//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 - In Hot Water // Story: The Stone // by Martian //------------------------------// Jazz Apple poked her head out the door of the farmhouse, her greying mane a messy tumble and one pale yellow cheek sporting a dusting of flour. From the doorway came the sound of bustle and general business as yet more food was being prepared. It might be true that less than an hour has passed since the lunch banquet had been packed up, but that was no reason to get complacent: this wasn’t a family you wanted to keep waiting at the dinner table. For starters, they might eat the table, and there was no telling what they’d turn to for the main course. “Greenie! Sonata!” she called out, her voice bright and sharp as the strike of a bell. Jazz used a damp cloth to wipe away the flour from her cheek while she waited for either a response or for the echo to die down- she was Turnover’s eldest daughter and had inherited the lung power. She stepped out the door, now dusting off her forehooves with the cloth while casting her eye around the grounds for the colt and filly. Most of the ponies were back out in the fields now, leaving just a few colourful instances moving about here and there in the main yard amongst the parked wagons. There looked to be a game of tag going on, or possibly a fight- it was hard to tell sometimes. Hell, it could very well be both. Jazz started to take in another breath in preparation for an even louder call, at the risk of deafening every bird and critter in a three-mile radius, but caught sight of the pale pink filly approaching and so disarmed her weapons-grade vocal chords. “Yes, gran?” said Sonata, setting her hooves onto the edge of the porch. She was maybe ten years old, pretty if a bit on the willowy side, and her red mane, while once a lovely pair of long braids, would now be rejected as unsuitable living space by destitute rats. There looked to be part of a sticky bun stuck in it. “There y'are. Can you go an find yer- What on earth happened to your eye, young lady?” Most grandparents might have been startled out of their wits at seeing their daughter’s daughter with a freshly bruised black eye, but Jazz had raised a half-dozen ponies in her years and knew them one and all to have the kind of thick skull to back up their feisty nature. Fights were practically an everyday occurrence, and she learned not to start worrying about things unless there was actual blood drawn. That her kids had gone on to have kids of the same nature was no real surprise, and was actually kind of amusing in its own way. Sonata, for her part, just sort of sniffed and shrugged one shoulder, not seeming to even notice the swelling. “Stetson went and called Greensleeves ‘dumb’. I hadta do something, didn’t I?” Jazz rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, “Dear, you should leave that kind of business up to the adults; we told y’all there was to be no fighting while you were here…” Sonata’s nose wrinkled as she weighed the benefits and complications of letting the adults take care of problems, and concluded that the option did not seem near as quick or direct as applying a hoof stoutly to an offending nose. Still, Sonata liked her grandmother and so tried her best to look sheepish. Jazz, for her part, wasn’t fooled for an instant, but didn’t have the heart to scold the filly any more than she had to. Anyway, it was her duty as a grandmother to spoil her grandkids rotten, and she wasn’t about to ruin her reputation as being the adult that would let them get away with anything. “Well, go and find your brother, then get some frozen peas on that eye. You’re gonna look a fright playing with a shiner tonight, but that’ll be your own fault. Yer granddaddy tuned up his old piano, so you two get in some practice before the evening, you hear?” “Yes, gran!” Sonata grinned, the guilty look vanishing like fog in the sun. “And get your mum to comb out your mane again; it’s a fright!” Jazz called after the filly as she dashed off, before pushing her way back into the kitchen to meet the wall of noise and bustle head-on. Truth be told, she much preferred her day job as a music teacher over baking, but there was something to be said about getting the hooves into the old habits, traditions, and recipes of the family. Anyways, she’d get a chance to heckle Dandee Red about his boy picking fights with fillies and losing, and that was worth getting flour in her mane. Trixie polished off the last bit of cheese from the tray, which had already been cleared of every last morsel and crumb. The bowl may have even been licked clean, but Trixie would deny such an accusation outright as lies and slander. It wasn't like there were witnesses: she had made sure of that. Her stomach was pleasantly full, her tastebuds still gently concussed from the flood of truly spectacular flavours, and her props were very nearly back to the kind of standards Trixie found suitable. The sparkler wheels had even gotten a dusting of sequins that Trixie had discovered in a near-empty tin at the bottom of her tool box. That extra bit of flash and dazzle that would be sure to catch the eye at just the right moment, preferably when she was pulling something out from one of the many hidden pockets in her show cloak. Real teleportation was tiring after all: sleight-of-hoof was much less taxing, though took quite a bit more dexterity of body and mind. In Trixie’s own opinion, it was much trickier to do than magic, and took a whole other level of skill that went beyond simply thinking about doing something. If anything, her incredible talent with sleight-of-hoof put her leaps and bounds