“Fine by me, sugarplum.”
Oh.
Well, so much for me being ready for a slobber knocker. All AJ did was say what she wants to do.
“... It is?”
“Sure it is. The only thing ah find a bit wrong is selling to them for that cheap! Ah figure it'll be kinda wrong givin' 'em th' full price a thirty, but fifteen bits a barrel? No barrel should be that cheap! How's about twenty?”
Applejack leans back. “Well, we would be gettin' a profit then...” She looks to me. “And it'll be nice for Applebloom to have somethin' in her lunchbox that has no relation to apples.”
I sigh. “Fine. If you are that in need of the bits, I'm certain they'll be happy with twenty bits. Quite personally, I'd say for free but I'm clearly not a pony who's got mouths to feed.”
Could use those bits for a renovation, too. Or at least a new coat of varnish to... everything. The house is entirely made of wood. It's like they grabbed a few trees from outside and- oh wait, that's exactly what they did.
Apple Jack hugs the old green mare. “Thanks, granny. I know how you are like with things a little... out of the ordinary.”
“Horse-feathers!” Granny Smith exclaimed.
“I'm bein' serious! Remember that nice couple from Sasquatchewan?”
I'm not exactly sure, but I think I hear Granny Smith mumble a racial slur about sasquatches. Maybe something about a war too. She then spoke up saying “Well, okay. Maybe I am a bit of a...”
She's paused to think up what to describe herself. Looks like it's up to the poet to help out here. “Backwards-Thinker?”
“Was hopin' for somethin' nicer than that, but fine. The fact of the matter is, mah opinion about this pony shouldn't matter. The pony wants cider, we gots cider, we give 'em cider for bits. Nothin' in that plan about who or what they are! And I don't see why Filthy's got his muzzle into the poor thing's business, either! Ain't that right, Big Mac?”
“Yeee-up!” Said a big burly guy behind me. Thank Celestia he said something, for a moment there I thought he was dead.
Apple Jack pats her grandmother on the back gently. “Dang right, Granny! Thanks for understandin'. You can go back to your needlework now.”
The old mare reaches for her needle and thread and starts to rock back and forth in her chair. Apple Jack smiles me. “Well, looks like I didn't need your fancy words after all.”
I shrug. “Suits me fine. Me not talking to her minimises the risk of me giving her a cardiac arrest.”
She gives me a look of sincerity. “Oh now c'mon, don't beat yourself up so much. You ain't a punching bag, Salty.”
“I'm not? It definitely feels that way. I mean, I'm an orphan, I'm unemployed, I'm a verbal time bomb that'll go off any second without warning...
… AND TO TOP IT OFF, DO YOU SEE THE BLACK SHIT COMING FROM MY EYES? THOSE ARE MY TEARS!”
… Oh shit, am I actually crying?
Yes, yes I am, the black blob on the floor confirms it.
I look around the room, to see how the Apple Family are reacting to my surge. Granny Smith is looking with her mouth open widely. Probably in shock of seeing me crying ink than anything else... Because apparently I'm the only pony who does that. I look towards Big Mac, who is crying what Twilight assures me is actual tears.
And Apple Jack is... Hugging me. Okay, if this is going to be a common thing with these ponies, I need to make a NO HUGGING sign. Oh... Oh goddess, she stroking my mane too! Quick, Woundsalt, shout STRANGER DANGER! No, wait. Who will hear me if I say that? The two closest to me are the assailant's family. I think that only works if your assailant is older than you anyway.
She seems to be whispering something in my ear...
“There, there. Is alright, now. Just let it all out...”
…
“Um... Applejack? What the hell did I say when I surged just now?”
“Hmm?” The mare said raising her voice a few notches, but still sounding sincere. “You mean all that was...?” She realises she is still hugging me and then lets go. “All that was your magic right now?”
I nod.
“All... righty then.” She replies in a manner that would be called concerned. “Big Mac, get the mop and clean up the ink, will ya? Me and Woundsalt'll be cleanin' ourselves up in the kitchen.”
The big red stallion nods and starts walking to the direction to the closet.
“I... I suggest some baking powder and some water. Make a... make a paste out of it.”
He turns his head to his side to look at me, smiles and bows in recognition. A man with few words.
I can only dream to be like that.
So his sister and I head to the kitch- Oh, look! Things that are not made out of wood! Okay, granted, I didn't expect to see an oven made of wood, but the way everything was back in the living room, I wouldn't put it pass them to try and make that work. Hell, I'd watch them try to make that work; that sounds like a fun watch.
I see a pelican on the open kitchen window frame. No way in hell is that sanitary. Nor common. “What's with the bird? You girls got Fluttershy's birdies sending things to each other?”
“Yep!” She nods. “We gotta send letters to Twilight somehow, and setting up magical fire to teleport to Spike takes a lotta time. Heck, makin' sure the birds ain't going to get stopped by her new security was a hassle and a half already.” There was a tiny bit of silence as she fills up the sink with some water and dish soap. “Y'know, I gotta tell her about what you said in there, surge or not. So if you ain't gonna correct yourself and say it was all you-”
“I'm telling the truth, I swear!” I say, picking up a sponge. “Granted, crying while I did it was different but it was a surge! What the buck did I say that made you think I wasn't?”
“Well... It kinda... It kinda sounded like you were having a emotional breakdown, just then. I mean, fair enuff if you were, with all that happened since ya got here and we're restrictin' the only crutch you got. Whatchya think about the routine, by the way?”
“Pretty good, considering that the alternative is not at all.”
“Yeah...” AJ sighs as she wipes her shoulder with her sponge. “I personally think we should delay tackling your drinkin' problem for some other time when thing's ain't so busy, but... well, it's a good compromise I suppose.”
