//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Princess Twilight Sparkle's 25th Birthday // by Autumnschild //------------------------------// Fluttershy smashed through the Apple family screen door with such force that the various stacks of tax documentation sitting on the dining room table exploded into a flurry of parchment. For a short eternity the yellow pegasus stood there panting, teeth barred, staring menacingly at the grandfather clock that commanded the small foyer ahead of her. Stare as she might, that old fellow kept ticking away without a care in the world. Time was fickle like that. Fluttershy’s forelegs began to tremble, and her heavy panting slowed to irregular breaths. The door frame around her neck slid down a bit, as did the torn scraps of screen that still hung from it. The ruined screen door, much to its credit, was taking its new role in life as a necklace quite well. “Fluttershy?” came the concerned voice of her traitorous Alicorn friend from the adjacent dining room. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, Fluttershy turned her head to the right towards the dining room. Her wide, all-seeing eyes grazed past the vaguely Big Mac-shaped pile of paper that sat across from the target of her desperate charge: Twilight Sparkle. Both mares stared into each others’ eyes, each wondering what the other was doing. Only one of them was vaguely contemplating where to hide the body. “What the hay was all that about?” asked a fidgeting Twilight, who felt a terribly compelling force press against her will the longer she held Fluttershy’s gaze. A force that urged her to leave as soon as possible. Fluttershy answered with a question of her own. A very quiet question that rose in pitch as she continued. “Oh, hello Twilight. What are you...” was all that she managed to squeak out before trailing off. Twilight looked around the dining room for a brief moment, weighing her options carefully. “Taxes?” she replied. “Pinkie Pie?” came an elderly voice from the kitchen to Fluttershy’s left. “Is that you makin’ all that racket in there? Git on in here girl’n give me a hoof fer cryin’ out loud. These pies ain’t bakin’ themselves.” “Oh, it’s me, Fluttershy,” said the pegasus as she continued to bore her eyes into Twilight’s. Then she lifted her left forehoof and gestured to her eyes in earnest. Then with the same hoof she pointed at Twilight who flinched in response. Finally, Fluttershy turned with a smile and a shimmy to free herself from the broken screen door before trotting off into the kitchen. “Pinkie Pie is helping with the cider,” she added cheerily. “I don’t rightly care which’a you gals is gonna help with the baking so long as it ain’t—” “Où se trouvent les toilettes?” interrupted a stallion’s voice from beyond the kitchen threshold. “Oh say truvent lay toilets?” parroted Granny Smith. Twilight watched in dumbfounded silence as her seemingly bi-polar friend pranced into the kitchen. It was an odd sight, what with the shattered screen door that was now left in the center of the Apple foyer. And it was made odder still by the unknown and unconscious green filly dangling from the back of Fluttershy’s head. Two ponies trekked up a dusty trail, lined as it was with apple trees on both sides. It was a road of generations for the pair of ponies, who were joined by common bonds; the bond of home, and the bond of family. Unfortunately for Honeycrisp, that didn’t make it any easier for her to keep up with Applejack’s intense pace. The in-her-prime earth pony looked about as happy as a pig in mud, keeping a steady jog through the neat rows of apple trees, both uphill and down, with no trouble whatsoever. It was all Honeycrisp could do to keep from wheezing too audibly. She wore a grimace of a smile that did little to mask her exhaustion, both physical and emotional. Really, right now, she wanted to be anywhere else. Well, okay, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to be home. Home home. Not this everything-is-sorta-different home in the distant past. “So I told her, just as I'ma tellin' you now, Honeycrisp,” Applejack said, continuing whatever story she was in the middle of recalling, “‘Be that as it may, Sugarcube, y’all can’t go’n marry the first stallion who throws you a line.’” Honeycrisp nodded at the half-heard tale, drowned out by her heart pounding away in her ears as they rounded the top of a third hill. Or was it the fourth? It was hard for her to keep count at this point. Numbers were never really her thing. Doubly so when she was out of breath. Honeycrisp was an Apple though. Hard work was its own reward. But running? Running sucked. Who even likes running? she silently asked the universe. It’s terrible. Maybe it was because she was a unicorn. Maybe it was because it wasn’t her special talent. Whatever the case may be, she knew that running sucked and that it was terrible. Applejack continued. “And boy-howdy, if that didn’t set her off. Why, I’ll never forget the sight'a how she went and ran off, draggin’ that fool stallion off by the scruff of his neck.” Applejack snorted a blast of hot air from her nostrils. “Served the varmint right, I guess. Once he was free he quit his little