ahead of any other unicorn, as she had proven any number of times… And had it proven to her… The memory of being so fooled by her own bait-and-switch techniques a year past didn’t anger her like it used to. Certainly, her smile faltered a bit and there was that nagging feeling of resentment and embarrassment of having been so deftly showed up a second time, but there was no clenching of teeth or heart-pounding fury or… the need to weep into her pillow. Just a frown and a slight huff of bad feelings before she turned back to the business at hoof, namely sealing the tins of paint before a mess was made. The door burst open. A mess was made. Without a doubt it was Trixie’s peerless reflexes saved her home from getting a gaudy new red-and-white paint job, catching most of the liquid with a cradle of magic before it could really spread out, but the same couldn’t be said for the mare herself: the spray had given her hide a pattern of polka dots that didn’t go well at all with her natural powder blue. Greensleeves sat in the doorway, head low, his battered wizarding hat held before him in his hooves like a poorly-made shield. Its various accidental decorations and the colt himself now included a fresh speckling of paint. Trixie tried her very best not to scold the colt, for all that she wanted to yell- it would do her business no good to terrorize a child, and… well, he was just excited to see her, and Trixie could hardly blame him for such a thing, could she? Had Trixie not been Trixie, she would have been excited out of her wits to meet The Great and Powerful Trixie in person, so it stood to reason. Even so, such a thing had to have a repercussion. “Wizards,” she said, carefully raising the ball of liquid paint with her magic, to siphon back into the tins, “Do not like to be surprised, my young apprentice. I could have been casting a dangerous spell, and who knows what might have happened to you had you disturbed the Great and Powerful Trixie at such a moment?” “Um…” “You might have become a toad, or a weasel, or worse!” Greensleeves cringed a bit more where he sat, every bit of him radiating remorse. Trixie sniffed as she dropped the lids onto both full tins, both now sporting a kind of pinkish colour instead of their original tones. “And an apprentice must learn to be cautious and careful in their dealings,” she finished, using her old hammer to tap the lids down securely. “I’m sorry, miss Trixie,” Greensleeves mumbled, a picture of misery. Trixie sighed softly and set the tins closer to the opening to the stage, safely out of the way of any errant hoof. “What was it you needed, my apprentice?” The colt scuffed at the floor of the wagon sheepishly, “I just wanted to see if you’d come and play, miss Trixie.” The mare stared at the colt for a long moment, a look of confusion playing across her features before she could catch it. She started to open her mouth to say something, but a pale pink filly with a truly messy mane vaulted up the steps to the door and gave the colt a playful shove before the words could escape. “Greenie! Gran wants us to go and prac-ugh! Why are you covered in paint?” Trixie let out another sigh and gave her head a shake to clear away those strange feelings that had emerged from the back of her mind like something clawing its way out of a tar pit. The two foals engaged in a short round of bickering about paint and blame, and weighing the importance of playing versus the need to practice as they jumped down from Trixie’s wagon. The mare waited a moment before following them to the farmhouse, a slight frown on her face the whole while. She had noticed the black eye on the filly and felt the need to comment, but farmponies were the sort to fight all the time, as she knew their crude sort to be… The two youngsters entering the kitchen caused a certain amount of ruckus by itself, and the mention of the word ‘blueberries’ drifting out the doorway roused Trixie from her reverie. She arrived at the conclusion that waiting a few minutes would be in her best interest. She opted for a seat on the edge of the porch open to the warmth of the afternoon sun, where she could think. The windows of the farmhouse’s kitchen were numerous and every last one of them was open, spilling noise and scents out in the world. One might think that the cacophony of voices and laughter mixed with the catastrophic clatter that baking seemed to produce would have made thought impossible, and Trixie would have been the first to say such a thing, quite possibly at the top of her voice just to be sure everyone knew, but it wasn’t really true: there was something calming in it all that turned the raucous energy into a comforting white noise. It was the sound of ponies being busy and happy with their lives, where nothing was wrong and no one was struggling. It was so alien to her world of hectic cities and empty roads, where a pony had to keep an eye out for every advantage or danger that might cross their path. There was no sense of urgency here at the farm though, and it left Trixie feeling somehow disconnected and uncertain- like she was a coiled spring ready to release, but with nothing to push against... "Well don't you look a right mess." The comment drew Trixie out of her sun-warmed reverie with a start. "Excuse me?" She said, voice tinged with disbelief that anyone could suggest she wasn't perfectly presented. Unfortunately, it was Turnover standing at the door and grinning at her, his beard sporting a fresh dusting of powdered sugar. There was a complaint somewhere behind him referring to missing donuts, but he didn't seem to mind. Trixie had half a mind to verbally flay the old farmer, but