Big Mac sat up with a grunt, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a greasy foreleg. He’d been out here in the mid morning sun trying to repair the front axle on the Apple family’s largest cart for hours. It was a weary, laborious work that required dexterity, strength, and patience. It was his favorite kind of work.
He arched his back to try and work out the kink in his shoulder, smiling all the while. The cool fall breeze ruffled through his mane, sending his unkempt, sweat-dappled locks to dance about. He’d been looking forward to this chore all week, and he was going to spend as much time as it took to get it done right.
Like any properly made investment, the amount of time it took to do a job well would always pay off in the end. Whether it was raising a barn, plowing a field, or harvesting apples. He had cleared off his schedule long in advance of this task some weeks ago because getting this right was going to take time.
Most folks wouldn’t look forward to such a task, in fact most of the ponies he knew would pay somepony else to repair a broken axle. Or barring that, get a unicorn to give it a quick patch up with that magic of theirs, before hauling it down to the dealer for a trade in. But not Big Mac. He wasn’t most ponies, and this wasn’t most carts.
He pulled his workshop rag out of his rusty old tool box and and wiped down before giving the inverted cart bed a loving pat. Gently, he traced a hoof over the old outline of a carved heart and the two sets of initials within. His parent’s initials.
Typically the initials were covered by the cart’s bolster, where the front axle was secured to the cart, but he used the custom made ratchet set grandfather Apple made long ago to remove the non-standard bolts and get at the planks. Protected as they were beneath the bolster, the old carving had withheld the march of time and near constant wear on the old cart, a timeless testament to the love his parents shared for each other, even before they were married.
He chuckled to himself, remembering the tale Granny told them about the day when Pa carved that heart into the old cart. About how grandfather Apple was so mad that he couldn’t form sentences, resorting instead to screaming gibberish at his lovestruck son. About how Pa couldn’t sit down for a week after what Granny called The Whoopin’ of The Ages.
His smile slid back into his neutral profile as he turned away from cart bed and towards the broken bolster. It was made of three parts. The first was an inch thick square metal plate, about a foot long on each side, with four threaded holes in the corners for the bolts that connected it to the cart bed. The second was the rotating doughnut shaped disk, also made of metal which had two parallel heavy gage rings welded to it for the cart’s axle to slide through. The third was the custom made bearing that mated the other two parts together. It was what let the disk slide to the left or to the right when Big Mac pulled the cart.
He held the bolster and gave the disk a half turn, frowning when it ground to a halt midway through the action. That it refused to budge for him, even with his raw strength, was a bad sign. Getting a replacement bearing built in time for the big party in town tonight would set him back a pretty bit.
He set it down on the inverted cart bed and turned to his tool box to fish out the last tool his Pa made. The one that would separate the disk from the bolster’s base. Pa was always great at making tools for use around the farm. And he always named his inventions. ‘The Churnatron.’ ‘The Huskomatic.’ ‘The Brick-A-Buck.’ He had quite the imagination. Though he… He passed before he could name this one.
One by one he pulled them out and set them down on his portable work bench, a fine and sturdy thing that Apple Bloom made for him as a gift last Hearth’s Warming Eve. It’s construction was solid and it’s surface was always level, no matter the incline it sat on.
Big Mac had no idea how that worked.
That girl was some kinda wizard, but for gadgets and gizmos. A tinkerer through and through. Pa would have been proud. He tried so hard to listen to Apple Bloom’s explanation when she surprised him with it. Something to do with gyrosprings or magnetic pulleys, but it all went over his head. Her rapid fire delivery didn’t help him much, but he was content to smile and nod all the same.
Workbench. Always level. Gift from his all-but grown up baby sister. Got it.
Finally he came to the small cloth pouch at the bottom of the tool box that held the unnamed tool for the job. With a soft tap of a hoof on the brake, he locked his portable workbench in place and pulled the bizarre looking tool out of it’s pouch. It looked like a metal crab claw on the end of a whisk.
Big Mac set the crazy tool on the cart bed next to the bolster and just stared at the two of them as he absentmindedly hoofed his other tools back into the toolbox. Soon there was just the crab claw whisk and the doughnut disk.
He had absolutely no idea how the two went together. Did the claw pull the disk off the bearing in some way? What the hay was the whisk part for? Was it a handle? It was probably the most comically incompatible pairing of parts he’d ever seen.
Until Princess Twilight appeared next to him in a puff of purple smoke.
Twilight Sparkle was not a happy pony. She was anxious. Nervous. And she was out of time.
