shadow retreat from the doorway through the blanket’s thin fabric. “Sorry, Rarity. Just wanted to check on ya’ll since I heard you talkin’. I am glad to know you’re okay—” “Yes all right that’s all well and good but I’m afraid I hear a bathtub calling my name right now see you in a jiffy so nice of you to drop by!” The door clicked shut. Apple Tart cackled, waving her hooves in the air. “Shoot, Rarity! That any way to treat a friendly good mornin’?” “When my mane looks like this,” Rarity hissed, throwing the blanket off and pointing at the ruffled, puffy, purple feather duster on her head, “anything is permitted! Braeburn didn’t see me like this last night, did he? Did anypony?” Apple Tart rolled over and blew a raspberry. “Don’t get your tail in a twist. Only them ponies what found you saw you with your mane down.” Rarity groaned. “Well, Braeburn saw you too of course once we got you back inside.” Rarity groaned louder before snapping her head up from the pillow. “Point me to the bathroom! I cannot let anypony see me like this! Or you, for that matter!” Apple Tart rolled over once more, turning her back to Rarity. “Ooh, no. I’m not gettin’ pulled into this. Brae wouldn’t’ve let us drink like that if we had work in the mornin’. I’m goin’ back to sleep. My mane’s seen worse days—yaaah!” Rarity trotted towards the bathroom with Apple Tart’s tail firmly gripped in her magic. “Then such abuse cannot be allowed to continue!” Rarity declared, deaf to Apple Tart’s sputtering and cursing as she clawed at the hardwood floor while Rarity dragged her along, reaching out in vain to her pillow. “Just wait, Apple Tart. Give me an hour… or three… and it will be like last night never even happened!” ------------ “It’s like last night is haunting me!” Rarity charged out of the bathroom, almost in tears, with Apple Tart close behind. She got as far as the kitchen before running smack into Braeburn, sending her to the floor and him only staggering back a few steps. “Whoa there!” he said, straightening out his hat before offering Rarity his hoof. “What’s all the commotion? I barely got lunch set up!” “You don’t understand!” said Rarity, waggling her hooves around her head and thrusting her face towards him. “I have bags under my eyes! What kind of graceful mare goes about showing off the unwashed residue of last night’s escapades?” Rarity tore away from Braeburn and paced the floor of the living room, chewing on her hoof. If she went out there now she’d become the laughingstock of the whole town. She could hear the barbs being slung her way now: Look at that silly mare! She must only use three hundred brush strokes to comb her mane instead of the requisite four! She said as much to the air, ranting and raving about how her image was tarnished forever and she had brought shame and dishonor to Braeburn’s household. She particularly liked her poetic description of her descendants’ gruesome and tragic fates all stemming from this one moment of hygienic indiscretion. She spun around for a second circuit of the room and found herself almost face-to-face with Braeburn, who looked down at her with his eyes narrowed, chest puffed out and hooves set on the floor. The look in his eyes reminded her all too much of the look Big Macintosh gave Apple Bloom and the other Crusaders when he was putting his hoof down on their antics, and she suddenly felt very small and silly. “This ain’t the only thing botherin’ you, is it?” he said in a quiet voice. Rarity cringed behind her hoof. “Am I that obvious?” Braeburn shook his head in a way that made his golden locks dangle pleasingly over his shoulders. “Don’t take no offense, Rarity, but I’ve gotten good at knowin’ when a pony’s really unhappy, an’ what they’re unhappy about. After the talks we’ve had an’ those letters we shared, I don’t think ‘bags under yer eyes’ is gonna get you into such a tizzy. You got too much fortitude for that.” Clearly you haven’t known me long enough, thought Rarity, but she enjoyed the compliment. She let her hoof down and her breath out in a tepid sigh. “I suppose there is no point in hiding it.” She lifted her foreleg, showing off the growing bruise where she’d knocked her elbow on a table. “I found it while I was cleaning myself up. And then I remembered why I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Braeburn gritted his teeth so hard Rarity