We smile as we both look beyond the pelican at the orchard behind the big-billed bird.
“… Now pardner, I know it's been a bit too hectic ever since you got here, what with all the life-changin' stuff that's happened just today alone; But if you need a shoulder to cry on, me an' the girls are here for you, m'kay? Don't you worry about givin' our coats ink stains, now!”
I think I should take offence to that last sentence. Ah well, I can't pretend it's not comforting.
“I am fine, but thanks all the -” I hear a knock from the kitchen door. “Are we expecting guests?”
She looks at the door. “Oh ain't that nice, Zecora decided to come 'ere instead! Saves us headin' up through th' forest. She's a zebra friend of ours who does some potions and stuff. I know it could be a long shot, but I figure that she'd might have some clue to how to control the CMC. We've encountered some stuff we didn't even know of but she always seems to know what it is and how t' fix it!”
A zebra, down here? Interesting. I met a fair few in West Cantrlot. Pretty shady folks admittedly, but hey, like I know anyone from West Canterlot that isn't. Not like they did anything illegal either, all of them just sat around listening to Half-Buck and calling themselves certain words which if I say it to them they'd knock my lights out.
Well, I say if. More when. Fucking CMC, I hope this Zecora does have something that can cure it.
Apple Jack opens the door to reveal the striped pony. Hmm... Mohawk, hooped ear piercings, neck bling; clearly not a zebra from the west side. Looks like one directly from the home country of Zebrafrica, or at least one wanting to keep her roots.
Maybe I should greet her in the language. That'll be kind, right? Good thing I learnt some Zebrafrikaan from the West Canterlot Z-crew before I unintentionally called one of them a Dolichohippus.
“Ek buig vir jou, dame. Ek is geroep Woundsalt.” I bow to you lady, My name is Woundsalt.
“Ek buig in ruil, Woundsalt.” Zecora replied... along with some other words that went over my head.
“Um, that was practically all that I know, sorry. All I got was you bowing back .”
The zebra nods in understanding.
“It's is fine, O poet of white,
What I said was I smile.
For hearing my native tongue talked
it has certainly been a while.”
… I'm going to pretend she didn't rhyme on purpose there. I'll just smile and nod as she puts her bag down.
“Forgive me for saying, but you look
Quite different than your picture in your book.”
… she's totally doing that on purpose. That's... kind of weird.
“Could be a pretty old photo. Y'know, ageing...”
“That and the life you did choose.
You clearly look like you hit the booze.”
Okay, I got to address this. It's getting too much.
“Hey, can you stop doing the rhyming? I mean, I get that you want to be all mystical and shit, but come on; some dignity for bu-”
The cowfilly's hoof goes into my word-hole at a speed I am surprised didn't knock out some teeth.
“Yeah, sorry Zecora. I didn't tell 'im about it yet.” She takes her leg out of my mouth. “She ain't doin' it to act mystical. She's still learnin' the language, Y'see. So she challenges her Equestrian by rhymin'!”
“Sure, the rhyming can be annoying,
but no expensive tutor I'll be employing!”
The zebra states with a hoof up in the air, and then moves herself and her bag to the kitchen table to starts set up whatever we have in store with her.
“Oh... Okay, then. If it's for educational purposes and not some tacky stereotypical witch doctor B.S., then I am fine with it...”
Now I'm kind of tempted to... No, I shouldn't. Come on, Woundsalt; some restraint.
… Ah, fuck restraint. I'm going to break the rhyme game!
“… Pop quiz: Something that rhymes with orange!”
“My kind of work sometimes require sporange.”
“Very good. Next up; the word purple.”
“The saddle strap is called a curple.”
“How about month?”
“A rhyme I know a bunch.”
“How about the toilet?”
“Smells as bad as a cigarette.
Woundsalt, is this going to be all day?
We've got some magic we have to tame.”
“Okay, last one. And it's a doozy... Silver!”
It's taking her a few moments. But she gets the answer.
“A female lamb is called a... chilver.”
I applaud. Clearly, she taught herself well.
The zebra bows.
“I thank you for the surprise test...”
She points towards the table.
“But now this powder you must digest.”
I look towards the non-varnished table to find what... looks like cocaine. West Canterlot is not exactly the capital of the Straight-Edge Movement, so I know what cocaine looks like, though I never taken any. I also know that you don't lick cocaine, at least not in a powder form, so clearly looks can be deceiving.
I turn towards the Zecora and Apple Jack.
“This is safe, right?”
The cowgirl turns towards her mohawk-ed friend.
“That's a good point actually. What will happen when he licks the stuff?”
“YOU DON'T KNOW EITHER? WHY DID YOU PLAN THIS?”
“Hey, She said it'll help you out! It will help him out, right? And it's a legal way to help him? Because Twi's trying to cut down his drinkin' and the last thing she wants to hear is me giving him some illegal substance...”
Zecora nods.
“It's completely safe; and legal too. No need to call the Po-po.
It's a hallucinogenic to set you on a journey solo
to go inside yourself, so clearly we can not follow.
If you don't want it, that is fine. But remember: YOLO.”
Urk! “Okay, I figured you needed the rhyme but can you refrain from using the imbecilic version of carpe diem in future?”
I regain control. “Sorry. It does that... infrequently.”
Apple Jack looks at me as if I bucked a tree right out of the roots. “Sounds like another reason to lick the powder t'me.”
I concur.
I licked it up in one quick motion. “So when is this going to kick-”
the word 'in' never exited my mouth. Probably just as well. Most of that sentence was aimed at the floor, anyway.