It was her birthday, and she was supposed to be relaxing. But instead, here she was, conscious and out of the library at the crack of eleven. Which, in her royal opinion, was way too early on a Friday morning. And for what? To win a bet? Since when did she care about bets?
She frowned at her shadow, and shook her head before looking up and around to take in her surroundings. Sweet Apple Acres. Okay, good, so even though she was dangerously under-caffeinated and strangely uncomfortable in her favorite sundress, she still had excellent control over her teleportation spell.
Twilight wiped a hoof across her face vigorously, trying to rub the mascara out of her right eye. She hated the stuff. Never used it. But after reading through the twelve volume set of Courting for the Modern Mare, there was no getting around it. If she was going to win this stupid bet, she needed to-
“Ms. Twilight?”
The voice was strong and concerned, and although she’d heard him speak many times over the few years of their friendship, butterflies appeared in her stomach nonetheless.
“Oh, ha ha. Big Mac. Funny seeing you here. At home. Where you live.” She winced at her rambling start, “Having a good day?”
Big Mac looked at her, and she at him. At length, he decided. “Eeyup.”
Twilight smiled broadly and turned to face him fully, answering “Great!”
He nodded, and then turned away from her, much to her dismay, and picked up a metal thing that looked like the unholy union of a pair of pruning shears and a whisk.
She watched him work in silence, observing the thing from all angles. Pulling here, twisting there. She had no idea what in the wide wide world of Equestria he was doing. And judging by the look of utter concentration on his face, she was pretty certain that he didn’t know what he was doing either.
“What’s that?”
“A tool.”
“Huh. What’s it called?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
Silence reigned over them once more, and Twilight watched as he set down the unknown tool, and picked up something a bit more familiar to her. A cart bolster, if her Cropular Mechanic’s manual was worth its salt. An old one too; cast iron by the looks of it. She watched as he turned with his other forehoof until it suddenly locked up with a grinding noise that rattled her teeth.
She wrapped it up in a purple aura and took it out of his hooves, inspecting it as it floated in front of her. With a small burst of will, she removed the doughnut shaped bearing guard, and inspected the bearing.
“Well there’s your problem,” she said with a quick glance at Big Mac’s dower expression, “The bearing’s rusted.”
She pumped a bit of magic into the old bearing, summoning up a simple Fit It spell, to undo the damage from the rust. “There,” she said cheerfully, floating the reassembled piece over to Big Mac, who stared at it… longingly? Weird.
She watched as he squirted mineral oil into the bolster’s cracks and crevices before gently placing it over an old carving that she couldn’t make out in time. Slowly, painstakingly, she watched him ratchet a bolt back in place, sundering the otherwise placid stillness of the morning air with it’s awful ratchety noises.
C-C-C-CRICK
C-C-C-CRICK
C-C-C-CRICK
When he finished the first, she sighed with relief, happy the awful sound was gone. Then he started working on the next one. She fought to keep the smile on her face as he worked through the bolt. Grunting with effort, the bolt was secured tightly on the last turn.
C-C-C-CRICK
It was when he began to prep the third bolt, that she realized that she had to get him to stop, or she wouldn’t be held accountable for her actions.
“So,” she said breaking the silent armistice between them, “Big Mac. There’s uh… Something I wanted to ask you…”
He looked at her with a blank expression, as he continued to ratchet the third bolt.
C-C-C-CRICK
“You know, we’ve known each other for years and I-”
C-C-C-CRICK
“ell it’s my birthday today, and I was hoping that w-”
C-C-C-CRICK
Twilight let out a sudden scream. Sudden for Big Mac, but for the poor princess, it had been building up for far too long. Her horn glowed white. In the blink of an eye the upturned cart and the unattended axle blinked out of existence. Leaving a very startled looking Big Mac holding an empty ratchet.
A heartbeat later, and the cart -the largest and oldest working cart in the Apple family’s possession- reappeared, upright and fully assembled ten feet away and in line with the other carts sitting in front of the barn.
Twilight was grinning maniacally. And frothing a bit at the mouth. She was triumphant, finally free of the audible tyranny of Big Mac’s… Where was Big Mac?
She looked around, and eventually spotted him out of the corner of her puffy right eye. Was he hiding behind his work bench? Was her bloodcurdling scream and burst of magic a bit too much? She laughed nervously, brushing a clump of unbrushed mane out from in front of her muzzle before planting her rump on the ground.
“Big Mac, can we talk?”
