CHAPTER THREE
CULTURE SHOCK
It took a while for Sweetie Belle to calm down enough to eat. As it turned out, she really had been cooking a cauliflower casserole, and to Apple Bloom’s surprise it was delicious. Hers and Harper’s genuine compliments lifted Sweetie's spirits. Around the circular glass dinner table in the flat’s small, decorated dining room, she tried to describe the last two years of her life.
“I was just as shocked as you,” she started, nudging her plate with her nose, “when I first got here. It wasn’t half as bad back then; it seems to get worse every day. But still, I could tell something was wrong right away. There were guards everywhere and ponies seemed afraid of them. I didn’t find out why for a few weeks.”
She swallowed hard, though she hadn’t taken a bite of her casserole for several minutes.
“I was coming home from a concert one night—not a concert I sang in, but one of my teachers had all of her students attend a cantata down at the theatre—anyway, I was walking home alone and way down the street I saw a crowd of ponies holding torches and signs with Twilight’s face on them. Our Twilight, Apple Bloom! But they had added fangs or painted big red X’s… I thought it was awful. I ran toward the crowd with half a mind to tell them all to go home, or at least find out what all the fuss was about. But before I even got close… they started to attack them.”
“They who?” Harper asked. “The royal guards?”
Sweetie Belle nodded. “Night guards, the ponies with leathery wings like a bat. They didn’t even warn them! They didn’t tell them to stop first or… I don’t know, they could have just yelled at them or something. But they dove in from the sky and started killing these ponies!” Her eyes widened. “Killing them, Apple Bloom! Right in front of me! Not just kicking or biting or pushing them… they killed eight ponies that night!”
Her tears were welling again. Apple Bloom placed a caring hoof on top of her friend’s and urged her to continue.
Sweetie Belle closed her eyes and took a deep, focusing breath. “I was terrified. I ran home and locked the door and told my roommates all about it. They were sad but didn’t seem very surprised; they all grew up in Canterlot and had seen the changes take place since Twilight joined the Princesses here.”
“How long ago was that?” Harper asked. Sweetie Belle looked to Apple Bloom, who had always been better with numbers.
“Uh…” Apple Bloom hesitated for a moment, though she knew the answer almost to the day. “About five years, I think.”
Harper nodded and turned his attention back to Sweetie Belle.
“My roommates said that used to be pretty common,” she continued. “The anti-Twilight marches, I mean. Most ponies blame her for Canterlot’s problems. I guess that when she moved here the Princesses stopped coming out of their palace. All the galas and socials were cancelled and nopony was allowed inside for any reason. After a while, with no sign of the Princesses, ponies started stealing and forming gangs. That’s when the guards started patrolling the city. They didn’t seem to do anything, though; even with the guards, crime went up and up.
“And then the killings started. They said at first it was hesitant, like the guards were fulfilling an order they didn’t want to do. It was never in any newspapers, but everypony knew about it. For a while there was a bit of an uprising, but the guards hurt so many ponies that it died down.
“That’s about when I moved here. Most ponies were afraid of the guards; the rest were killed. The march that night was the only one I ever saw. It might have been the last.”
Sweetie Belle paused long enough for Harper to request clarifications.
“So everypony hates Twilight? Even though she’s a Princess?”
Both mares shot him a spiteful look. “Twilight is not a Princess,” Sweetie Belle nearly growled. “The Princesses loved their subjects. They took care of us. All Twilight does is hide in her castle and send out her guards to put down rebellion.”
Now Apple Bloom gave Sweetie Belle the same offended glance. “Sweetie! How can you say that? Twilight is our friend! She’d never do nothin’ to hurt nopony.”
Sweetie’s face paled even lighter as she bowed her head. “Not anymore.”
“Did she really send the Princesses to the Moon?” Harper whispered.
Sweetie Belle nodded without looking up. Her horn began to glow. A piece of paper floated to the table from a drawer in the kitchen, crumpled into a ball. The magic flattened the notice out until it was readable again. Apple Bloom and Harper leaned in for a closer look.
OFFICIAL DECLARATION from PRINCESS SPARKLE blared the header in regal, curly mouthwriting. Harper read the rest aloud.
