//------------------------------// // Sweet'n'Salty // Story: /co/ Vs. Ponychan: The Western Anthology // by Write Off //------------------------------// The dawn sun creeped along the bedroom’s floor, a cool breeze ruffling through the slightly-ajar window, causing the blinds to softly whisper as they caressed the wall. Nearby, a large red stallion snored deeply, each breath reverberating like a drum. Big Mac was a fitting name for the stallion, his form easily able to dwarf most other ponies. The hay-stuffed bed sagged underneath his weight, each dream-induced roll causing it to warp precariously, yet it remained miraculously intact. Big Mac’s sister, Applejack, occasionally asked him why he kept it; the bed was the same one he had slept in as a foal–the hooves hanging from the end a testament to it never being built for such a large being. No matter his answer, whether it was for nostalgia’s sake or simply to save bits, Applejack would scoff at it. He didn’t mind his younger sibling’s pressing, though; he’d learned long ago that when she latched onto a subject it was easier for all of those involved to just let it run its course. At least until she had insisted that he needed to take a vacation. That he hadn’t taken to very well. It was one thing to rest if he was injured, like during the Applebucking season a few years ago, but to just leave all of the work to Applejack? He simply couldn’t, especially after how close his sister had come to hurting herself when she tried to do it alone last time. However, she’d proven herself to be the more steadfast–or stubborn–of the two and, after months of poking and proding, he had finally relented. She had promised that she wouldn’t do it alone this time, at least. Applebloom was finally big enough to help with some of the easier tasks, and Applejack’s friends had personally assured Big Mac that they’d keep an eye on her and chip in if needed. He still felt uneasy about leaving, though. Unlike his sister, who went on all sorts of adventures with her five friends, Big Mac was more than comfortable with simply living day-to-day, to enjoy the little things in life. Work was his life, and he was about to walk away from his life’s work. For the stallion, it was akin to being an apple tree that grew oranges. The sun finally crawled high enough into the sky to touch Big Mac’s snout. He sniffled and wiggled, as if he was trying to cast off a butterfly that had landed on it. Finally, the inevitable happened, and he let out with a roaring sneeze. His sage-green eyes flew open, their pupils contracting in the sudden brightness. After a few seconds he opened them again, rubbing the night dust out with his forehooves. The bed groaned in protest as he lifted himself up into a slouched sitting position, staring out at the rolling fields speckled with apple trees with half-lidded eyes. Finally, he forced himself up, a few muffled pops sounding as he stretched out his stiff joints. He knew there was still a couple good decades left in his body, but suddenly the thought of a short vacation seemed a little more inviting. Big Mac walked over to the wall where, beside the door to the hallway, hung his yoke. He nosed it up and let it slide down his neck until it came to rest on his shoulders, its familiar heft and polished wood welcomed by the stallion. His yoke was another thing Applejack had asked about, why he always wore it, even when he wasn’t doing work. That he’d been able to answer easily enough; “You’ve got ma’s hat, Ah’ve got dad’s yoke.” She hadn’t brought it up again since then. The yoke was the only thing Big Mac wore, barring the vest during Winter Wrap-Up vest and his dad’s dress shirt, which he would only wear if he ever got married or for a funeral. As clothed as he was ever going to get, Big Mac tip-hoofed out into the hallway, his large size belying just how light on his hooves he could be. He made his way downstairs, briefly peeking into the living room to see Granny Apple snoring peacefully in her rocking chair. A few moments later Big Mac was weaving through the apple trees at a leisurely trot. A well-placed tap on one tree knocked a loose an apple, which he neatly caught with his mouth. It was still tart and tough, not quite ripe enough for normal sale, but perfect for cooking. He munched on it thoughtfully, wondering about just what Applejack had planned for his “vacation”. She had insisted on making all of the arrangements herself, especially after he’d suggested going to Zebrica to do peace work. “That ain’t no vay-cay-shun,” she’d stated matter-of-factly. “Heck, doin’ that sorta work is probably even tougher than buckin’ the trees.” Big Mac had lost his planning privileges after that. All he knew at this point was that it was going to involve a train and family. As long as Applejack wasn’t sending him off to be with the Oranges, though, he was fine with it. He’d never been the best at handling