At first he neither moved, nor spoke. But then, slowly and carefully, he pulled himself out of his portable hiding place. Then he nodded.
This is it! she thought, as the butterflies in her stomach resurfaced. She took a deep breath before continuing. “Big Mac. We’ve known each other for a long time. And for many years I’ve considered you a wonderful friend.”
Big Mac nodded again, “The feeling’s mutual, yer highness.”
She nodded this time, reciting the speech she had memorized and written out ahead of time “You’re a tall, strapping stallion, who’s an excellent provider for those he cares about. And according to my metrics… I… uh…”
Her voice faltered, and her words trembled in her throat as Big Mac locked eyes with her. Those… big green pools that she could just fall into. Her own eyes traced down the imposing stallion standing before her, as she continued to marble her words together, until she reached his hooves. Those… massive hooves that could squash her like a bug… “T-think we should move b-beyond friendsh-ship, and…”
Oh Celestia, what am I doing?
“I… Can help you with your taxes?” she asked him as much as she asked herself.
The mask of ignorance lifted off of Big Mac’s features and he smiled. His broad shoulders sagged in what looked like relief before he rebounded. “Well shoot, Princess, that’s right neighborly of you! I’ve been worried ‘bout the upcomin’ audit somethin’ fierce, ever since we got the notice in the mail.”
“Wait, audit?” asked a now worried Twilight.
He walked past the perplexed purple pony and headed towards the farmhouse. “Come on in and grab a cider before we start.”
Twilight blinked as her head followed the earth pony stallion, humming merrily to himself as he pranced up the porch stairs and into his home.
She sat there on the hard packed dirt, blinking. Those were the most words, in a row, that Big Mac had ever said to her, ever. She let out a defeated lungful of air, and slumped after him.
She failed to get a special somepony, again! That was the fifth stallion in as many days! And instead of getting a date for her birthday party, she’s out here doing taxes!
Oh well, she figured with a sigh, at least I’m mostly familiar with the Equestrian Tax code.
As far as silver linings go, that one didn’t make up for gloomy cloud that hung over her head. She was grumpy for waking up so early. She felt guilty for putting Big Mac in an awkward situation. Her sundress was still uncomfortable. And she was miffed that she was on track to lose one hundred bits.
-One Week Earlier-
“I’m telling you, he was checking me out!” insisted Rainbow Dash.
Three mares sat around a small wrought iron table with marble finishing and an opaque glass top in the sunroom of Ponyville’s fanciest local café, Le Seau de Foin. It was Rarity’s suggestion.
“Oh please, Rainbow Dash,” said Rarity with a dainty roll of the eyes. “You think that all the stallions are ‘checking you out.’ Also, please eat over your plate. Otherwise you’ll get powdered sugar all over your freshly pressed uniform.”
“No I won’t,” mumbled Rainbow Dash through a mouthful of beignet, before swallowing. Then, as deftly as she could, brushed the sugar off the gilded lapel of her dress uniform.
“Also,” she added, “they are too checking me out.”
“Mmm? What about the cashier at the theatre this morning?”
“You two were there,” the young wonderbolt insisted. “You saw it!”
“While he was taking your order from the concession stand? Really?” asked Rarity flatly.
“Really!” she insisted, gesturing with her forehooves rapidly. “I’m like some kinda magnet, but for stallions, instead of whatever magnets are attracted to.”
“Ferrous metals,” offered Twilight who chewed loudly, while floating another forkful of salad into her mouth.
“Twilight? Do be a dear and try to show some decorum? You are a Princess after all,” chided the fashionista.
Twilight finished chewing in silence with her mouth closed, but shot a glare at her overly fussy friend. Then she dabbed her muzzle with a lacy napkin before opening her mouth to speak again. “Well, excuse me for trying to multitask.”
“One needn’t multitask at brunch. It is intended to be a leisurely repast, perfect for idle conversation and,” she added with a dismissive glance at the almost empty plate sitting before Twilight. “Small bites.”
Rainbow Dash looked at her own bare plate with a little frown. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the concierge standing at his little podium on the other side of the restaurant. “Hay, can I get a little more repast up in here?” she shouted, holding up her plate and pointing at it repeatedly.
Rarity pulled her friend’s hoof down with her own, catching the plate in a pillow her light blue magic. Nervously, she laughed and waved away the flustered concierge. “Oh, Rainbow you are such a kidder. Ah. Ha ha... Ha.”
The Wonderbolt Lieutenant yanked her hoof out of Rarity’s grasp and huffed as she settled down into her seat. “Why do we come here? They hate us here, and they never bring enough food.”