charade and high-tailed it for Dodge City to meet up with his good-fer-nothin’ uncles.” With a jerk, she stopped at the top of the hill and turned her head to flash a broad grin at her impossibly distant relative. “And Apple Bloom followed the whole way, kickin’ and nippin’ at the little cuss.” Honeycrisp nodded again, but out of the base sort of social instinct that all conscious ponies have when they’re on the verge of losing said consciousness due to physical exertion. Smile faltering, Applejack’s ears flicked forward in concern. “Uh, Honeycrisp? You doin’ okay?” “Eeyup,” Honeycrisp said between gasps for air. Feeling herself list, she revised her previous statement to a resounding “Eenope,” before collapsing left and landing on a carpet of crisp dry leaves that blanketed the cool grass atop the hill. Breathe. Breathing is good. Honeycrisp couldn’t hear if the now seated orange blob said anything over the sound of her heart pounding away to process all of this important air. But she did feel a hoof as it brushed her undone mane and bangs from her sweat soaked brow. And again. And a third time. And more times after that, but she wasn’t keeping count past the third. What with the numbers and the breathing and all. Honeycrisp closed her rose-colored eyes and focused on breathing. In and out. In. And out. A cool autumn wind traced along her exposed side and the bottom of her tired hooves. Time passed, and a pleasant stillness returned. The scent of late apples ripening on branches did its best to mask others, like the smell of fallen leaves or the pleasant odor of packed earth from the dusty trail. But they mingled into a unique bouquet. The unbottle-able essence of Sweet Apple Acres. It was a smell both known and ordinary for the young farm pony. To both smell it and miss it at the same time left the poor girl reeling. Just when it was about to get the best of her; just as she could feel herself losing her handle on the situation... she heard the sound of relaxed breathing. In through the nose with a nigh-audible whistle and out again. In. And out. Honeycrisp opened her eyes, seeing the smiling mare who sat next to her, brushing a hoof through her mane in silence. “Landsakes, girl. You need to tell me when Ah’m pushin’ ya too hard.” Honeycrisp frowned and closed her eyes again. Then, slowly, she pulled herself up to a sitting position. “I’m fine,” she grunted. “I don’t need anypony’s pity.” She felt a pair of hooves grab at her undone mane to straighten it out. “Oh, yer feisty!” said Applejack with a chuckle as she began to braid. “Definitely an Apple.” Honeycrisp nodded curtly. “To the core.” The two ponies sat in silence while Applejack finished braiding the filly’s undone pigtail. She took her time doing it and then some, by Honeycrisp’s guess. When the braiding wrapped up, Honeycrisp felt like her old self again. She looked up at Applejack and nodded her silent thanks. Applejack returned the gesture with a tip of her hat before rising to her hooves and looking up and around. “I suppose here’s as good as anywhere to start applebucking,” she said, walking off the trail and towards a nearby wood shed piled high with empty baskets. “Suppose so,” said Honeycrisp, as bravely as she could muster, but not rising to her hooves. Applejack strapped a trio of baskets into the saddle-like harness she wore and smiled softly to herself. “I’m sorry, Honeycrisp.” “Sorry?” asked the filly. “What for?” “It’s become right plain to me that you don’t care for applebucking. I shoulda asked before figurin’ tha—” Honeycrisp hopped up to her hooves, laughing nervously. “W-what do you mean? I love applebucking!” Applejack rolled her lower jaw and leveled her gaze on Honeycrisp. “Lyin’ ain’t all that becomin’ of a young filly.” “No, see? I love it!” she insisted, frantically gambling over to the closest apple tree and bucking it over and over again with all of her might. The red and yellow boughs above her swayed but that had more to do with the wind than Honeycrisp’s efforts. “Uh Huh,” said Applejack. Fueled by the shame burning hot through her cheeks, Honeycrisp kicked and kicked and kicked. She grunted with each attack, ignoring the sting in her hooves as they slapped ineffectually like wet noodles against… Well, against a tree. The onslaught continued, unabated for several seconds until once more, Honeycrisp felt her stamina begin to flag. With one final kick, she let out a howl of frustration. “Okay, I’m up, I’m up!” came a scratchy plea from above. The rustling and clip of hooves against branches pulled the panting Honeycrisp out of her foul mood long enough for her curiosity to get the better of her. A few heartbeats later, and a blue pegasus with a mop of a rainbow for a mane pulled herself into the air above the tree. She wore a scowl along with a white and gold jumpsuit that probably looked cool when it was all zipped up and not covered in sticks and leaves. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a nap around here?” she groused, scratching at her wingpits with her forehooves. “Rainbow Dash, as I live and breath. When did you drift into town?” asked Applejack, offering little more than a shrug by way of apology. “Too early to get a good nap before the party, apparently,” she said with a yawn. Honeycrisp watched as the drowsy pegasus looked down at her. Appraising her. “Who’s the squirt?” Honeycrisp balked at the question, her mind kicking into some new gear, desperate to keep her cover and her promise to Smarty Pants and no— “Honeycrisp, Rainbow Dash. Rainbow Dash, Honeycrisp,” said Applejack, pointing between the two, before moving on. “Wanna help me out with something right quick?” Honeycrisp watched that same appraising eye regard the infallible Applejack, and she found herself smiling for no particular reason when the blue pegasus swooped down in a lazy arc to land between the two of them. “I guess. So long as it’s not like, hard or anything.” Applejack giggled. “Same ol’ reliable Rainbow,” she said with a playful punch to the other mare’s shoulder. “Nah, ain’t nothin’ too hard. Just a demonstration’a sorts for Honeycrisp.” Honeycrisp ducked as the closer of Rainbow Dash’s two wings swept wide over her red horn before they returned to her side. “Ah yeah, I’m all about demonstrations!” Honeycrisp found herself staring into the coral eyes of the excited pegasus standing right next to her. “What’ll it be kid? Pinion Press? Razor Dive? Sonic Rainboom?” “I, uh… Huh?” Honeycrisp asked as she caught sight of Applejack walking past the two of them to place baskets under the hated tree. “Nevermind all that, Rainbow. Care you demonstrate yer applebuckin’ technique?” Rainbow Dash broke eye contact with Honeycrisp and turned with a sigh. “Jeez, is that all? Okay, kid. Watch and learn.” Honeycrisp huffed as Rainbow Dash walked over to Applejack. “I already know how to buck apples!” she protested, “I just—” Her confession was cut short when Rainbow Dash unexpectedly jumped into the air with a ‘whoop’. She circled the tree, looking it over while she rubbed her chin with a hoof. “What are you—” was all Honeycrisp could ask before Rainbow Dash came to a mid-air stop, silencing her with the same hoof, now outstretched in her direction. “I said watch and learn,” she insisted. Honeycrisp was taken aback by how her tone and demeanor suddenly took on a more serious, mentor-like quality. The sort of thing that demanded a filly’s attention. Back again Rainbow went, circling the tree. Looking for some sort of… thing. Well, whatever it was, she apparently found it on the second pass by. “There you are,” she said as she flapped her wings in reverse to fly away from the tree, never taking her eyes off the spot. Rainbow Dash flew back a dozen or so yards before she once again came to a stop. Honeycrisp gasped when Rainbow suddenly took off at impossible speed, barreling towards the tree with such intensity that she could only imagine splinters and a hospital visit as the possible results. But that future never came to pass, for the cock-sure pegasus came to an abrupt and equally impossible stop just inches from the first leaf. A stop powered by wrought-iron wings and a will of steel. The carefully calculated force of the summoned wind was unlike anything Honeycrisp had ever experienced before, and she couldn’t help but gasp as the apples fell. “Good,” offered Applejack, holding her hat tight to her head, “but next time try and get’em in the baskets.” Rainbow Dash shrugged as she landed. “Eh, close enough.” “What was that?!” asked Honeycrisp, unable to hide the awe in her voice. A fact that Rainbow Dash clearly caught on to, judging by the way she strutted about the tree and scooped apples into buckets with deft wing work. “Just some of the greatest apple bucking ever,” she crowed. “But you didn’t even touch the tree! It was just wind!” Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow at that. “Why would I have to touch the tree?” she asked. Honeycrisp couldn’t hide her scowl, her ears going wide and low. “Well, it’s called applebucking. So, you know… You have to buck the tree! Don’t you?” Applejack made an ‘ah’ sound that drew the filly’s attention. “I see the issue here,” she said with bright, understanding eyes before throwing a hoof around Honeycrisp’s withers and pulling her into a hug. “Honeycrisp, you don’t have to use yer hooves.” “But it’s called—” “Doesn’t matter what it’s called, Sugercube. What matters is getting the apples outta the tree, and to hungry ponies all over Equestria. Whether you use a hoof, wing, or—” “Or magic?” asked Honeycrisp, her eyes widening at the sudden insight. “Or magic,” said the Applejack with a knowing grin. Honeycrisp leaned into the hug, standing on her two back hooves to hug back. Moments passed before a self-conscious chuckle broke the stillness. “So, uh, I’m gonna get going,” said Rainbow Dash, scratching the back of her head, the apple buckets around the tree now full. “I’ve got a date to get ready for.” Honeycrisp felt Applejack’s hug falter, but only for a moment. “You? A date?” chided the orange coated marvel of Sweet Apple Acres. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.” Honeycrisp saw Rainbow Dash bristle at the comment. “Yeah well, what can I say? I’m awesome. Later!” she said, zipping out of view. Honeycrisp looked up and caught the frown forming on Applejack’s face as the latter watched the pegasus’ rainbow trail. When Sandy finally became aware of the world around her again, the first thing she smelled was pie. Specifically, freshly baked apple pie. It was a smell that pulled the rest of her back into consciousness at a rapid pace. Was she back home in Canterlot? Did her mommy bake that amazing smelling pie? Her gentle swaying and the accompanying creaks at each swing’s apex told Sandy that she was sitting in what must have been the most comfortable wooden rocking chair in the history of comfortable wooden rocking chairs. Somepony must have wrapped her up in a quilt to keep her cozy warm and toasty, and it was working. If it weren’t for the sound of approaching hooves, she’d probably be lulled back to sleep by it all. Opening her eyes, she began to focus on her surroundings. The first thing the noticed was the gray-green blob that moved slowly through the blurry world around her. Blinking away whatever it was that made ponies tired, it wasn’t long before she realized that the blob was an earth pony. It was definitely a mare, and a very old one at that. Her saggy coat stood in stark contrast to the bright red tile on the kitchen walls beyond. She was walking slowly, but with great intent, towards the oven nearest to her. Sandy had found herself in a kitchen. And it was a nice kitchen, at least as far as kitchens go. Homely. Well stocked and full of pies in various states of doneness. But it wasn’t her mommy’s kitchen back in Canterlot, back in the future. “Je suis une riche veuve,” came a stallion’s voice from a gramophone sitting on a table in the far right corner of the room. “Joo swee une rich veeyouve,” the old pony said back as she continued toward the stove. Sandy watched her repeat the words from the safety of her perch. Pulling the quilt around her like a hood, she peeked her head through the patchwork portal to get a better look at the unknown elder. “Enlever votre chemise et prendre un verre,” purred the voice on the gramophone. “En lever voter… chemist… Aw, horsefeathers. I don’t know if I’ll ever learn all them fancy talkin’ words before my trip.” “Y-your trip?” asked Sandy, sliding the hood back with a bit of assistance from the rocking chair’s momentum. Even though the old earth pony reminded Sandy of the horrible headmistress at the orphanage in Cloudsdale, what with the lack of wings and the wrinkly face, she had a good feeling about this pony. Like… Like she could be trusted. Probably. Still, just to be safe, Sandy curled the rest of herself into a ball inside of her blanket. “Plus de vin, monsieur?” asked the gramophone politely. Sandy put two and two together and her wavering smile brightened. “Are you going to Prance?” The old mare clicked her teeth as she turned in place to address her. “Sure as Ah’m an Apple!” she crowed, her limbs wibbling and wobbling in a quick two-step. “My granddaughters are’a takin’ me fer Hearth’s Warmin’! Oooh-boy, I ain’t never gone no place so fancy befer!” Sandy felt her apprehension ebb away. That is, until the elder steadied herself and fixed her wizened gaze upon Sandy. “What’s yer name, young’n?” asked the elder mare. “S-Sandy, ma’am,” she answered, unable to slow the flutter of her wings. “Ma’am!” exclaimed the elder mare with the sort of over-exaggeration that made foals giggle. “Oh Sun above, what a polite young lady you are. Come on over here and lemme get a good look atcha.” Sandy hesitated. The squeak of the oven door tore her attention away from the kind grin on the elder mare’s muzzle and over to Fluttershy, who was wearing a pair of oversized oven mitts on her wings. Deftly, she removed a tray with three pies on it, then brought it to rest on the otherwise crowded stove top before turning to put a new tray with three uncooked pies into the oven. And somehow, in the midst of all that, Sandy caught Fluttershy’s attention. The older pegasus gave the filly an encouraging nod. A nod that helped Sandy pull one hoof out of her quilt. Then another. Soon she was well on the ground and dangerously within the old mare’s striking distance. “Ma chambre ou le vôtre?” questioned the gramophone intently. Sandy noticed a twinkle in the elder pony’s eyes when she came to a stop. She knew that she was being assessed in that uncanny way that only an old soul could. It was the sort of look she was used to getting from her mommy. The mare extended a rickety hoof towards Sandy and smiled a spooky toothful smile. Until her teeth fell out, clattering to the ground. Sandy flinched. The elder mare pulled back her hoof and grumbled as she scooped up her chompers. Dusting off the lint and errant hair, she popped them back in before testing her smile. “Hello child, I’m Granny Smith. What’s your name?” “Sandy.” “Sandy you say? Why, that’s a lovely name, Sandy,” said Granny Smith with high praise as she slowly turned to lumber over to a nearby table. “Would you like to help Fluttershy and I make some pies?” Sandy’s wings fluttered a bit despite her initial misgivings. She always loved helping in the kitchen. Maybe she could help here. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe Granny Smith was a good pony? She looked once more at Fluttershy, but she wasn’t looking back. She was busy with a mixing bowl and spatula while humming a wordless, meandering tune. Fluttershy stirred and folded the dough in her bowl. Sandy smiled at the older pegasus watching her own reflection in the window in the Apple family kitchen. There was no anxiety in Fluttershy’s eyes. There was no fear in her smile. No trepidation in her delicate movements. And in that moment, Sandy knew she could be brave. “Pourriez-vous l'huile de mon dos?” requested the gramophone. Smarty Pants had followed Pinkie Pie into the cellar some time ago. Whether that was an hour or two, Smarty wasn’t sure. The cellar didn’t have a clock, magical or otherwise. What it did have was cider barrels. Lots and lots of cider barrels. The two worked quietly for the vast majority of the time, rolling and stacking barrels onto a big rubber belt built by Applejack’s kid sister to get barrels up and out quickly. After every twenty barrels or so, the two of them would then walk back up the stairs, for the hard part. Pull a pallet with twenty barrels loaded, over to the biggest cart Smarty Pants ever did see, and then wait for Pinkie Pie to use some sort of pallet crank elevator thingy to get the pallet in the cart. It was sweaty, thankless work, and it was done in silence. Not because Smarty Pants didn’t have questions. Stars above, no. This was an amazing opportunity to get primary source history from the horse’s mouth! There likely wouldn’t be another opportunity like it for the rest of her life! But, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. What if she did something, or learned something that altered the course of history? What if she screwed something up, and somehow her parents ended up never meeting? Or what if Fluttershy and Big Mac never got together? Most of her favorite ponies, herself included, are part of that particularly bountiful family tree. “I mean, they’re gonna have twenty three foals!” she exclaimed, releasing the rope and waving her hooves in the air. “Huh—oof!” said Pinkie Pie. Her end of the rope going taut as she fell over in front of the pallet they were dragging. Smarty Pants winced and scooped her rope back up. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. Pinkie Pie rolled over, popping up with an audible sproing, “S’alright Smarty,” she replied, gathering her rope. “But uh, who’s gonna have twenty three kids?” “What? Where did you hear about that?” Smarty Pants asked nervously. Pinkie Pie shrugged as the two started to pull again. “Well,” she grunted, punctuating her words with each yank. “You said — just now — that they are gonna — have twenty three — foals!!” “I did?” asked Smarty Pants as she started pulling again. “You did. Who’s ‘they’?” “Nopony.” Pinkie Pie blew the sweaty strands of her puffy mane out of her eyes before furrowing her brow at Smarty Pants. “You know what happens to liars, right?” “They get to go home without accidently breaking time?” Pinkie looked back at the twenty barrels that the two mares were dragging to the cart and scrunched up her face in thought. After a moment she let out a breath with a shrug. “Yeah, probably.” Smarty Pants was grateful for the silence that followed. They pulled their crazy load in said silence until they got it in place for the crank elevator to do its thing. Since the contraption to lift the pallet was so loud Smarty Pants couldn’t think straight, let alone carry on a conversation with anypony. Especially a pony as interesting as Pinkie Pie. Sure, she was an Element of Harmony. Sure, she was one of her very own direct ancestors. Sure, she was one of Princess Twilight’s closest friends... Ever. But, more importantly right now, Pinkie Pie was probably her best bet at getting back to her own time. Smarty Pants stood stone still, watching Pinkie Pie work the levers and gears necessary to operate the noisy lift. Color bled from the edges of her vision. Pistons and whirligigs slowed to a crawl. The spaces between heartbeats were tiny eternities. The wedding invitation. The Crystal Heart. Everything. She knew. Pinkie Pie already knew. Smarty Pants realized what she needed to do before she could go home. And it broke her heart. With the sound of straining wood and iron, time returned to its normal flow. It was the sound of the palette being lowered on top of an existing stack, five palettes high. “And that’s the last of them!” said Pinkie Pie with a sigh. She flopped away from the controls to land on her back and stare up at roof of the barn that housed the contraption and the giant cart. Pinkie Pie giggled. “Job well done, Smarty! Sure, it wasn’t as fun as making cakes, and it definitely wasn’t as much fun as eating them, but it’s all done now! Boy, are you as hungry as I am?” Smarty Pants didn’t say anything when Pinkie Pie looked back at her and winced. “Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot I’m not supposed to ask any questions. Guess I forgot, cause I got all tired, and stuff, you know? But it’s not a bad sorta tired. The productive sort of tired. The kind of tired where my earth pony bones say ‘you did it!’ and then I say ‘I sure did, but I couldn’t have done it without you, bones!’ and then my spleen would ask ‘hey what about me?’ because spleens are needy and— “Ask me anything you want,” came a quiet, reserved, and not-at-all-like-Smarty Pants reply. Pinkie Pie sat up like a shot, and the concern written across her face was plain as day. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Just like that,” Smarty Pants answered, not making eye contact and instead staring at her hooves. “Ask me any questions. At all. About me. About the girls. The future.” Pinkie Pie gasped. “Are you crying?!” “Yes,” Smarty Pants found herself answering. Smarty Pants heard Pinkie Pie rolling to her hooves and trotting over to where Smarty Pants sat. “Why are you crying, Smarty?” the older mare asked. “Because I figured it out,” Smarty said as she felt herself pulled into a sweaty hug. “In Princess Twilight’s stories, you already knew everything that was gonna happen to you. And your friends. And Rarity. The only way that can happen is if… Is if I tell you!” she blurted out, finally looking Pinkie in the eyes. “H-hay now,” said Pinkie with a quiver in her voice. “Come on, it c-can’t be all that bad, right? Let’s just reel it in, come on. Atta girl. Okay, we’re gonna hug it out. Yeah? That’s good, yeah? Hugs are nice.” Smarty Pants nodded, wiping her eyes on Pinkie Pie’s offered shoulder before continuing in starts and fits. “I-I mean, it’s n-not all bad. Th-there’s some g-good in there, for s-sure. A lot of-f it.” “It’s okay, Smarty Pants,” reassured Pinkie Pie. But it did little to undo the twist in the filly’s guts. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want t—” Pinkie Pie yelped when Smarty Pants abruptly pulled out of the hug. “No! You don’t understand! If I d-don’t tell you, if you don’t know, then it changes history! I might not exist! My friends might not exist! Equestria might not exist!” Pinkie Pie ears flattened against the top of her head. “H-hey now. That’s pretty serious stuff. I’m sure it’s not all that ba—” “But it could be!” Smarty Pants insisted. “You’re special, Pinkie Pie. You know. You knew. You will know. You have to, otherwise it changes everything!” Smarty Pants let Pinkie Pie pull her back into a hug and sat down. She could feel the poor mare’s heart thumping in her chest, belying whatever anxiety truly lie beneath her sugary exterior. Pinkie rocked them both back and forth, making soothing shush noises and nickering softly. “Okay, so... Suppose I do need to know. And suppose you do need to ‘tell me everything’. You don’t have to tell me right this instant, do you?” “What do you mean?” Smarty asked. “Well, when I feel like I need to know something, I’ll ask. Okay? Until then, let’s just try to enjoy Twilight’s big day. Yeah?” “...Yeah.” “Great,” said Pinkie Pie with a giggle. “Well, let’s get the last of the cider then.” Smarty Pants tightened her grip in dismay. “I thought you said that was the last of them?” “Oh, yeah. That’s the last of the regular cider. We just need to get a barrel of Applejack’s Special Reserve for the Princesses. It’s their favorite.” Smarty Pants groaned as she stood back up, working the knot that was forming in her right shoulder. “Okay,” she grumbled. “Lets get those barrels.” Pinkie Pie, who had already trotted on ahead, laughed a good natured sort of laugh. “Oh no silly. This one’s easy. It’s the last one.” “The last one?” “Yepperoni! It’s the last one there’ll ever be, too. Atleast that’s what Applejack said when the last of her special reserve yeast went and spoiled in a freaky flood. It’s too bad,” she added as she walked down the cellar stairs. “This stuff is good.” Sandy’s blue eyes sparkled as she smiled up from her spot beside Granny Smith, the most funderful, most kindest old earth pony she’d ever met. Granny Smith smiled back, and took the bowl of mixed wet ingredients from her with a wink. Placing it on the table with a deftness that defied her age, she gripped the handle of her own bowl of dry ingredients for the next batch of pie crust and poured it into Sandy’s bowl. Then, flitting into the air with a small leap, Sandy came to rest on the pedals of a filly-powered mixer, already whisk down in the mixture. A fresh peal of laughter filled the cinnamon sweetened air as Sandy pedaled. Slow at first, soon she was stirring the concoction at such a speed that Granny Smith had to hold the bowl in place for fear of it taking off. Like the first one did about an hour ago. Sandy paddled and pedaled and mixed and meddled the dough until it was a consistent consistency. Something she could feel in her hooves as the chained gear turned and churned beneath her. “Ready Fluttershy?!” asked Sandy in a hurried squawk. “Ready.” “Ready, Granny Smith?” “You bet yer kester!” “Three…” said Sandy, as she worked herself near into a tizzy. “Two… “ said Fluttershy, brandishing a rolling pin in one hoof and a wax-papered baking sheet in the other. “One!” howled Granny Smith as she yanked the bowl in her grasp to the right. Sandy flapped her wings and pulled up with the lateral motion, and she started to spin like a giggling pin-wheel. But when she reached the apex of her spin, she flapped against it, flinging her wad of doughy goodness towards Fluttershy who was just as ready to catch this one as she had the last dozen or