Too Early, Too Late

by Inkarus


Equestria Keeps Rolling on.

He had stayed in a small lease-house nearer the town, and used up nearly the last of his earnings after paying for the place to buy the time of an amateur young model by the name of Fleur De Lis, just out of fillyhood. It was during that time (Two hours a day, every day for a week) that he made his first sketches of a pony, on the sketchbook he had secretly bought the first time he had ever been paid for his work at Sweet Apple Acres. To boot, they were of Fleur, a mare.

He had been too ashamed, after Applejack's comment, to use a stallion. He wasn't sure if her insult was true or not, but merely aware that "coltcuddler" was a bad term used by schoolfillies, intended to insult and humiliate.

But his first sketches of Fleur were magical; Not the least reason being that when he completed his first sketch, his cutie mark appeared; three brushes of primary colors coming out of a paint palette. He was overjoyed; he wanted to hug somepony! But only Fleur was there, giving him her cool, indifferent stare.

Nopony cares. Nopony cares. Nopony cares.

Slowly, his heart filled with lead. The Apples, the only ponies he could call "family," were gone. He blocked the thoughts out, and puffed out his chest; He was an artist! They didn't matter; Apple who? Psh, he could be proud of his own accomplishments! An artist was SUPPOSED to be a loner! Right? He sent Fleur away for the day. He didn't need a hug, he didn't need to share his discovery, he didn't need a family! He did not, he seemed to discover, need anything at all.

---

"Prairie? Y'all at least owe me an answer!"

"I just wanted to draw him! See my cutie mark? My special talent is art! I never wanted to turn Big Mac into a..." Here, his voice strained a little, trying not to choke up, "... dirty coltcuddler, like me."

Applejack raised her hoof swiftly next to her opposite ear, as if about to backhoof him, but stopped, clearly trying to gather her emotions. She lowered her hoof, as well as her head, her eyes screwed shut.
---

He spent the rest of the day pooring over the sketch, criticizing it, staring at it, screaming at it, cuddling it. The next day, Fleur came to his apartment to find it transformed; He now had a few canvases, an easel, brushes and exactly six tubes of paint. He was also broke, but he painted madly, sometimes holding two or even three brushes at a time with magic, occasionally instructing her to move, or NOT to move, or to look a different way, and before the two hours were done, he had made two full paintings and was halfway done with a third.

She left, poised and elegant as ever, and even as she walked out the door, he sketched her retreating figure in a sustained gesture. When the week was up, he had just enough art to fill a gallery, and realized that he HAD to sell them, or else live on the streets. His lease was up, and he had not even one bit to pay to extend it. He uniformly stacked his canvases in the air, with sketchbook and supplies on top, and headed out of the building with fear in his heart. The afternoon was warm and bustling around him, but his hooves felt cold and stiff. He had somehow found himself alone, again, with nowhere and nopony to turn to. He didn't know were he was heading, and worse, he wasn't watching where he was going, when-

BAM!

He met Rarity with a headbutt to the face; His paintings went everywhere, and her cargo, which he soon realized were silky, fine fabrics, followed suit in chaos. They both squealed in horror, but manners came to mind first, and they both fell over themselves apologizing, attempting to gather the others' precious belongings, when Rarity suddenly let out a squeal of a different pitch; Amazement.

---

"Y'all really think that's what this is about?" Applejack's voice was almost level, but a measure of testiness was clear under the surface. She raised her head to look him square in the eye, and hers red with suppressed emotion, much to his shock. "Y'all really think I'm still concerned that yer a," and here she seemed to spit the word, "coltcuddler? You think THAT'S why I'm so steamin' mad?"

He simply stared at her; Now, he was beginning to wonder if he should have asked her to explain why she wanted to talk to him. His head still didn't want to accept that this was happening at all, and instead decided this was the perfect moment to be taking a nice trip down memory lane.