“I have some extra rolls, if you want them,” said Twilight as she floated the basket over to her forlorn friend.
Rainbow Dash took the basket in hoof and threw a roll down her maw, chewing noisily. At the same time, she tore open a second roll and liberally slathered it in butter. Rarity said nothing but her disapproval was apparent as she swigged back the remainder of her rosette.
A stallion in a cummerbund and matching bow tie approached the table and filled Twilight’s water glass. She smiled at him and he nodded before trotting over to the other side of the table.
As he poured water into Rainbow Dash’s empty cup, she threw an elbow over her chair, leaned back, and looked up at him.
“Hay,” she said.
He offered a sheepish grin. “Uh, hi,” he said with a gravely pop to his voice.
“How’s it goin’?” she asked him with a wink.
He stopped pouring her water and took a step back. “Fine, thanks,” he answered with a polite nod before trotting off to fill glasses at another table. A table all the way on the other side of the restaurant.
“See?!” said Rainbow Dash to her two friends, pointing at the rapidly retreating figure.
“See what?” asked Twilight.
“He was totally checking me out the whole time he was filling my water glass!”
“He was?” she asked, sharing a look with the equally puzzled Rarity.
“Totally. What did I tell you? Stallion Magnet,” crowed Rainbow Dash proudly.
“Or maybe,” Twilight pondered, “He’s never seen a Wonderbolt up close before. I don’t think you wore your uniform the last time we were here.”
“Nah, that’s not it. I’ve seen that look before. He wants the D,” she said, puffing out her chest and stretching out her wings like a peacock.
“The D?” asked Twilight disgustedly.
“Dash,” she said pointing at herself in earnest. “The ‘D’ stands for Dash.” Then, smacking her dry, breadcrumb covered lips together, she reached down and grabbed her glass of water.
“Oh, please,” muttered Rarity into her empty wine glass. “Like you’re even interested in stallions.”
Rainbow Dash coughed and sputtered, spitting water everywhere. Rarity clearly anticipated the response, as she already had a protective magical bubble up and ready. Twilight had no such precaution ready and instead pouted, with measurable sadness, at the spit upon remains of her half eaten salad.
“Of course I like stallions! Who said otherwise?” she demanded to know, peering around the room. “Was it Applejack? It was Applejack, wasn’t it?”
“No, darling. I’ve known you for years now. A lady can just tell.”
“What, so because I haven’t had time for a relationship, suddenly I’m not interested in stallions? Well what about you? When’s the last time you went on a date with a guy? Or are you not interested in stallions?
Rarity stomped a hoof and practically shouted under her breath at the smug mare across the table from her. “Of course I’m interested in stallions, and they’re interested in me.” Regaining her level-headedness, she continued, “Why I’ll have you know I had a gentlecolt caller come courting just yesterday.”
“Didn’t Spike visit you yesterday to help you with your garbage disposal?” asked Twilight absentmindedly, as she tried to flag down a waiter for a dessert menu.
Rainbow Dash flashed Rarity a predatory grin, and the other mare tried her best to pointedly ignore it. “Gentlecolt caller, eh?”
“Spike counts!” Rarity said with a huffy whine. “Though, I did hear through the grapevine that Fancy Pants is back on the market, as it were. How Fleur could leave him, I’ll never know. Perhaps I should invite him to your party next week, Twilight.”
Twilight, having given up on any of the wait staff visiting their abandoned little corner of service industry purgatory ever again, nodded helpfully.
“Why bother?” asked Rainbow. “We’ve all know how it’s gonna go down. First you’ll invite him, then you’ll make yourself crazy trying to make everything perfect, and finally it’ll all end in song and dance before you two agree to ‘just be friends’ for what, the third time now?”
“That’s quite enough, Rainbow Dash,” cautioned the unicorn through grit teeth.
“At least have the self respect to stop barking up the wrong fish in the sea.”
Twilight shook her head at her technicolored friend, “I think you’re mixing your metaph—”
“A contest then,” egged on Rarity. “First mare to introduce the other to her new beau wins?”
“Oh yeah, you’re on! If I win, you gotta wear a burlap sack for a whole week!” jeered Rainbow Dash, leaning on the table across from her new rival.
“And if I win, you have to get a hooficure!” roared back Rarity, who also rose to the occasion, butting heads with the Wonderbolt.
“And if I win, then I get to pick the next place we go to brunch!” shouted Twilight, standing up like all the cool kids at the table.