finances or plans, anyways. The harsh sound of sawing interrupted his musing. His curiosity piqued, he followed his ears until he came across a tree with branches littering the ground around it. “Applebloom? That you up there?” he called. The sawing stopped and a yellow face, half-obscured by a rose-red mane, popped out of the branches. “Hiya, big bro! Goin’ to the train station now?” Big Mac smiled. “Eeyup. But before Ah do, just what’re ya doin’ up in the tree, Applebloom?” Applebloom pursed her lips and blew the wayward hair out of her face, revealing a pair of bright orange eyes. “Well, somepony’s gotta trim the trees, and Ah figured Ah could practice my grafting as long as Ah was at it. That big ol’ windstorm from last week did a nasty number on some o’ these here branches, after all.” She disappeared back into the leafy bough of the tree, a few muffled rustles coming from its depths before the mare dropped gracefully from the tree. Applebloom spat out the saw that had between her teeth. Twisting around to show Big Mac her flank, she finished with, “I mean, it is mah special talent!” Big Mac chuckled. “Yer never gonna let me forget it, are ya?” “Nope!” She shook her back end, showing off the pair of bandaged branches represented her talent. Applebloom had put the experience she’d gotten from fixing up the old tree house to good use when she’d checked out a book on apple tree growing and found a chapter on how to repair dead branches by grafting. Her Cutie Mark had followed shortly after. “Well, Ah’d best get goin’. Make sure yer big sis don’t work herself t’ the bone, OK?” Applebloom gave a mock salute. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout Applejack; ah’ll take care o’ her! Yah just go an’ enjoy that vacation!” Big Mac waved goodbye–which was enthusiastically returned by Applebloom–and returned to his walk. Going through the trees wasn’t the fastest way to the train station, but his chance encounter with his sister was just one of the reasons why taking the scenic route was often the best way to travel. Big Mac enjoyed taking notice in the things that other’s missed in their hurry to get from point A to point B. He relished the moist morning dew as it tickled his hooves, birds tittering as they carved graceful patterns in the sky, the hypnotic swaying of leaves in the wind. Finding a good straw of wheat in one of the many patches he had planted around the orchard–he always made sure to have some at hoof if the urge struck him–he sighed with contentment at how peaceful things were, then sighed again when he saw his destination come into view. His face brightened, however, when he saw who was waiting for him. “Well, hey, if it ain’t mah little cous’n!” A yellow stallion galloped up to him. “Braeburn!” Big Mac said as he followed suit, the two meeting halfway, each rearing up and putting their forehooves against each other. “Been age since Ah’ve seen you!” They backed off and fell down to four hooves once more. “Heh, when your l’il sis told me that yah were goin’ on a trip, Ah told her I’d be happier than a buffalo with an apple pie t’ take yah to Aaaapleoosa!” he announced enthusiastically. “Ah’m more than happy to see you again, Braeburn!” Big Mac turned to his sister, who had been watching from the sidelines with a wide grin. “Now do yah think this was a good idea?” she teased. Big Mac moved the sprig of wheat from one corner of his mouth to the other in thought. “Well, Ah still think it would ‘ave been better if yah didn’t put it during Applebuckin’ season, but Ah think Ah’ll be able t’ deal with it. “Good. Now, th’ train’s gonna be here any moment now, so ya’ll best get over there. Wouldn’t do for yah to miss it, after all.” Braeburn nodded in agreement. “C’mon, little cous. We can catch up during the ride.” Big Mac copied the gesture. “Sounds like a plan. Just give me’n’Applejack a sec, will yah?” Braeburn complied and trotted off to the platform. Now alone, Big Mac went up and pecked his sister on the cheek. “Ah’m glad you talked me inta this, sis. Still, yah gotta promise me yah’ll let yer sister and yer friends help yah do th’ applebucking, OK?” Applejack waved a hoof dismissively. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout little ol’ me, yah just go enjoy yerself now, ya hear? Ah’ll see yah in a month, saltcube.” The stallion looked confused for a moment. “Saltcube?” he asked earnestly. Applejack shrugged. “’Figured that Ah needed somethin’ fer stallions, since sugarcube jus’ don’t sound right.” Big Mac snorted in amusement. “Well, yah know I’m not one fer salt.” “Ah haven’t forgotten. Oh! And ‘fore yah go, yer stuff is with Braeburn. Jus’ a couple o’ snacks fer th’ trip an’ the like. Ya’ll take care now!” The two siblings briefly nuzzled each other before going their separate ways, Applejack back to the farm to get started on the harvest and Big Mac moving to join Braeburn at the terminal. -=-=-=-=-=- The