so. A small, almost inaudible poof came from the dining room at the exact instant Granny Smith yanked the bowl, and a started yelp pierced the air, startling the three mares in the kitchen..Specifically, one butter yellow pegasus who was previously engaged in catching a high viscosity projectile from one of her newest little friends. Luckily, her instinct to cover her face with the baking sheet turned out to be a good one, as it protected her from the airborne dough. “Oh, for the love of pink swirly stars!” came a curse of sorts from Twilight in the dining room along with the sound of an avalanche of paper. “Heh,” said Fluttershy with a knowing smile before turning back to the counter and placing the baking sheet down. A familiar voice called out from the dining room, as the sound of hooves galloping off of a table and landing on the hardwood filled the first floor of the Apple family home. “Applejack, you were right!” said the voice, “I did it!” “Ah knew you could, Honeycrisp!” came a muffled whoop of support from the front yard. Sandy and Granny Smith watched on in horror as Fluttershy slammed her rolling pin into the helpless lump of dough before her. “Wha…” started Sandy. “Love’ll do that to a mare,” whispered Granny Smith. “Makes yer head all screwy.” “It does?” Sandy whispered back with wide eyes. Granny Smith nodded. “At least Ah’m hopin’ it’s love. For the bakeware’s sake, if not fer anypony else.” Slowly, and with great care not to alert Fluttershy to their presence, the two shrugged at each other and started work on another batch of dough. “Sandy?” asked Granny Smith, “I’m fresh outta eggs. Would ya be a dear an—” The sound of Applejack stomping up the porch stairs and gasping caught everypony’s attention. “What in tarnation happened to the screen door?” “Sandy, where are you? I teleported! Applejack said I could, and I did!” Sandy smiled when she heard the raw excitement in Honeycrisp’s voice as the filly gambled about, no doubt looking for her. “It was like… It was like an explosion, only it was me that blew up!” “Twilight?" interrupted Applejack, “What’re y’all still doin’ here?” “Not taxes, I’ll tell you that much,” Sandy heard Princess Twilight answer back, along with the sound of papers being shuffled around. “Eenope,” came the corroborating reply of the sole male in the house. “Huh,” Applejack said, her hoof-falls coming ever closer to the kitchen. “I figured, what with you havin’ ta pickin’ up yer family at the train station and al—” Sandy couldn’t place the sound she was hearing, but it sounded an awful lot like a chair falling over and into in a pile of papers. “Oh my gosh, is it noon already?” came Princess Twilight’s frantic reply. “It’s twelve-oh-fiiiiive,” Fluttershy answered loudly in a sing-song voice, looking at the clock above the refrigerator. Sandy turned to look back at the kitchen’s entry way and listened to the muttered half apologies mixed with curses of one sort or another as the young incarnation of the infallible pony she knew ran out the front door. She’d never forget the sound of the Goddess of Magic tripping over her hooves and falling down the front porch’s small staircase before poofing out of existence. Sandy turned and looked again at Fluttershy, who was singing softly to herself again as she rolled out the dough, staring out the window all the while. “Maybe it’s not love,” wondered Granny Smith with a wary eye and a rub of her chin. Before Sandy could speak a familiar voice called out from the kitchen door, “There you are, Sandy. Guess what?! I teleported!” Sandy turned with a smile that set her wings buzzing. “I heard! That’s amazing, I— Oh, those apples look great! Did you buck them yourself?” Honeycrisp walked in with two baskets wrapped in golden auras floating above her head, “I sure did!” she beamed proudly. “I bucked them with my magic!” Sandy giggled at her friend’s puffed out chest and conqueror's strut. “That’s so great,” she said, singing her friend’s praises. “I didn’t know a pony could buck apples with magic.” Honeycrisp smiled back. “Neither did I ‘til Applejack showed me.” “I didn’t show you diddly,” said Applejack. “You went and showed me. Now go on’n get those baskets up on the counter over yonder. These babies are goin’ in pies.” Honeycrisp nodded as she concentrated on floating the baskets over to the counter. “And they’ll be the best tasting pies, ever, cause I picked the apples!” Sandy puffed out her chest too, feeling a bit cocky herself from all this crowing. “And because I helped bake them!” “Alright you whippersnappers,” chided Granny Smith with a wry smile, “any more hot air outta the two’a you and we won’t need wood ta burn fer the ovens! Now go out back and get us some more eggs.” Sandy nodded, pulling herself out of her mixer pedals and floating down beside Honeycrisp before playfully leaning into her on the landing. “Come on, Honeycrisp,” she said, and began leading the way, “I’ll race you to the coop!” Sandy didn’t see it, but her friend’s smile faltered when she answered back at a slow trot, “Please... no more running.” -- Applejack watched as the two girls ran out the door, all giggles and silliness. Well, one ran out the door. The other walked for