Rarity and Rainbow Dash stared back at their royal friend in awkward silence. An awkward silence that lingered a bit, before shattering into a dozen raucous pieces, as Rainbow Dash doubled over laughing.
Rarity frowned at her pegasus counterpart before looking back with growing concern. “Twilight, love. Do you even… That is to say, can… Well what I mean is… Rainbow Dash, darling, get ahold of yourself and help me explain to Twilight here what I’m trying to say.”
Rainbow dropped back into her seat, still giggling, waving her hooves to try and pull herself together. She was failing miserably.
Twilight slumped into her seat. “What?” she asked with a pout, “I bet any stallion would be dying to date m—”
Rainbow Dash fell out of her chair and rolled around on the floor, laughing hysterically. “Stop! Haha, stop! You’re killing me!”
Twilight sat at the table wearing a rather significant glower as she waited for her friend to get her wits about her. Rarity, who wasn’t willing to let Rainbow Dash ruin her reputation in this establishment any further, kicked her. Repeatedly. Not too hard. Just hard enough to get the point across.
“Ha ha h-OOF!”
Okay, so she kicked her harder than all that.
Slowly, the Wonderbolt climbed back into her chair, rubbing her ribs. “Twilight,” she started, “You’re a Princess! You’re like, the definition of untouchable. Who could be good enough for you? I mean, you don’t see guys lining up for Celestia or Luna.”
“But Cadence and Shining Armo—”
“Eh, they don’t count,” waved away Rainbow Dash dismissively, “and you know it.”
“Bu—”
“Twilight, I’d like to ask you something and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” said Rarity as she gave her royal friend a reassuring pat of her hoof. “Are you even interested in dating and what that… Entails?”
Twilight blushed, “I’ve read about… that.”
“And?” encouraged Rarity.
“And, I think so?” asked Twilight.
Rainbow Dash, having regained her composure, cocked her head at that. “You think so? Like you’re not sure? What’s there not to be sure of? Wait, wait, wait, are you interested in stallions or mares?”
“Maybe?” asked Twilight again.
Rainbow Dash sat there and nodded, “Okay. Okay, cool.” Then she turned to look at Rarity. “If she’s in I wanna put money down on this.”
“Wait, why would my being in on this make you want to bet mon—”
“One hundred bits?” asked Rarity, offering her hoof across the table.
Rainbow took it gladly, “One hundred bits.”
Both mares stopped short of shaking, and turned to look at the flustered Princess. She stared back. Finally, Twilight nodded in determination and stretched out her hoof to meet the others.
“One hundred bits,” she said uneasily.
“No!” declared the young princess, slamming her hoof down on the Apple family dining room table. Twilight would not lose this bet! This was not just about the money. This was about personal pride.
A visibly shaken Big Mac, sitting across from her at the table, looked up from his paperwork. His face fixed in a look of pitiable confusion. The sort of look a dog might give their owner whenever there was a holiday involving fireworks. A look that said, I think I can trust you, but just to be safe I must ask you not to kill me, please.
“Uh…” he started, “Y’all right there, Princess?”
Twilight flipped her hair back and looked at Big Mac with her red puffy eyes. “Yes, Big Mac, I’m fine, why do you ask?”
For a short eternity, he simply stared back at her, unblinking. “You uh… ya just shouted ‘no’ and hit mah table.”
“Did I? Weird,” she said, looking down at the hoof shaped divot in the otherwise immaculate table.
He smiled nervously at her, and she smiled right back at him.
This is it, she thought to herself as she felt the sudden onset of butterflies in her stomach, time to turn book smarts into applied success. She leaned forward, and batted her eyes, suggestively.
Big Mac leaned back. “Somethin’ a matter with yer eyes ma’am?” he asked nervously, “Ain’t contagious, is it?” his throat ached from all this talking. “I can’t rightly afford ta get sick, what with the last harvest coming u—“
Twilight rolled her eyes with a groan and turned away from the great red palooka and scratched at the spot on her flank where her dress was the itchiest. This is going to be harder than I thought, isn’t it?
She took another deep, calming breath, and frowned when it didn’t banish the queasy feeling in her stomach. Twilight shook her head in silent self-admonition. She knew she was going about this all wrong. In the last week she’s read over dozen books on the subject of romance (while taking studious notes) ranging from the tepid to the tawdry.
She knew the top ten things that the modern stallion was looking for in an an ideal mate. She’d also done the math to know what she was looking for in a stallion. Really, there couldn’t be much more too this whole ‘getting a date thing’ than running numbers, right?