after just half a day on the farm she had come to realize that it would be like trying to swat away one of those huge, lovable dogs with skulls like concrete; they'd not feel a thing and would just lap up the attention. "Well, unless yer making a bold new fashion statement, I'd say those spots aren't normal for you." Trixie lifted a hoof and eyed her speckling, which was growing quite dry. She let out a breath, deflating somewhat. "There was a mishap." "Har, usually the case. Them youngsters are all walking mishaps, ain’t that right Honeydew?” This last bit was directed cheerfully downwards to Turnover’s hooves, among which was a little pale green foal with huge blue eyes shyly peeking at Trixie. She half expected the foal to squeak or retreat or do something else delightfully cute and charming as would be expected of a foal in such a scenario, but Honeydew instead just grinned brightly and echoed, in a piping little voice, “Mishaps!” She giggled as Turnover ruffled her mane with a hoof near big as her head. It was quite possibly the most heartwarming thing Trixie had ever seen, though she’d never admit it. “I suppose I should clean up before the show,” She admitted, albeit with a carefree flick of her mane. “I take it there is a stream or a pond nearby?” “Well,” said Turnover, slowly, “If you’ve a thing for bathing in the cow’s reservoir, I’ll not hold you back missy. Seeing as I haven’t taken a cold bath in near forty years though, I can’t say I see the appeal.” The old pony jerked a hoof towards the farmhouse, “Cousin Venturi knocked together a boiler for us way back when while we was building the place, and I’ve kept it running since. Well, until Rosethorn joined us, then it was her job, hah. Ain’t nothing better after a day’s work, let me tell you.” Despite her best efforts to remain calm, Trixie couldn’t stop her eyes from widening a little at the idea of hot, running water. The last time she had such luxury was nearly a year past, when she had been on her way to Manehattan and had happened upon a hot spring. It had smelled like a small mountain of eggs that were well past their sell-by date, but it had been worth braving it. Just the memory of the heavenly heat leeching into her bones made her breathe just that little bit harder. “Head down the hall, third door on your left. Take yer time,” said Turnover cheerfully, hoisting up the little Honeydew from beneath his hooves and depositing her onto his shoulder. “Towels and soap and all is there. Oh, and by-the-by,” he added, before an over-excited Trixie could vanish through the door, “Reckon it’s alright if we shift your wagon to the front of the house?” “What? Oh, yes, of course.” Trixie managed to keep herself from prancing into the house like a giddy filly, giving her nose an aristocratic lift, and matched it with a sweep of her tail. It was very nearly majestic, save for the spots. “The sun setting behind the house would make for a much better backdrop, after all.” “Yeah, of course,” muttered Turnover as he eased himself down the porch steps after Trixie had disappeared through the door. The old stallion turned his great shaggy head to eye the garishly decorated travelling wagon at the end of the driveway, its sequinned edges glittering like nothing natural. For a farmer who had been perfectly happy with things that worked well even if not the prettiest, he couldn’t say he liked it much, but he did have to admit it certainly caught the eye. It would probably blind the same eye if it should glance at that wagon from the wrong angle in strong sunshine. “You know what, my little mishap?” “What, Grandad?” Honeydew stood on her grandfather’s shoulders with her forehooves resting on his head. “I would say that pony is one very silly pony. Come on now- let’s go and find ourselves some lazy ponies with nothing to do to haul that wain on over.” The bathroom wasn’t what one could describe as suitable for a mare of her status, but Trixie, benevolent and patient as she always was, was prepared to overlook the rustic decor. For the night’s show to be perfect, she herself would have to be perfectly presentable, and if that meant bathing in a room with three plaster ducks on the wall (to name the least horrible piece of decoration in there,) so be it. It would be one of the many, many trials she would have put herself through to get where she was today. She wondered if it really would have been so hard to invest in proper artwork, or perhaps even some wallpaper instead of the bare wooden planks that made up pretty much every surface in the room. In a moment of deific selflessness, she might have admitted that the ancient, polished wood did have a warmth and charm to it that wallpaper and tiles would be hard-pressed to match, but as there was no member of the Apple family present to accept such high praise, she let it go. The tub itself was wooden, which did not surprise her in the least- it resembled for all the world like a big barrel that had been sawed in half. It had bronze bands holding the staves together, which did give it a slight aesthetic edge compared to the rest of the room, but setting the room on fire would have been an improvement, to her mind. While it did maintain that rustic look so loved by the hillbilly farmer-type, she was relieved to find that the wooden tub had been sanded smooth as can be, so her bottom would be safe from potential splinters. The whole of it was nearly as high as her back, and had a set of steps fastened securely to the side facing the door. A glance within revealed not only a matching set of steps inside the tub, but also what could only be a seat on the opposite side. The whole thing