scenery rushed by in a blur of brown, tan and gold. Rocky crags sprouted from the desert’s barren land like earthen fingers, the occasional flash of green appearing where a cactus or hardy grass had clawed their way out from the sun-hardened ground. Even Big Mac found it difficult to find the beauty in such a dry and arid land but, without any exterior diversions to distract him, he found it easy for him and Braeburn to have long conversations. Braeburn regaled Big Mac with buffalo tales of folklore, like the Golem of the Desert who had created the plateaus and the legend of the Moon Crow, a crafty god who had himself been outwitted by the buffalo maiden he had wished to wed. When Big Mac’s turn came up, he would talk about the larger-than-life events at Ponyville, like the Ursa Minor attack and, somewhat reluctantly, the time he had become convinced he was a dog during Discord’s brief reign. Braeburn had laughed long and hard at that, and while at first Big Mac’s ears had burned an ever-brighter shade of red, he hadn’t been able to resist joining in too. They didn’t even notice that night had snuck up on them until the conductor had knocked on their door, telling the pair that the train’s curfew had come and gone and that other passengers had complained about their loud rambling. Reluctantly, the two retired and, with the candle snuffed out and Braeburn mumbling in his sleep, Big Mac watched the star-studded night pass by. He counted the stars in Ursa Major and Minor, marvelled at the burning contrail of a shooting star and, most of all, marvelled at the moon. It was in full display, proudly displaying itself for all to see and revel in. Before, with the Mare in the Moon imprinted in it, it had seemed alien, threatening. Now, though, it seemed warm and inviting, always willing to guide those lost in the dark with its bright evanescence. Out here, in the desert, the night sky’s beauty more than made up for the land’s harshness. A look of contentment on his face, Big Mac slipped under his covers, shortly followed by his slipping into dreams. -=-=-=-=-=-=- FWEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! The train’s whistle served as a suitable replacement for a rooster. With a mighty yawn the stallion got up. Braeburn was already up and about, as evidenced by the lack of his leather vest and a note hanging on the bedpost that simply read “Gone to get breakfast”. Big Mac put on his yoke and, after asking a bored-looking janitor for directions, found his way to the dining car. It didn’t take long for him to Braeburn, or rather, it didn’t take long for Braeburn to find him. Big Mac supposed that it was one of the advantages of standing a couple of heads higher than other ponies. The pair made their way back to the table Braeburn had been waiting at. Big Mac looked down at the empty table. “Haven’t ordered anythin’ yet?” “Nope, been waitin’ for you, cous.” He leaned over and picked up a pair of menus that had been leaning against the table’s leg. “Take your pick; this one’s on me.” After a couple minute’s deliberation, Big Mac settled on a fruit salad while Braeburn ordered hashbrowns. Big Mac, in typical fashion, ate his breakfast at a leisurely pace while Braeburn finished his in a matter of minutes, leaving the Appleloosan to monologue. He talked about how much Appleloosa had grown in the past few years, moving from a simply frontier town to a moderately busy trading centre. He also talked at length about the relations with the native buffalo, who had been more than courteous as long as there was a fresh supply of apple pie and their stampede route remained unblocked. “There are even some buffalo who’re living in town now!” he’d said, obviously enthused at the good relationship Appleloosa had with them. By the time Big mac was finished the train was on the last stretch of tracks before it reached Appleloosa. Braeburn paid for their breakfast and then the two stallions headed back to their cabin to gather their belongings. A few minutes later the train stopped to let passengers disembark, closely followed by new riders boarding the train. Watching the train recede into the distance, Braeburn said, “So, you like your first train ride, cous?” “Eeeeyup.” “Well, you’d best get ready for more, ‘cause we’ve just gotten started!” -=-=-=-=-=-=- Big Mac had been expecting a slow stroll to see the sights of Appleloosa; instead, he got a whirlwind tour of just about every “Fine business establishment”, “Culinary experience” and pony of noteworthiness, which was most of them when it came to Braeburn. Post offices that were easily three times the size of Ponyville’s, auction houses that played host to everything from ore sales to original Van Dough, bistros that had sparkling juice from local vineyards and clubs that moved from Mild West dancing to disco in the span of a single day. It was, according to Braeburn, all thanks to Appleloosa being