//------------------------------//
// 43. Love In All The Wrong Places 
// Story: Prompt-A-Day Collection V: Prompt Child 
// by Admiral Biscuit 
//------------------------------//

43: Love In All The Wrong Places
Admiral Biscuit

"Ah ain't no country bumpkin, Rarity."

Those words floated through Applejack's mind as she pushed her hat back and looked up at the street sign, trying to get her bearings. She was on her way home from a weekend visit to the Oranges' Manehattan condo, and had been too thrifty to take a cab to the train station—a decision she now regretted. The landmarks she'd remembered as a filly were changed, and she'd taken a wrong turn a little ways back and was too stubborn to retrace her steps.

She knew that the streets mostly ran in a grid pattern, and she knew where the train station was, and she knew where the condo was, so all she needed to do was jog south a block or two—or maybe it was east.

Applejack squared her shoulders and made her decision. She was going to head one block south, and see if that looked more familiar.

She kept to the street edge of the sidewalk—she'd learned as a filly that unsavory ponies sometimes hid in dark alleys or against corners, waiting to accost the unwary. On the street side, as long as you kept your ears alert for runaway carts, there were no real threats.

Like many of her fillyhood experiences, this, too, had changed. Some of the unsavory had become emboldened, and no longer limited their skulking to the shadows.

She didn't think much of the shadowy figure leaning up against a lamppost at first. Applejack saw her half a block away. She was wearing a loose robe, much like the one Zecora often wore into town. While such a thing might have stood out in Ponyville, here in Manehattan many ponies went about dressed.

As she got closer, though, alarm bells began ringing in her mind. The shape wasn't quite right, and she was a mare who'd seen a lot. Applejack slowed down and sampled the air, hoping to tease out the strange pony's scent from the babel of city smells.

She glanced at the street for just a moment, to see if it was clear of traffic. The cabbies were maniacs, tartarus-bent on getting their fare to her location in the shortest possible time; between them and the omnibus teams, the streets were a dangerous place for a pony.

If the shadow-figure had noticed her attention wavering, she gave no sign. She was still lazily leaning against the lamppost, directly in the one spot its crystal didn't illuminate.

"It's jest nerves," Applejack muttered to herself, and marched resolutely onward.

The cloaked pony disengaged herself from the lamppost and moved to intercept. The instant her bent horn was touched by the light, Applejack tensed.

"Hey."

Applejack's eyes flicked to the street again, estimating the clearance between her and the omnibus bearing down. If she went right now, she'd make it, unless there were a cab in the outside lane.

"Hey—will you love me?"

Her hood had fallen down, revealing the dark chiten and the lumescent blue eyes of a changeling. "Stay back," Applejack warned, setting her hooves on the concrete. "Ah ain't scared of ya."

The changeling blinked. "Why would you be scared? All I want is some love."

"I ain't got no bits to spare."

"I'm not asking for bits. I don't want bits. What good do they do? All I want is a little bit of love, and then we can both go on our way."

"Are ya one of them streetwalkers?"

"I can be," the changeling said hopefully. "If that's what you want."

"Ah don't want nothin' to do with any of your kind. Ah ain't got nothin' for ya."

The changeling tilted her head and looked into Applejack's eyes. "All ponies have love to spare. You don't know how lucky you are." She lowered her head. "Just . . . maybe just a hug?"

"How come ya ain't disguised as somepony, but just out on the street in a cloak? Ain't ya afraid somepony's gonna report ya to a policepony?"

"This city?"

That's a fair point, Applejack admitted to herself. She moved slightly closer to the changeling, but still far enough away that she could gallop off if she needed to. She wasn't scared; she was just being prudent. Leaving her options open.

"Shoot." What would Rarity do? The changeling stood patiently, her head still submissively bowed. "If Ah say Ah'm gonna give ya a hug—and Ah ain't sayin' Ah am, mind—is that gonna be all? Ya ain't gonna bite me, or try to suck out all my love, or something like that, are ya?"

"No, not unless you want me to."

"What kinda pony—never mind. Don't answer that." Applejack looked around uncertainly. "Do ya happen to know which way it is to the train station?"

The changeling nodded.

"All right." Applejack took one more look up and down the street. "No funny business, or Ah'll buck ya into next week. And ya gotta tell me the way to the train station first, just so Ah know Ah can trust ya."

"Two blocks this way," the changeling said, a note of certainty in her voice. "Then turn left, and go for four blocks. You'll see the tracks curve in on your right; cross them at the first bridge, and then go back right to the entrance."

That was pretty close to what Applejack had figured, so the changeling wasn't sending her off on a wild-goose chase. "Alright. You done your part, so Ah guess it's my turn." With no hesitation in her step, Applejack met the changeling halfway and wrapped her in a tight hug.

It wasn't a close friend kind of hug, nor was it a lover's hug; instead, it was an honest-to-goodness Apple Family hug, chock full of emotion. The changeling drank it in, her ant-like body eagerly trembling between Applejack's forelegs.

After a brief time, the two broke apart, and the changeling gave Applejack an affectionate nuzzle on the cheek.

"Well, there ya go." She checked to make sure her hat was still on square. "Good luck to ya. Ah've gotta catch a train." Without waiting for a reply, Applejack trotted off, a faint blush on her cheek. Manehattan sure is strange, she thought.