“My Loyal Subjects,” he began. Apple Bloom grimaced. “It is with pride I send this Declaration to every citizen of Equestria to explain and rejoice with you over the recent conquering of a dangerous threat to your wellbeing. The alicorns you once called your Princesses have been condemned of heinous crimes. With the power of the Elements of Harmony, I have banished them to the surface of the Moon where they shall remain, far from my beloved subjects, for all eternity. Through extensive investigation, their reign was discovered to be founded on lies, deception, and wickedness. I assure you that they are a poison to our great nation no longer. Let us celebrate this victory as I assume their duties; the Days and Nights of Equestria will continue in safety and peace.”
“Your Princess of the Dusk,” mocked Sweetie Belle, “Twilight Sparkle.”
The three sat still in very different forms of silence. Sweetie Belle’s green eyes seethed; Harper fought the urge to pinch himself; Apple Bloom simply added the news to her growing list of unwanted changes.
“Are you kidding me?” Harper suddenly exploded, slamming his forehooves onto the table. Apple Bloom winced, hoping he hadn’t cracked the glass. “Twilight Sparkle is the only Ruler of Equestria? When did this happen? Why hasn’t Ponyville heard about this? About any of this?”
Apple Bloom turned to Sweetie Belle, equally curious at Ponyville’s obliviousness to the change in regime.
Sweetie bit her lip before answering. “Actually… Ponyville technically isn’t part of Equestria anymore.”
“WHAT?”
Sweetie sighed. “I guess I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed. Ponyville was never exactly a tourist attraction.” She lifted her head, shifting her eyes back and forth between the blue and amber pairs before her. “Nopony’s been allowed to visit Ponyville for more than a year. I had the hardest time getting permission to come home that first Hearth’s Warming Eve. I had to swear I wouldn’t talk about Canterlot, and I couldn’t be gone more than two days. That next year there was another Declaration; one of the first, actually.”
“How many have there been?” Harper asked, incredulous.
“I don’t know… a lot,” Sweetie Belle said. “I don’t keep all of them.”
“What’d it say? Was it about Ponyville?” Apple Bloom asked.
“It basically said Ponyville was off-limits,” said Sweetie. “I think it said something about it being… quarantined.”
“Quarentinin’ Ponyville?” Apple Bloom shouted. “What for?”
“I don’t know!” Sweetie Belle cried. “Don’t you think I want to know? Maybe Twilight just hates to remember where she used to be a good mare, and she doesn’t want anypony under her command to feel the happiness in Ponyville.”
Apple Bloom and Harper exchanged a knowing look. “Actually, Sweetie Belle, Ponyville ain’t what it used to be. Things have gotten…”
“Quiet,” finished Harper. Apple Bloom nodded.
“I reckon we have been affected by all this hoopla,” she continued with a hint of malice, “whether or not we’re still part of Equestria.”
Sweetie Belle’s face dropped onto the glass by her cold plate. “I don’t know what to do,” she moaned. “I’m so miserable here, but they won’t let me go home.”
“Why didn’t you warn us?” Harper asked. “I know you said they check the mail, probably double check if it’s going to Ponyville, but couldn’t you have sent us a secret message or something?”
Her head popped up as she scoffed at his suggestion. “What, and be here in the new Tartarus all alone for the rest of my life? I don’t think so! I needed my friends!” She seemed to realize how selfish it sounded and her lip began to quiver. “I… I’m just so scared!”
Apple Bloom hurried around the table and leaned lovingly against her friend. “It’s all right, Sweetie. We understand. I’m glad I’m here to be with ya, no matter what the city’s like or what’s really happened to the Princesses. It’s so good to see you again.”
Harper caught her words. “You mean you don’t think Twilight actually sent the Princesses to the Moon?”
Apple Bloom shook her head. “There’s no way. I don’t know what all this Declaration foo-faw is about, but I don’t buy a word of it. There’s gotta be somethin’ else goin’ on in that palace. I bet if we jus’ wait it out, everything’ll fit itself back together with time.”
Sweetie Belle sniffed. “You think so?”
