Chapter Three
Stupid, Sexy Applejack
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Golden Harvest owned a grand total of three outfits. There was the black veiled hat she had worn to the funeral of her great aunt Rutabaga. There was a scandalously lacy affair she had purchased from Rarity some time ago, and that one was quite inappropriate for going out in public. She had worn it precisely once, in front of a mirror, by herself, and it had since then been buried deep in the darkest corner of her closet. And there was her devil costume for Nightmare Night. She briefly wondered why she owned so much black.
It wasn't as though she cared what Applejack would think of what she was wearing. That would be ridiculous, because she didn't care what Applejack thought of her at all. She just wanted to look nice because... because that was who she was. Golden Harvest was a pony that looked nice. Looking nice was something that came with being a carrot farmer. Carrots could tell when the pony that was growing them was a classy pony. If a pony looked nice, classiness particles would radiate off her body and make the soil more arable. It was proven science.
She couldn't dress up while she was doing her gardening, of course, because she would get dirt on her nice black hat. So she had to make up for it by looking nice other times, like going out to the theater with Applejack.
By going out, she of course didn't mean going out. Because that was not what this was at all. Even if she wanted it to mean that—which she definitely didn't—it didn't mean going out going out, because Pinkie was going to be there, too. Golden Harvest was really only going because she knew how disappointed Pinkie would be if she went to the play with one less friend than she had been planning to go with. Everypony knew how touchy Pinkie got when things didn't go according to plan. She would enchant dolls and cause riots. Or was she mixing her up with somepony else?
Golden Harvest figured it was best not to leave it to chance, so she was going to the play with Applejack. And Pinkie. Both of them, which made it not a date. Of course it wasn't a date; she had a coltfriend. A coltish coltfriend. Who was a colt. Well, no, he was a stallion; she didn’t date young colts, ew. But she did date a stallion, who was her coltfriend.
A knock on her door caused Golden Harvest to yelp in surprise. She hastily secured the nearest outfit and scrambled to open her door. “I have a coltfriend,” she said.
Applejack stood on the porch, blinking. “Good for you,” she said. She wasn't wearing anything but her hat—the tramp—and Pinkie Pie bounced in place a few paces behind. She cleared her throat. “Uh, you ready to go?”
Golden Harvest nodded, but Applejack didn't move. She frowned skeptically as she looked at the top of Golden Harvest's head. “You know you've got some lacy underthings hangin' from your hat?”
Golden Harvest was almost certainly not wearing lingerie on her head over top of her funeral hat. She knew this because that would be embarrassingly silly if she were, and she would probably collapse into an immobile singularity of blushing shame. Since she remained fully intact and upright, there was only one reasonable conclusion.
“It's called a veil,” she said, brushing past Applejack. “Ponies in Canterlot all wear hats with veils.”
“That so?” Applejack shook her head and turned to follow. “I swear, I ain't never gonna understand this fashion stuff...”
It was a long way to the theater. No longer than it was to pretty much anywhere else in Ponyville, mind, but it felt like a long way. Applejack walked in front because she was bossy and had control issues and also she knew where the theater was. Pinkie Pie stayed in the back because waving to everypony she saw slowed her down some. This left Golden Harvest in the middle. Right in the middle of an apple pie sandwich. An apple pie sandwich sounded like one of those things that sounded weird the first time you heard of it, but might be worth trying at least once because who knows, it might be good.
What wasn't good was the way Applejack walked in front of her. Golden Harvest wished she would just walk like a normal pony. Well, Applejack did walk like a normal pony, for the most part, but there was something a little bit different that really bugged Golden Harvest. Her tail swung too much. Not that Golden Harvest watched a lot of ponies' tails as they were walking. She wasn't a perv. But she was pretty sure that if she did watch the way most mares swung their tails when they walked, she would find that Applejack swung hers more. It was probably because her legs were too strong. All of that tree-kicking made the muscles in her hindquarters so firm and toned that it made her tail swing too much when she walked.
Why did the weatherponies have to make this time of year so hot?
Golden Harvest adjusted the black lacy straps of her hat. Why did Applejack have to be so frustrating, with her swinging tail and sculpted haunches and perfect freckles? It was going to give ponies the mistaken impression that Golden Harvest was a filly-fooler, the way Applejack was all but flirting with her with every step. Golden Harvest was not a filly-fooler. She had a coltfriend.
At least Pinkie Pie was there with them, so nopony would think this was some kind of date.
“This is the best date ever!” Pinkie exclaimed.
Golden Harvest and Applejack both turned their heads to look at Pinkie.
Pinkie held a small, sugary brown fruit in her hoof. “No date could ever top this one!” she declared. She popped it in her mouth and spat out the pit. “Except for maybe this one!” Pinkie took another date out of her saddlebag and glanced up at her two companions. “Want one?”
Applejack smiled and shook her head. “Best finish those before we get there, Pinkie. They don't allow food or drink in the theater.”
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Golden Harvest liked the play well enough. It was about a mare that really disliked some stallion, and spent the whole play complaining about him, but in the end it turned out that she was actually falling for him the whole time, and all her anger was just misplaced denial. It was really cheesy—no real pony was that out of touch with her own feelings—but other than that, Golden Harvest felt like she could really connect with the protagonist.
Maybe it was because the male lead looked just like her coltfriend. Which was weird, because she knew it couldn't possibly have been him because he'd said something about having a gig tonight. Or was it tomorrow night? No, Golden Harvest remembered, it was every night this weekend, which was exactly how long the play was running. Funny coincidence, that. But she was sure he wouldn't have signed up for a part in some play when he knew he had his writing gig at the same time.