the epicentre of the railway. While Big Mac was more than capable of working for long hours and with heavy loads, he was far from an agile pony, and so he quickly found himself faltering due to the break-neck pace. The desert sun beating down didn’t help matters either, and it didn’t take long for his matted coat to become several shades darker from sweat. Braeburn, on the other hoof, barely seemed fazed at all by the heat; if anything, he was even more excitable. Finally, when Big Mac felt like he couldn’t take another step, Braeburn stopped in front of a seedy-looking saloon. “An’ here’s the original waterin’ hole of Appleloosa, th’ Salt Block!” Big Mac, despite how exhausted he was, couldn’t help but think about the oxymoron of calling a place that sold salt a “watering hole”. However, before he could puzzle over it further, he felt the now-familiar push of Braeburn. “C’mon, cous, let’s get a drink!” Big Mac dug his hooves into the dust, finally deciding to forgo passivity. “Ah don’t do well wit’ salt, Brae.” “You don’t like salt?” he asked, a look of surprise dominating his face. “Eeyup.” Braeburn seemed non-plussed for several moments. He gathered his wits and asked “…No salt at all?” “Eeyup.” “What if I bought it? Would you have some?” “Eeeenope.” Braeburn sighed. “Well, dang, I was lookin’ forward to letting you try some Appleloosan salt; I have it from several salt tasters that it’s th’ best in just about anywhere!” Big Mac nudged the distraught stallion lightly. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout it it. Right now, all Ah’m really interested in is a cold drink.” Braeburn brightened up, if only marginally. “Well, what’re we waiting for? The Salt Block can also mix up a mean margarita —non-salted rim, of course.” “Sounds good t’me, Brae.” They trotted up to and through the swinging doors. It only took a second for the smell of unwashed bodies, cheap liquor and cigarettes to hit Big Mac in the face like a frying pan full of burning cinders that had been used to cook rotten eggs. Braeburn, for his part, took a deep breath and let it out, an expression of contentment on his face. “Ahh, th’ old Salt Block, nowhere quite like it.” He craned his head back to the queasy Big Mac. “Well, time’s a-wastin’! Let’s get a drink or two before we had back out; I’ve gotta take you out to meet Chief Thunderhooves and Little Braveheart still!” Braeburn began to move through the sardine-tight mass of bodies, effortlessly flowing through them like water through a dam. Big Mac tried to follow in his cousin’s wake, but the instant Braeburn got past one of the saloon’s many denizens the hole would close right back up, leaving the stallion to bull his way through and mutter apologies to angry glares and threatening growls. Diamond Dogs, rats, griffons, monkeys, ponies of every breed and even a few buffalo filled the interior to nearly bursting, and the little space that left over was filled by the smoke that wafted from innumerable cigarillos perched limply in their owner’s mouth, muzzle or beak. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Big Mac caught up to Braeburn, who was already sipping away at a Manehatten Long Island, the dirty glass rimmed by unnaturally white salt. Noticing Big Mac’s arrival, Braeburn slid a margarita towards him, the salt-virgin concoction filled with a red ichor that sloshed with milky undulations. It was topped with a single wilted cherry. It took a moment of mulling for Big Mac to remember that margaritas usually had a lime or lemon instead. Braeburn raised his glass and announced, a little too loudly for Big Mac’s taste, “To the best cousin in Equestria!” He downed the rest of his drink in one go and banged his hoof on the countertop for another. As the earth pony barkeep refilled the glass, Braeburn directed his attention to Big Mac and said, “Well, drink up!” Big Mac stared at the glass for a second and, with more than a little apprehension, he took a sip from it. The brew slimed down his esophagus, burning the entire way down, until it fell into his stomach with the weight of an iron ball. If he wasn’t worried about the damage it would do during the second trip, Big Mac would have thrown it up; judging by the numerous discoloured stains on the counter, it was a fairly normal occurrence. “You gonna finish that?” Braeburn asked, gesturing to the mostly-filled cup. Big Mac tried to rasp an answer, then decided to spare his throat the torture and merely nod a yes. Before he could even blink the mixture had disappeared down Braeburn’s throat. “Guess you weren’t that thirsty after all! Maybe you’d prefer a-” He was cut off by the sound of a fight breaking out. Three Diamond Dogs had leaped up, surrounding a stoic pegasus that wore a desperado hat and a long, flowing cloak. “Little pony cheat us!” the first one, a tall and lanky mutt whose right eye was white with cataracts, spat. “Yes, puny pegasus