“I sure do,” Apple Bloom lied.
(/\/\)
Harper left later that night to find his own apartment. He had expressed worry that the guards would arrest him on his way, but Sweetie Belle expounded on their duties: there was no curfew in Canterlot, though the streets were often empty when the cold Moon rose. The guards never bothered average citizens and barely lifted a hoof against muggings or the like. They only sprung into action when somepony spoke up against Princess Twilight, her regime, or her cities.
“I’ll try my best to hold it in,” he had teased before leaving, back to his jovial self, though Apple Bloom could see the tense confusion behind his eyes. She resolved to talk it through with him later, without Sweetie Belle’s presence. Despite her love for the poor pony, Sweetie had lived in this warped version of Canterlot long enough to fray her edges. Apple Bloom and Harper were in the same boat, bobbing in the middle of a suddenly stormy sea where they had been expecting a serene lake of learning.
“Sweetie Belle,” she addressed her old friend and new roommate, “why don’tcha show me around the place? I oughtta get to know my new home, don’tcha think?”
“Of course!” Sweetie Belle chimed, taking her friend on a quick tour of the tiny flat. It included two bedrooms, each with two beds (“We’ll take this one here, and our new friends can have that one! Ours has better acoustics for me and better light for you, I checked”), a shared bathroom with one large sink, a connected kitchen-and-dining-room, and a square front area that Sweetie Belle insisted they call their “living room.”
“I hope the new girls don’t mind my decorating,” she admitted, glancing around at her expensive furniture and homey additions to the apartment.
“Have ya met either of ‘em?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Not yet, but I’ve exchanged letters with both. One’s from here and the other’s from Manehattan. She’s a violinist: the one from Manehattan, I mean. The local is an artist like you!” She beamed, and Apple Bloom had to admit it was an exciting thought.
“Didja live in this same place last semester?”
“Mm-hm,” Sweetie hummed. “I’m the only one that stayed. One girl graduated, one got married, and the other moved in with an old friend that finally got accepted after trying for three years! Isn’t that precious?”
“It’s good to know that life is still chuggin’ along around here,” Apple Bloom said, “even though everything’s gone to the Diamond Dogs.”
“We’re the lucky ones,” Sweetie told her. “Us college kids are the least affected by what’s been happening, especially at the School of Art. We stay pretty busy and focused on our craft, I guess. Makes it all easier to cope with.”
Apple Bloom thought three days ahead to her first day of school, trying to gauge her emotions. First she was nervous, but Sweetie had good advice on how to find classrooms and shortcuts across campus. Second came doubt: was she good enough to learn among so many talented mares and stallions? Would her style be treated with admiration as it was in Ponyville, or would she be ridiculed? And thirdly, she hoped the cafeteria food was tolerable. Sweetie assured her it was, but the toast-drinking unicorn’s word was hard for the seasoned farmer to take, whether or not her cooking skills had greatly improved.
“D’ya reckon I’ll like my professors?” Apple Bloom asked after pulling her schedule from her luggage.
“Will you ever!” Sweetie said, rummaging through a narrow bookcase in the living room. “The teachers here are incredible, especially the ones that teach the Freshpony classes. I’m still good friends with my Music One-Oh-One professor. I’ll have to make sure you meet Octavia, Apple Bloom, you’ll just love her. She used to play at all the Princesses’ galas, and, boy, does she have some funny stories… oh, here it is!”
Using her horn, Sweetie Belle levitated a map of the School of Art’s campus from the bookcase to the counter, smoothing it out beside Apple Bloom’s schedule.
“Since you’re a Visual Arts major, most of your classes will be over in these buildings,” she explained, touching her hoof against a pocket of westernmost squares on the map. “Where’s your first class? Read the line on your schedule.”
Apple Bloom found it. “It says ‘History of the Paintbrush: From Hoof to Mouth’ in the Horace Fine Arts Center, Room…” She ogled the number. “Room Three Thousand and Twelve?”
Sweetie Belle laughed at her terror. “Don’t worry, Bloom. That only means it’s on the third floor; there aren’t actually three thousand rooms. I have classes in that building, too! See, it’s right here in the center of campus!”