swore she heard them start to crackle. “Rarity?” Apple Tart asked, her eyes wide and childishly innocent of what Rarity remembered of last night. “What’s the matter? Somethin’ I can help with?” “We’ll be all right,” said Rarity, and when Braeburn didn’t add his own platitude she turned and noticed him staring at Apple Tart’s mane, which was done up in a very neat and tidy up-style with a large bun. “Huh,” said Braeburn. “Lookin’ good there, Apple Tart!” “I am?” Apple Tart’s hoof flew up to her mouth, and then to her mane. She touched it gingerly and then leaped for the stairs. “I am! Oh my gosh I have to figure out how to do this again!” Braeburn clicked his tongue and glanced sidelong at Rarity. “You’re gonna make a city mare outta that filly. I think it’s what she wants.” Rarity swished her tail. “She was almost unnaturally calm when I warned her of the ordeal of mane-care. Several of my friends would get bored or run for the hills if I brought it up.” Her tail swished again, and she felt Braeburn’s swish in kind. “... We found you next to a water barrel. Kinda lost track of you durin’ the night, I suspect,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t alone,” Rarity continued for him, staring at the far wall. “I know. I’m sorry, Rarity. Somethin’ could’ve happened to you and—” “Braeburn, please,” said Rarity with a coy smile, heading for the kitchen to get that long-ago promised coffee. “I know you are a gentlecolt. No need to sully it with overeager chivalry. You have nothing to apologize for.” But he did. “But I do,” he pressed, hanging back in the kitchen doorway as she poured herself a cup of steaming coffee. “Last night was supposed to be a fun one. One of those nights where nothin’ goes wrong. An’ somethin’ almost did.” “You talk as if things going wrong is becoming a frequent occurrence, if you’re looking to get away from them.” She watched him sigh, dig a tiny divot in the floor with the edge of his hoof. “Not things. Ponies.” Rarity sniffed, quickly realizing that this talk was more for his benefit than her own. She couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit miffed, but she bit those feelings hard and reined them in. “I saw the looks I got in the Salt Block, and coming into town. I’m well aware of what ponies might have to say about somepony like me.” Braeburn huffed and stamped his hoof. It made a satisfying clunk against the floor. “Beg my pardon, Rarity, but they shouldn’t be sayin’ such things in the first place. You’re Applejack’s friend—an Element of Harmony besides—an’ that makes you okay in my book. An’ hey!” He pointed with his hoof, leaving Rarity feeling faintly accused of something. “Why’re you so calm about this? You were all but attacked in my town, an’ I can’t stand the thought of there bein’ ponies who would do that here! It just ain’t right!” He started to pace and she backed up against the counter, having no intention of interrupting. This was the very thing she’d come to Appleloosa for. “This is such a nice town, an’ I wanted you to see it that way again. But I got so nervous cause I know there’s a lot of things goin’ wrong here. An’ I wanna tell you about it, I do, you deserve it for reachin’ out like this. But how do I do that? These are my kin. I can’t just tell you this pony or that pony’s about to go off the deep end, after so many years of makin’ ‘em smile an’ takin’ care of their foals. It’s like everypony’s starting to turn into a different pony.” He turned back to her, their muzzles barely an inch apart. His eyes were widely cast nets, trying to catch the barest shadow of an answer. “How’re you doing it?” he asked. “I need to know.” Rarity smiled and lifted her nose until the tip of hers tickled his. His ears snapped up and his tail flicked behind him. Without giving him time to think, she sauntered away, heading for the back porch. She turned back and noticed Braeburn watching her, his eyes wide and his neck held straight. He was rapt with attention, hanging on every word she said. He must have been in such a state to be turning to her for advice. It frightened her. Her tail flicked again and she looked away. She wasn’t used to being a role model for anypony but her sister, and she had no intention of building up an undeserved reputation here. She decided to start by bursting his bubble early. “I’ll admit without shame that I was scared that night, Braeburn, for the few seconds I found myself in a room alone and quite defenseless with a strange pony. They belittled me, or at least tried to, but that wasn’t the worst part. I learned in Canterlot and Manehattan that ponies can be unnecessarily cruel and downright treacherous when it comes to their own desires. The way they stare at you and gawk, whispering to each other. The way they mark you and turn up their noses, the way they look at you and say ‘you don’t belong.’ I tried to fit in in Canterlot, and I tried to fit in at Manehattan, but both places had ponies who had a very specific idea of which ponies went where and what they should do. That was the horrible part; the idea that you didn’t even deserve to be a part of the circle, whether at its nadir or its zenith. Not belonging can kill a pony.” Braeburn’s flanks slumped nearly to the floor, and she knew from the way he kept his gaze locked on the floor that he felt guilty for arousing such feelings in her. It made her heart skip a beat, wondering if she was going too far… But if this town was suffering, how could she go back to her little bubble life and pretend she hadn’t come out here for anything more than to ogle Applejack’s cousin? “I do not feel like I belong here, Braeburn. I know it’s only been a few days, but I… I can see it. I can feel it. That my mere presence aroused such miscreant behavior is proof positive that somehow, my being here is dangerous.” Braeburn pulled off his hat and looked up at her. She held his gaze with the same authority as in the party. “I think you knew that. Didn’t you?” His gaze slid like oil back to the ground. “I wanted to keep it from you, but I didn’t at the same time,” he said, his voice crackling like dry leaves. “I hoped last night things’d go so well it might cover up what was goin’ on an’ I wouldn’t have to say it. Downright deceptive of me, I know. But you sent that letter sayin’ you were comin’, an’ I… I didn’t want you to see Appleloosa like this. I didn’t know what to do, so I… I tried doin’ nothin’, I guess. I tried to keep you an’ the town away from each other. Away from… me.” But was that for my sake, or Appleloosa’s? Rarity thought, and she instantly berated herself. He had loved this town long before he had even heard her name. Her hooves wobbled of their own accord when she realized that; she felt like she teetered on a tightrope. “You’re a glitzy pony, Rarity, an’ I mean that in the best possible way. Ponyville’s a big strange city to us folk, an’ names like Canterlot an’ Manehattan are daydreams. It’s all so… weird, I guess. Things are big out here, but they’re empty too. Lotsa space for a pony to roam an’ think. To do their own thing. The big cities are so crowded, we just assume everypony’s always messin’ with each other somehow. Can’t avoid it when there’s so many of ‘em. Folks think anypony from where you’ve been from has gotta be… well…” “A meddler?” Rarity supplied. “I was accused of being as such. I’m astounded I remember it with such clarity.” “I’m sorry,” Braeburn gasped, breathless. “Stuff like that ain’t supposed to happen here. I just want everypony to be happy.” Even his mane drooped. “Oh,” she whispered, “you’re just like Pinkie Pie. Come here, you.” She trotted over and embraced him, feeling him neither tense up or relax, mumbling something incomprehensible that might have been another half-hearted apology, stuck between stock and sincerity. He felt like a wooden board in her grip. To remove the awkwardness she started talking again. “My dear Braeburn, I don’t want to belittle yours or any other town, but very few cities have a grasp on what life in Ponyville is like.” She pulled away, walked to the the back door and pushed it open. The sun was miserably far across the sky; she’d slept away half the day and then ate up the rest fixing Apple Tart’s mane to distract herself from the hangover. Oh well, it wasn’t as if she was missing dressmaking time. Wait. That’s exactly what she was doing. Best keep talking and not think about it. “Ponyville is one of the friendliest towns in all of Equestria. Growing up there has taught me more about life than anything I could have learned in Manehattan or Canterlot, as much as I believed otherwise. The ponies in Ponyville are loving, kind, accepting… a little hysterical at times, and often quite prone