steal from us!” cried the second member of their motely group, his four chins flopping around as his corpulent body tried to stand up. The fourth slowly stood up to his full height, its body criss-crossed with numerous scars and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “We do not take kindly to being scammed, ranger,” he hissed as his hand slid down to where a collection of weaponized confectionaries rested. The ‘ranger’ simply regarded them cooly. “It does not take a genius or a cheater to beat a pack of mangy dogs at poker, especially when their tails wag at good hands.” The first dog reached over the table, a dirty fingernail pointing at the pegasus. “Stupid pony will pay for insulting u-“ The pony casually flicked the paw away. “Watch where you’re pointing those things, unless you’re letting someone cut ‘em.” The fat one finally managed to get up and fell towards the mysterious equine. “When we’re through with you, no pony will be able to find your body!” “If you sat on me, I doubt even YOU could find me again between your cheeks.” The oversized dog lunged , slowly, at the pegasus. “Why you little-“ The leader of the pack grabbed him before he could reach his target. “Now now, that’s no way to do things like a proper gentlecanine.” He turned his gaze to the pegasus and said, “How about we do this the old-fashioned way? Ten paces, turn and pie.” The pegasus gave a demure smile. “Those two against me wouldn’t be a problem, but three against one? Even for me, that’s not a fair fight.” The two gazed levelly at the other for several seconds, not a single patron making a peep, at least until Braeburn said, “We’ll help you, Mister!” The pegasus glanced at them, almost looking as if he didn’t consider them to be worth his time, before shrugging and saying, “If you want to.” Big Mac looked at his cousin in horror, his mouth moving but unable to form words. “Barkeep! Two glasses of courage juice for me and my cous!” Two glasses were dropped in front of them. “Drink up!” Braeburn downed his in one gulp and, much to Big Mac’s surprise, he drank all of his own too. This time, though, the red stallion noticed something different about it, not just that it was edible, but also the slight tingling on his tongue and lips. He looked down at the glass to see salt ringing the edge, each crystal glittering in the distilled sunlight that had stolen its way through grimy windows. They danced a merry jig in his vision, casting rainbows across the drab interior. “Eee-uh-oh.” The world faded from vision. -=-=-=-=-=-=- One eye opened, but the other seemed to befirmly welded shut. Big Mac also noticed a stickiness on his head, warm and cloyingly sweet. Then something wet ran across his face and, with the impulse caused by its passing, his other eye managed to crack open the sugary shell that had been covering it. One of the scantily-clad dancers from the saloon was licking bits of frosting and filling off of his face. “UH-buh-wuh…huh?” he managed to sputter out. The pony dancer, her coat as white as fresh snow, smiled brightly at him. “Hehe, so you’re awake? I bet you’re wondering about what happened, right?” “EEEeeeeeEEeee…yup?” he replied drunkenly, still feeling the lingering aftereffects of the salt in his body. She giggled again at his less-than decipherable response. “Well, you see Mister, you, Mr. Braeburn and that ranger went out and had a pie’n’cake duel. Needless to say, your head got beaned pretty good by a shortcake, but not before you managed to feed that fat one next-to bursting with long johns.” His eye twitched at the thought of even touching that dog. “Your… cousin, was it?... managed to nail the tall one with a classic Appleloosan apple pie, but when he was grabbing a second one the leader of their pack got him right in the chest with some sort of Istallion dessert bread…Panatonie, I think it was.” Seeing Big Mac’s panicked expression, she quickly added, “Don’t worry though, it wasn’t even stale yet. You should be more worried about the last Diamond Dog. That ranger knocked him clean off his clock with a fruit cake. Didn’t even know you could still get those, supposed to be outlawed. Anyways, Sheriff Silverstar was mighty glad that you three took out those mutts since they’ve been making a mess of the town for some time now. Does that answer your questions?” He nodded. “Hehe, good. Now, where was I?...” Big Mac felt the cleaning commence again and closed his eyes, deciding to just go with the flow of things. At least until he felt a second tongue on his chest. His eyes opened and he saw a very familiar hat. “Braeburn?” he managed to say with little difficulty. The yellow stallion grinned. “Yep, now hold still; you’ve got some frosting a little lower.” As the tongues continued to caress him, Big Mac realized he had a lot to think about, and more to talk about with Applejack. Mostly about how she and Rainbow Dash handled their relationship.