She continued to snicker as Apple Bloom shook away her shock, eyeing the large, oblong mark in the middle of the map that represented the “HFAC.”
“The Horace Fine Arts Center, huh?” she mumbled to herself.
“We call it the HFAC,” Sweetie corrected.
It was Apple Bloom’s turn to giggle. “Aitch-fack? You got silly nicknames fer all the buildings?”
“Sure do!” Sweetie squeaked. “I know it sounds dumb, but it makes it all a lot easier when you get more familiar with the School. Just you wait; by the end of the first quarter, you’ll fit right in with the herd!”
Apple Bloom sighed as Sweetie Belle bounced to the kitchen. Her bubbly attitude in the face of so much adversity was starting to rub Apple Bloom the wrong way. It reminded her too much of another curly-maned pony….
She wiped away an automatic scowl when Sweetie reentered the room several minutes later, breaking Apple Bloom’s paralyzing trance.
Her first sleep in Canterlot was a peaceful one despite the day’s downpour of strange, bad news. Perhaps the true terrors of the new regime hadn’t settled in yet, or maybe her stubborn refusal to believe in Twilight’s tyrannical transformation kept her conscience at bay. Either way, she slept soundly in her new bed, unaware that her nights would not be restful for long.
(/\/\)
Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle hurried through the chilly rain. Though Sweetie’s levitating umbrella protected them from above, the sideways winds sprayed their coats with dirty water. Distant thunder drummed over the city and its hurried inhabitants. Despite the awful weather, the streets were dotted with young Canterlotians galloping toward a mutual destination: the Canterlot School of Art.
“Why’d they schedule rain on a day like this?” Apple Bloom whispered in her friend’s close ear. “You’d think that with Twilight in charge, of all ponies, the first day of school would have a nice sunny sky!”
“The weather isn’t managed very well anymore,” Sweetie answered, balancing her voice between a cautious whisper and being heard over the wail of the storm. “The unicorns in charge went on strike when the Anti-Twilight marches were at their peak. Few of them came back.”
Because they didn’t want to, or because they were killed? Apple Bloom didn’t ask.
The friends reached campus and briefly hugged before scampering toward their respective buildings. Both of their first classes started at nine o’clock but were far apart inside the School’s hedged boundaries. Left without an umbrella, Apple Bloom practically flew through the pouring rain toward a huge, glass-covered building at the center of it all. Thanks to Sweetie Belle’s helpful tour of campus the day before, she knew exactly which entrance was closest to a staircase. They had spent hours mapping out routes to her first day’s classes. As long as her memory didn’t fail her, Apple Bloom was confident in all respects of navigation.
She burst through the front doors and sighed with relief, preparing to shake the rainwater out of her mane.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” asked a nasally voice. Apple Bloom froze in a tilted position, glancing toward the perplexed squeal.
“Uh… gettin’ dry,” she answered with a weak smile.
“I hope you don’t mean shaking like a dog,” the rose-red pony continued in a snobby tone that reminded Apple Bloom of Diamond Tiara. “There are other ponies around, you know!”
Apple Bloom observed the natural-lit foyer, humiliated by the faces of disgust from dozens of ponies her age.
“But…” she stammered. “But I’m soaked t’the bone!”
“Well then maybe you should consider bringing an umbrella when it’s raining,” her primary accuser sneered, followed by a laugh from the posh-looking posse all around her. Apple Bloom glowered at the group, storming away to find a bathroom where she could dry her mane in peace.
“Stupid bully,” Apple Bloom mumbled, throwing open the door to the mare’s restroom. “I can rattle myself dry any ol’ place I feel like it.”
She slammed her forehead against the hoof-dryer’s button. A loud column of warm air shot out from its underside. Somewhat awkwardly, she managed to lower her head beneath the box, letting it whip the water from her long red hair.
“I guess it woulda been a mite inconsiderate of me to shake out so close to everypony,” Apple Bloom admitted to herself as the artificial wind blew around her face. With a prideful huff, she jerked her head in the opposite direction to dry the other half of her mane. “But she sure coulda said it a bit nicer! What do you think you’re doing?” she mimicked in the pony’s high-pitched whine. “I hope you don’t mean shaking like a daaaawwg.”