was big enough around for two Trixies to have bathed comfortably together without getting in one another’s way. This was no doubt a necessity given how gigantic some of these bumpkins seemed to grow. As promised, there was a large bar of soap and a selection of incredibly fluffy towels at hoof, folded neatly on a tall pile on a stool in the corner, no doubt in preparation for the crowd of ponies who would be needing it when the workday was done. Trixie lifted the topmost one with a wisp of magic and selected the one just beneath- a powder blue towel very nearly a match for her coat. A tentative sniff revealed that it was lightly scented with lavender, just enough to be pleasant without being overpowering. She set it onto the towel rack nearest the tub and warily examined the two taps jutting out of the wall, both made of brass with steel levers set atop each spigot. The rightmost one had the letter ‘H’ embossed on it. Despite the size of it, it didn’t take all that long to fill the tub to a suitable level. Apparently, Cousin Venturi knew full well what he was doing, and had designed his system to be able to deliver a vast amount of steaming hot water to the tub in short order. The room had taken on the warm, woody scent of a sauna as the tub’s cedar staves absorbed the moisture and released some of their aromatic oils. The windows set high in the wall opposite the doorway had fogged over entirely, and the air itself was heavy with wetness. Trixie closed the spigots, the rushing sound of the water faded quickly to just a few droplets, the sound like tiny bells as they splashed into the rippling surface. She stood on the topmost step before the tub, one hoof resting on the edge, staring at the gently steaming water within, her heart fluttering just a little out of nerves and excitement at the promise of a proper warm bath for the first time in what felt like forever. Her world had shrunk down to just one wood-walled room, scented with cedar and heat. The first step into the water was painful. Her second hoof felt like it was going to burn off. No doubt she had underestimated just how well the heating system worked, and so she should have favoured the cold tap a bit more, but… The mare immersed herself neck-deep into the water, her breath escaping her chest in one shivery rush as the heat enveloped her entire body. She could feel it at her skin, tingling there as it warred with the cold insider her. Despite the heat, she shivered- she hadn’t though she had been so cold, but now with that delicious heat all around, she could feel how the chill sat in her muscles and her bones- a feeling she was so used to that she had stopped noticing. She sat in the heat of the bath, shivering now and again, but the shakes slowed and faded swiftly as the tendrils of heat spread through her limb, reaching deep down into her very centre until it had chased away every last trace of the cold within her, leaving only delicious warmth. Trixie sat in the bath, eyes half-closed but unseeing, breathing in the wet, woody air, her mind for the first time in a very long time utterly blank for want of having anything to take her attention. Her stomach was full with some of the best food she had eaten in years; every last prop and gadget she used for her shows was in good working order and ready to be used at a moment’s notice; and a warm, proper bed was waiting for her that evening. Nothing needed to be worried over, and nothing needed to be planned. For the first time in a very long time, Trixie smiled. It wasn’t a snide smirk or a haughty grin- it wasn’t even the dazzling, show-stopping smile she had practiced for hours in front of a mirror to get just right for her adoring fans. It was just a smile of contentment, there in the privacy of the bath. She woke up to the sound of a knocking on the door. Trixie had no idea how long she had been asleep, but the water, while still delightfully warm, was quite cooler than it had been. “Miss Trixie?” said a voice on the other side of the door, “Are you alright in there?” Somewhat flustered at having had what was a truly perfect nap interrupted, Trixie had every right to get angry, but her temper didn’t seem inclined to flare up like it was usually wont to do. She straightened up some in the bath, feeling the water ripple down her mane to her shoulders. “Mmmn? Oh yes, I was simply enjoying your, ah, wonderful decor,” she said, eyeing the three plaster ducks dubiously. “Ah, of course,” came the voice after a moment. “Was just letting y’all know that Turnover and his crew got yer wagon all set up out front, and that supper is gonna be served up real soon.” Trixie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced about for the soap, stifling a yawn as she did so. “Thank you very much, I will be done shortly.” “Yer welcome, ma’am,” said Jazz Apple, turning and heading back towards the kitchen, where what had once been a cacophony of busy ponies had now managed to graduate into something entirely beyond madness. It couldn’t be called ‘chaos’, because chaos was far too orderly for the insanity of an Apple family kitchen an hour before a banquet for fifty Apples was to be served. It had the kind of frantic energy that could match the sun for power, and it was certainly hot enough there to make the metaphor all the more real. The ponies in the kitchen were quite grateful for Jazz to return, mostly because her voice could carry over the bedlam of pots and pans and panicked shouting, making her the choice pony to have in charge of everyone and everything at such a time. To their relief, she had also managed to stop Trixie’s snoring from rattling the beams off the ceiling.