It had to have been some actor pony who looked a lot like her coltfriend, because there was a kissing scene at the end between him and the female lead, and yeah, she knew it was fake and all, but this was the kind of thing he would have warned her about, if it had been him. Which it wasn't. If it was him, he was in trouble. But it wasn’t him, she was sure.
Of course, she would have been more sure if she could have paid attention to the play instead of being distracted by Applejack talking all the time. Well, she didn't actually talk during the play, but she laughed. She had a very distracting laugh. It was like a babbling mountain brook tumbling over mossy stones. Granted, Applejack only laughed her distracting laugh during the funny parts, when most everypony else was also laughing, but Applejack's laugh was way more distracting than anypony else's.
What a herd animal, only laughing when other ponies were laughing. Golden Harvest wasn't like that. She was her own pony; she didn't let the herd decide when she could laugh. She made a point to laugh during a scene when nopony else did.
Unfortunately, that happened to be the scene where the protagonist's father had just died, so she stopped laughing pretty quickly. Still, she had proven who was the true free spirit here.
As the applause finally faded after the final close of the curtains, Applejack tipped her hat back onto her head—she'd been keeping it in her lap during the play so as not to block the view of ponies behind her. Golden Harvest had stuffed her hat and its scandalous veil into her saddlebags as soon as she'd had an excuse and didn't plan to take it back out until... never, basically.
“Well, that was pretty good,” Applejack said. “I'm glad you could come along.” She patted Golden Harvest on the shoulder.
All the bodies in this theater made the heat unbearable. They really needed to ventilate the place better. “Y-yeah, I had a great time.”
Golden Harvest jumped as Pinkie Pie patted her and Applejack on the back. The grin on her face would have crowded everypony out of the theater, had it not been contained by her lips. “Well, I've got to get up super early tomorrow for a boating convention, so I'm gonna get out of here, but you two should definitely walk each other home. By moonlight. While a mysterious figure in the distance plays a romantic serenade on her accordion.” Pinkie leaned in close to Golden Harvest's ear. “She's single!” she whispered with a big wink.
Applejack rolled her jaw. “Pinkie, what the hay are you—” By the time she turned her head to face her friend, there was only a Pinkie-shaped dust cloud there and a pink streak leading out the door, leaving giggles echoing in its wake. Applejack shook her head. “That mare sometimes...” She sighed and turned to Golden Harvest. “Well, both our houses are in the same direction, anyway. You wanna get movin', Golden? ...Golden Harvest? Y'alright?”
Golden Harvest wanted very much to get moving, but for some reason her legs had locked themselves in place. The sound that escaped her lips was almost certainly her saying, “Yes, I am fine, thank you for asking. Let's go,” and not something halfway between a whimper and a whinny.
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There was something to be said for the platonic value of long, moonlit walks along quaint cobbled roads while being serenaded by a mysterious accordionist with an oddly familiar voice. It was really an experience wasted on star-crossed lovers that were only interested in the romantic aspects of it. There was so much else to it that a romantic couple would have missed, being so much more interested in each other than they were in their surroundings. Walking home together from a play in the dark hours of the night while the cool summer breezes carried the scent of lilies alongside the gently rising and falling notes of the universally acknowledged second-most-romantic instrument was an excellent opportunity for neighborly bonding. Golden Harvest felt that neighbors should probably do things like this more often.
Not necessarily her and Applejack specifically, just neighbors in general. The world could use more understanding between neighbors, and Golden Harvest felt like she and Applejack gained some degree of understanding on this walk. Applejack was still a horrible pony who was never going to let her grow her carrots in peace, but Golden Harvest now understood that Applejack smelled really nice. She smelled like fresh soil and spring water and sun.
She was so absorbed in her newfound neighborly understanding that she did not realize she was home until Applejack nudged her. “This is your place, hon.”
Golden Harvest looked up. True enough, her home rose above them, the moon's disk peeking over the eaves. She sighed, a little disappointed. Not that she wanted to spend more time walking with Applejack. It was just that the moonlight and the lilies and the accordion were nice. Maybe she would go take another lap around town before bed, just to get a little more of that. “Yeah... this is my place.”
Would it be neighborly to invite her in for drinks? That was a thing neighbors did, wasn't it? Golden Harvest still had plenty of carrot juice. It would go to waste if nopony drank it, and she could only drink so much herself. The more she thought of it, the more Golden Harvest decided it would be a good idea. She definitely should invite Applejack inside her home to sit on the couch together and drink boxes of carrot juice. Platonically. “Would you like to come in and...”
Applejack was already halfway to her own house. She stopped and turned, her ears perking up. “Sorry, didn't catch that,” she called. “What'd you say?”
Golden Harvest shook her head. “N-nothing,” she said. “Good night.”
Applejack smiled and tipped her hat. “Good night, Golden Harvest.” She turned and made her way to the farmhouse. Her tail still swung too much.
Golden Harvest shut her door. She shed her saddlebags by the door and got herself a glass of water. She brushed and flossed her teeth—she was friends with a dentist, after all—and tucked herself into bed.
All things considered, it wasn't really that weird that she dreamed of kissing Applejack that night. Dreams were just your brain throwing together random things from your day. Except when they were magical prophetic dreams, or if Princess Luna was trying to mess with your head. This wasn't one of those cases, though, it was just a regular dream. One where instead of watching the play, she was the protagonist. And instead of kissing a male lead who looked like her coltfriend, she kissed Applejack. It all made sense, really, in a dream-logic sort of way. It didn't mean anything. She wasn't into mares, she had a coltfriend.
A coltfriend she intended to have words with over lunch tomorrow.
Next Chapter:
Chapter Four
Stupid Coltfriend"Hey. Let's still be friends, okay?"