Somepony laughed from one of the bathroom stalls. “Is that supposed to be Velvet? You sound just like her!”
Embarrassed again, Apple Bloom stepped out from underneath the hoof-dryer as it stopped blowing, moving to the mirror to check her appearance. Now her hair was frizzy and wild. It looked for all the world like a big tangled mess of red yarn on top of her head. She attempted to smooth it out with her hooves while responding to the restroom’s other inhabitant.
“If Velvet is the rosy mare with the bad attitude, then yeah,” she grunted, hiding her embarrassment.
“Yep, that’d be her!” a feminine voice answered. “Did you get caught in the rain?”
“My roommate had an umbrella fer both of us,” Apple Bloom explained in a friendlier tone, “but her class is on the other side of campus. I had run through the rain for a spell and nearly shook dry by the front.”
The stall door opened, revealing a tall, cream-coated pony with a short cropped, neon green mane that seared Apple Bloom’s eyes at first glance. The stranger stepped to her side, rinsing her hooves in one of the porcelain sinks.
“Sorry she snapped at you,” the mare offered genuinely. “She’s one of my roommates this semester. Not the nicest pony, but she’s a really great artist. Paints nature, mostly. Not too good at animals, but oh! You should see this one she has hanging on her wall of the Moon! Oh, it is beautiful.” She smiled at the ceiling for a moment before turning her full attention back to Apple Bloom. “Gosh, you sure have a thick mane!”
“Runs in the family,” the farm pony said with an unhappy smirk.
The tap turned off by itself when the creamy mare removed her hooves. Technology sure was getting fancy, Apple Bloom thought to herself, staring at the faucet’s sensors while the other mare dried her dripping hooves one at a time.
“You can use this, if you’d like.” The earth pony reached into one of the saddlebags on her back and removed a large red brush with clean, black bristles. Apple Bloom nodded shyly, allowing the mare to spend two minutes restyling her turbulent locks.
“There,” she said decisively, tossing the brush back into her bag. “All better! And might I say, you have very lovely eyes. I’ve never seen any that color before!”
Apple Bloom glanced at her own amber eyes in the mirror’s reflection, briefly admiring them along with her tamed mane. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” she said, “fer the help and the compliment. What’s yer name?”
“Creamsicle, and you’re very welcome.” She beamed. “I love working with manes. I want to be a manestylist, after all.”
“Ya do?” Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “What’re ya doin’ at the School of Art?”
“Modeling!” Creamsicle exclaimed. “I go to the Beauty School across town, but I live with three ponies who come here. One of them volunteered me to model for her Portrait class! Apparently there’s some sort of exam thingy on the first day so the professor can see where all his students are at, y’know, talent-wise. And I have a unique look; pretty fun to draw.” She ran a hoof across her short green hair proudly. “Anyway, I better be off! The classroom’s up a couple stories and it’s nearly nine o’clock. What was your name, again?”
The pony talked a thousand words a minute. Apple Bloom had to shake her head once to jumpstart her brain back into the conversation. “Apple Bloom,” she answered with a weak smile. Though she was grateful for Creamsicle’s kindness, she wasn’t sure they could ever be good friends.
“Lovely to meet you!” Just before she left the bathroom, Creamsicle turned her face halfway toward Apple Bloom, looking at her with one bright eye. “That really was a good impression of Velvet, by the way. You have a talent there!” She left before Apple Bloom could thank her again.
She looked in the mirror one last time and trotted into the hallway. She had never considered her impressions a talent before. Applejack was the same way; mimicking accents came easily to the Apple sisters. Recognizing the shared gift stuck a pleasant grin on Apple Bloom’s mouth as she walked the empty halls toward her classroom.
The staircases to the third floor were longer than she remembered, and for a building so large and well-lit, the halls were short, numerous, and confusing. By the time the yellow mare finally found Room 3012, she was the only pony in the narrow hallways. Already a full minute late, she wiggled the silver door open in a panic and gasped at what lay behind.