He had to be tall. That was thing number one. She wasn’t sure how tall she was going to get, but if the other Princesses were any indication, she could count on not needing to use her step ladder again any time soon.
Secondly, he had to appreciate learning new things. Things she could teach him. Smart was a nice-to-have, but nopony likes a know it all.
Third, he had to be gentle. Kind. None of that ‘secretly a villain’ nonsense, thank you very much.
Fourth and finally, he’d have to appreciate magic. Specifically her magic. That was pretty much mandatory since she was the Princess of Magic now.
Yes, Twilight Sparkle knew what she was looking for in a mate. And she knew that she was well above the baseline for the average stallion according to the numerous quizzes she had taken on the subject. Quizzes published in several, reputable, periodicals dedicated to the subject. Periodicals that also came with perfume samples.
But if there was anything that her failures over the last four days had taught her, it was that the trick to this whole ‘dating’ thing was getting the other party to see things her way.
Big Mac shook his head and looked back at the daunting pile of paperwork, thick as his leg and twice as tall, laying in front of him. Bands of his recently rinsed and half-dried blonde mane settled on his cheek. He moved to brush them off and adjust the yoke around his neck.
But it wasn’t there.
He frowned, remembering when Princess Twilight removed it after he stepped out of the wash room, banishing it to parts unknown. Parts that were probably mystical and entirely unreachable by an earth pony such as himself. Then she made him brush his mane.
At the time, she was rambling about the importance of being comfortable when a pony does their taxes. How it makes the math flow better. So long as it flowed at all, he was willing to put up with just about anything.
Just about.
He decided then, as he still felt now, that not arguing with a demigod and/or a licensed tax attorney was probably his safest bet. So instead, he just bore the weight of not having the familiar weight to bear around his neck. It was unnatural and it left him feeling odd. Naked. Well, more so than usual.
He considered the Princess for a moment, in her pretty yellow sun dress, and he wondered if she knew that she was wearing it inside out.
It was pretty clear to him that she was ill. What with her red teary eyes, her itchy flank, and the way her whole face turns candy apple red at a moment’s notice. Still, if she were up for helping with the taxes, he wasn’t going to complain.
The Apples have a rotating system of who does the taxes, and this year it was technically Apple Bloom’s turn to do ‘em, but she wasn’t here. She was out traveling the world, as young ponies tend to do before settling down.
Applejack took to traveling when she was a young’n, too. Went out to Manehatten it was, to find herself. To find her destiny. Which turned out to be back here in Ponyville, so that suited him just fine.
If Apple Bloom’s latest postcard was any indication, she and her friends were off in some distant town on the northern frontier, griffon watching with the locals. She and the other fillies formerly known as the Cutie Mark Crusaders.
They never did come up with a different club name after they finally got them. It just didn’t seem to matter all that much. Poor Apple Bloom was the last to get hers.
Big Mac shook his head in grim remembrance of those two months. Thought it was the end of the world, she did. But in the end her cutie mark appeared, like he always knew it would. And when it did, he was right proud of her. Every Apple was.
Faintly, he heard what sounded like singing from out beyond the open window. He looked up and out to the West, towards the old carrot residence. The one that he had just purchased from their long time neighbor. He was gonna miss the stubborn mare who lived there.
She was a right fine lady with her head on straight and her hooves in the dirt. Pity she was a carrot farmer, but nopony’s perfect. He blinked again and his gaze fell on the tower of paper between him and the frantically writing Princess Twilight. Floating around her head was a cloud of Moon-hexed tax sheets and the deed to the old carrot farm.
He knew that buying the land was the right thing to do. Ms. Harvest, or rather Mrs. Harvest had married and moved to Trottingham last year. It was just sitting there becoming more fallower by the year.
Fallower? Was that a word?
At any rate, he and Granny Smith talked about the land at length. They knew they needed to buy it up before somepony else did. Especially if they didn’t want to have the constant buzzing of bees on both sides of Sweet Apple Acres.
Once they cleared the old fields, he could grow some jonagold apples. Applejack just got a mess of seeds from Aunt Orange up in manehatten and-
“What are you thinking about?” interrupted Twilight, as she floated a number of filled out forms into a much smaller stack next to the tower of remaining forms, receipts, and balance sheets in the center of the table.
He blinked once. Then a second time, and turned his towering head to look at the blushing Princess. Poor gal’s mystery illness must be getting worse.
“Apples,” he said plainly, before he picked up his quill and went back to filling out the form he left half finished.