to following the leader. I blame Pinkie Pie for her song and dance.” “Heh, I still remember that one,” said Braeburn, rubbing the back of his head. “But most of all I have friends there. Not just ‘friends,’ Braeburn. Those friends are the kind of pony you see somewhat often and generally don’t wish bad things upon them. I mean true friends who never abandon you for anything. Knowing that they are still there, waiting for me, no matter how bad my own life gets… that is what gives me strength.” Braeburn’s sigh was familiar to her. It was a sigh that carried weariness and frustration. He had things he wanted to say and no words that would suffice. “Appleloosa was like that not too long ago. Listen, Rarity…” “Braeburn—” He threw his head to one side, knocking her interruption out of the air. “Please. Just lemme say it. I’m sorry. Okay? I put you in this situation.” “I came of my own accord—” “I know, I know. But I coulda said somethin’. I coulda warned you or just told you to stay away. But I let you walk out there an’ run right into our troubles without a hint or nothin’, an’ then I just left you high an’ dry. But I told you, Rarity… I love this place. I love these ponies. Seein’ ‘em like this… it’d hurt you too, you know? What if your friends started actin’ all beastly? Wouldn’t you wanna keep ‘em safe from their own shame?” Images flashed in her head of buildings floating upside down over checkered hills and polka-dot trees. Grey, washed out ponies wearing her friends’ skin sneered at her, and she snarled right back while a mishmash creature laughed at them all. They'd said awful things. Hurtful things. Things that pierced her deeper than anything Bonny could hurl at her. She came to with a quick flick of her mane, passing it off as a nervous tic. Braeburn’s lips were still moving and sound gradually caught up with them again. “—an’ I just couldn’t let you see ‘em like that. I wanted to fix it an’ hide it at the same time. I—” “Stop,” she said. “Just… stop.” She walked forward and grabbed his hoof, not letting him pull away, though he tried to in surprise. “Braeburn, you weren’t entirely honest with me. That is all right. You are under stress. But please, no more dishonoring my good intentions. I want to help. I did help. I am helping. I am trying to be a friend to Appleloosa.” He gulped. “Tell me what is wrong,” she said, in that iron voice coated in velvet she’d learned in Canterlot. She’d heard the Princesses use it more than once. Braeburn stared at their joined hooves. “Bona Fide’s got reason to be angry,” he whispered. “There’ve been more outside ponies comin’ around than usual. Out-of-towners like you. Appleloosa’s gettin’ bigger, Rarity. Like a buffalo ready for his first stampede. Ponies wanna steer where this place goes, they wanna… get their hooves all over it. All over what we’ve made.” Is that how you feel, Bonny? Rarity wondered. Like you helped make this place? Make Braeburn? “What sorts of ponies?” Braeburn chuffed, studying their joined hooves intently. Why did he do that, Rarity wondered? Contemplating him and her, in this room, or something about the act itself? “Oh, ponies with big names an’ bigger egos. Rich, Rail Gauge an’ Co., a few big plantations from Dodge Junction are joinin’ the fun. Heck, even some quacks callin’ themselves Flim an’ Flam with their big fancy steam machines swung by not long ago. Bonny’s fit to be tied, along with a lot of other important ponies in this town. They want us left alone. Some of us like the new attention. Think it’ll do us good. That’s where I’ve been all this time, you know… listenin’ to arguments. Complaints.” “And you’ve heard so many you don’t know what to think anymore, except you want everypony back the way they were.” Braeburn nodded. Rarity’s mind flew back to the times when she was in Canterlot during Fancypants' party, wishing to be with her friends, but ashamed of their behavior at the same time. Not certain whether to laugh or cry, whether to put them in a box or hold them up and scream at the top of her lungs that she was not ashamed. Her hoof began to pull away, but this time it was Braeburn who stopped her. “You can help,” he said. “I can,” she said, “and I will.” The thought made her shiver. “Now that,” Braeburn said with a smile, “is somethin’ I can believe.” The grip of his hoof tightened, and she knew she was stuck.