“Classroom” was an improper term for the hub of her History class. “Auditorium” suited it better. Hundreds of large desks built for fully grown ponies rose on a multi-leveled, semi-circle slope around the professor’s podium. Apple Bloom had entered at the back of the class and found herself staring at a middle-aged unicorn far below with a blonde-and-grey mane much like Applejack’s, formally addressing the student body. His eyes, the color of which Apple Bloom couldn’t make out from such a distance, swiveled toward her noisy entrance.
“—and tardy students,” he continued from his interrupted sentence, “will be required to sit in the front row.” He nodded expectantly at the hot-faced mare before returning to his introduction. “Final grades will be determined from five factors: unit essays, one major project, weekly vocab quizzes, the Final Exam, and lecture attendance. If the role doesn’t make its way to you during class, it’s your responsibility to locate and sign it before you leave, or you will be marked absent.”
His tone was stern, but kind. Apple Bloom hardly took notice of it as she stumbled down the blocky staircase-aisle toward the indoor amphitheater’s first level of desks, wary of the wide, critical stares from nearly four hundred seated ponies. The unwanted attention was almost enough to prod tears, but she managed to make it all the way down and clamber into an empty seat with relative stoicism. From her single saddlebag attached around her waist, Apple Bloom drew out a small notebook and a yellow pencil, preparing the tools on her punishing desk to take studious notes on her very first lecture.
From her much closer position, Apple Bloom could see that the stallion’s eyes were actually two colors: the right iris was a soft azure shade that stood out against his chocolate coat, but it was put to shame by the shocking pink of his left. She had never seen a pony with two different eye colors, and for a moment she couldn’t help but stare as the professor outlined his class’s rubric with practiced perfection. Whenever he said something particularly important to her grade, Apple Bloom jotted a succinct note on the pad of paper, flexing her lips as quickly as she could while maintaining readable mouthwriting.
Fifteen minutes into the hour, Apple Bloom had forgotten about her poor first impression. Her professor’s light personality and engaging speaking style boosted her excitement for the potentially boring History class. If she understood him right, the class’s title was somewhat of a misconception; they would be covering much more than the History of the Paintbrush. Apple Bloom was grateful for that.
Suddenly the bell rang from the hallway. Class was over… Apple Bloom had survived (and even enjoyed) her first lecture of college! She broke into a victorious grin and gathered her materials, replacing them neatly in her saddlebag as the surrounding sea of ponies migrated up and out of the auditorium.
A paper ball that bounced against the side of her head. Looking up into the mobile audience for its owner, she spotted a skinny, light red pegasus who flashed her a mockingly welcome leer as Apple Bloom set an angry brow. Velvet. She turned away from the bully and finished her packing, readying herself to sprint up the staircase.
Her conscience slammed on the brakes, pushing a line of her teacher’s speech into the active parts of her mind: “It’s your responsibility to sign the role.”
The name-covered clipboard must have started at the front row. Through the entire hour, it never found its way to Apple Bloom’s hooves. With a disgruntled click of her tongue, she pushed herself high enough to spin around on her back hooves and trotted to her professor’s podium. The older pony was standing behind his mahogany centerpiece with one hoof resting on its edge, watching his departing students with those strangest of eyes.
“Uh, excuse me, Mister… ‘scuse me?” Apple Bloom asked messily over the din of the room, realizing she didn’t know the stallion’s name. His focus shifted to her exasperated expression. “Um, sorry to bother ya, but… ya said t’make sure we signed the role, and I was wond’rin’ if you knew where it was. ‘Cause I was late, see—sorry about that, won’t happen again—and I didn’t get t’sign it when it first went around. So…”
The professor’s eyes locked on Apple Bloom’s face for several silent seconds, pushing the bounds of her comfort, before he nodded thoughtfully.
“The role is on the sixth level,” he said, pointing a hoof in its general direction without taking his eyes from Apple Bloom. “From where are you?”
The question’s unusual phrasing caught her off guard. “Uh… Ponyville,” she answered, drawing in a little gasp as she remembered the town’s Equestrian banishment. Thankfully, the patient professor seemed to harbor no malice for Ponyville, nodding again as he gathered up the notecards on the podium with his magic.