the most part. A limpy sort of hop. She frowned, wondering if she worked the poor gal too hard out in the east fields. She was ripped from this thought when she watched Granny Smith unexpectedly waver and slump over. “Granny?!” she found herself calling in alarm. In a heartbeat, the sound of paper once more going helter-skelter in the dining room filled the air, with heavy hoof falls following soon after. By the time Applejack closed the few feet of distance between her and the mare that raised her, Fluttershy was already there, supporting Granny’s back and holding her hoof. “I’m fine, child. I’m fine,” she said, holding a shaking hoof to her chest. “The little red one gave me a start is all. It was like I was lookin’ at yer pa all over again. Like Ah was seein’ my own foal for the first time.” Applejack nodded and shared a worried glance with Fluttershy. “You’ve had a long day, Granny Smith. How’s about I help you up to your room for a nap?” Fluttershy offered with a caring smile. “That sounds lovely dear. Big Mac, quit yer gawkin’ and come help Fluttershy. Applejack, you finish the last batch of pies.” Applejack turned to her side, taking a step back as Big Mac hurried past her. Each taking a side, the two escorted Granny Smith back out of the kitchen and toward the stars. “Thank you dearies,” Granny said with a sigh as she walked between the two. Applejack couldn’t help but shake her head when she heard Granny Smith continue with “Oh, Fluttershy, don’t you smell nice. Big Mac, doesn’t Fluttershy smell nice?” before the trio reached the stairs. “Poor, poor Granny,” mused Applejack, “She’s gonna be heartbroken when she finds out Fluttershy already has her heart set on some stallion.” Applejack took off her hat and set it on the table by the mixer. The room was full of pies in various states of completion, with more cooling in the pantry. Sure, there was a lot of work left to do, but with Honeycrisp and her friend, Applejack was sure that the pies would be done in time to take them to where Rarity was setting up the night’s activities. She mosied on over to the sink basin to wash her hooves, letting the soap and warm water wash away the dirt and dust, taking a silly and careless dream along with it. The sort of childish notion she should’ve outgrown when she was a filly. “A date,” she said quietly, staring at the soapy water stream down her hooves. “I’m glad. Good for her.” The side door opened with a protesting squeak and a cascade of hooves echoed off the tiled walls. “We’re back with the eggs, Granny!” Sandy called. “Hey, where’d the crazy-old lady go?” asked Honeycrisp. “She’s not crazy!” “What? I don’t… No, she’s crazy-old. Like, she’s probably a million years old.” “How old can ponies get?” “I dunno, ask your mom.” Applejack killed the water with a hoof while reaching for the hoof towel with the other. She wiped her hooves dry. She wiped her face dry. Leaning her back against the sink, she cleared her throat and answered the two fillies. “Granny’s as old as the hills, and then some. So she went up to take a nap. Can I count on the two of you to help me finish making these pies?” Honeycrisp let out a cheer. Sandy let out a whoop. Applejack joined in with a ‘yee-haw’ of her own. “Alright then, girls! Let’s get these pies finished before anything else strange ha—” “No!” came a frantic cry from the front yard, causing Applejack to spin in place once more and search through the window for the cause. “Smarty Pants, you wheel that barrel back here right this instant young lady!” admonished a dirt stained Pinkie Pie as she ran across the yard. “We need it for the party!” “I said no!” shouted Smarty Pants, frantically. “The future depends on it!” Applejack soon caught sight of Smarty Pants, also covered in dirt and grime. She was running atop the last of the Special Reserve barrels like a log in a river. The barrel in turn bounced and rolled just out of Pinkie Pie’s reach, weaving this way and that before doubling back on itself whenever the former got too close. “The future depends on it!” the wild-eyed filly reiterated. Applejack hung her shoulders in a measure of disbelief and frustration. She looked over her shoulder to apologize to Honeycrisp and Sandy, but minus a bunch of pies and a basket of eggs, she was the kitchen’s sole occupant. “For the future!” came a call like a battlecry from the porch. Applejack’s ear flickered at the pair of voices well before glancing outside again in time to see Honeycrisp hug-tackling Pinkie Pie to the ground. “Fly, you fillies!” she shouted over her shoulder, back beyond Applejack’s field of vision. “No! The party!” screamed Pinkie Pie, prone on the ground, holding and exaggerating the final syllable like a balloon letting out the last of its air. Opening the window, and sticking her head out, Applejack looked beyond the lone oak tree in the yard and spied a barrel shaped blob of eight legs and two buzzing wings running as fast as it could deeper into Sweet Apple Acres. Smarty Pants screamed the whole way about how the future depended on that one barrel of cider. Applejack shook her head. “Eeyup. No kids fer me, thanks,” she said to herself, pulling back into the kitchen to peel apples.