By the time Apple Bloom found, signed, and returned the clipboard to her history professor, every other pony had exited the auditorium. She cleared her throat as she dropped the role on the top of the podium, reading some of its first page’s content. Helpfully, the top displayed her teacher’s name: Doctor Joe Cossitee.
“Doctor Cossitee?” Apple Bloom started.
“Hmm?” the professor asked, snapping one lock of his briefcase together.
“I really am sorry I was late t’yer class, especially on the first day. Didn’t know I’d be so interruptive by crashin’ through the back door. Hope you’cn forgive me.”
The dark brown pony smiled and left his briefcase half unlatched to face his new student.
“Apple Bloom, is it?” he asked politely. She nodded in surprise. “I figured by your Cutie Mark. I appreciate the apology, Miss Bloom, but it’s really not a problem. It’s always hard to find classes during your first few weeks of school. I completely understand. No, it’s me that should be apologizing, singling you out in front of the whole class like that. The only forgiving here should come from you, if you’re willing to give it.”
The mare’s shiny pupils darted from the sincerity in Doctor Cossitee’s blue eye to the genuineness in his pink one. She opened her mouth with full intention to openly forgive him, but what came out was “Why’re yer eyes different colors?” She covered the lower half of her face with her hooves, dropping her head in shame.
Doctor Cossitee’s laugh was as rich as the color of his coat. “No need for that! My father had blue eyes and my mother had pink. For one reason or another, both genes won a piece of my face. They weren’t the last to fight over it, if you know what I mean.” He winked with his pink eye, making Apple Bloom giggle. “See? I’m not a big scary professor. I wish you kids would stop looking at me like one.”
Guilty as charged, Apple Bloom tried to rearrange her expression into a less intimidated one. The result was poorer than Dawn and Terra Dolce’s. Cossitee tossed his head back and laughed from his gut.
“I think I’m going to like you, Apple Bloom,” he mused with an approving grin. “As long as you manage that tardiness problem.”
The joke was met with a playful scoff. “You think I have a tardiness problem? You should meet a mare from back home.” Her smile soon fell.
“You miss Ponyville?” Doctor Cossitee asked, taking her silence as a homesick one.
“Yeah,” she half-lied, changing the origin of her pout. “But more I guess I just miss bein’ a filly.”
“Don’t we all?” Above a nostalgic smile, Cossitee sighed through his nostrils. “When I first went to college, I studied to be an elementary school teacher. I wanted to play a role in that most important phase of a young pony’s life.”
Her curiosity peaked. “When’d ya decide to be a college teacher? Was it when ya got yer Cutie Mark?”
One corner of the stallion’s mouth lifted. “Actually, I never got my Cutie Mark.”
Apple Bloom’s jaw dropped as he twisted around, evidencing his entirely blank flank.
“But… but…” Apple Bloom stuttered. “But you’re a full grown pony! Twice as old as me! What happened? Didn’tcha ever find yer special talent?”
“Oh, I found plenty of special talents,” he assured her. “I’m one of the only ponies I know who can play the piano, and I’m told I have a knack for public speaking. But nothing ever showed up on my flank.”
“Weren’t ya made fun of as a colt?” Apple Bloom whispered.
Cossitee’s eyes darkened as he nodded. “Oh, yes. Severely.” His characteristic half-smile reappeared. “But I had friends that showed me I was special, with or without the customary proof.”
The former Cutie Mark Crusader could hardly believe it. She thought back to the days when she would have risked limb and tail for her Mark. What would it be like to try all those things and wait all that time, only to discover that your flank would stay blank forever?
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, feeling her brow strain over her eyes. “I cain’t imagine…”
She felt a hoof pat the top of her hanging head. “In many ways, Apple Bloom, you are still a filly. I’m not bothered by my lack of a Cutie Mark, and you have no reason to be.” He lifted her chin with a gentle hoof and looked into her titled eyes. “Now gallop along to your next class,” he added with an amiable smile, “and I’ll see you here on time Wednesday morning.”