“I swear, sometimes I just don’t get boys…” This was the lament of Applebloom to her elder sister as the two Apple ponies washed up dishes from their lunch. “Ah mean, jus’ the other day Peppermill was all happy and singin’ and now he all grouchy.”
“Ah reckon I have seen you do the same thing yerself sugarcube. When you were still lookin’ fer yer cutie mark, I reckon you ran hot an’ cold at the drop of a Stetson yerself.” commented Applejack as she wiped a plate clean.
“Well at least everypony knew mah reason. Peppermill ain’t all that keen on talkin’ about stiff that bothers him. He’s one of those private types…”
“Eeyup. And ah reckon when he is good an’ ready to tell us wut is botherin’ him he will.” The note of finality in the mare’s voice silenced any further comments from the filly.
SMACK
The two Apple girls jumped in surprise, Applejack managing to grab the plate she had been holding just before it hit the floor. They gazed in surprise at the closed window over the sink, to find Rainbow Dash’s snout pressed up against it, a frantic look on her face.
“Where’s Peppermill?!” shouted the speedster through the glass.
“Dang nab it Dash!” grumbled Applejack as she reached over to open the window. “Why can’t you use the door lahk a normal pony?”
“Where is Peppermill?” shouted Dash again.
“He’s in his loft!” shouted Applebloom. The Pegasus mare took off in the direction of the barn, and missed the filly’s other comment. “But he ain’t in the mood ta talk!”
***
One of the few luxuries that Peppermill arranged for his little hidey-hole in the loft of Sweet Apple Acre’s barn was a small record player that he had borrowed from Big Macintosh. As long as he had plenty of batteries and access to his small box of specifically picked records, the colt was quite content. Many an hour had been spent simply writing out recipes and listening to his…unique collection of songs.
But what had once given him pleasure and relaxation had turned into fuel for his bad mood.
“How is any…of this stuff…fancy or old pony’s music? And so what…if I am…not cool?” muttered the grey pony as he sulked on his cushion. He was less upset about the former accusation and considerably more annoyed by the latter. Peppermill had discovered early in his life in Ponyville that the young ponies in town had definite opinions about ‘city ponies’ as oppose to ‘country ponies’.
The reasoning went that being from a large cosmopolitan place like Canterlot meant that you acted in a certain fashion, usually being refined and proper. Given Peppermill’s careful speech, manners and considerable charm he was pretty much the poster foal for ‘fancy’. And while the colt didn’t have an issue with this, it did tend to make a lot of those same foals jump to the wrong conclusions about certain things. And of all of the misconceptions, the one that bothered the colt the most was the belief that he secretly felt superior to everypony else.
Snips was especially bad for this, even though Peppermill had never done anything to validate this. Whether it was some sort of resentment or just the unicorn’s naturally sarcastic nature, he always treated the chef as if he was going to become haughty and demanding in a heartbeat. Usually Peppermill would shrug this off, but this whole DJ P0N3 thing had gotten under the colt’s skin. He needed to improve his mood, and he found that music was the balm to sooth his soul.
Rifling through his collection Peppermill couldn’t deny that a lot of the songs and artists he preferred were not traditionally one’s that other colts and fillies did. And yes, there was some symphonic music in there, of which he was particularly fond. He plucked one out of the pile and carefully put it onto the player, and soon the soft sounds of a string quartet began to fill the room. The colt began to relax for the first time in a few days, grateful for the alone time until…
“Peppermill?” The bellow of a frantic Pegasus mare made the colt jump, and the impact of said mare entering the barn made the needle of his record player jump with a teeth-grinding scratch.
“Rainbow Dash?” exclaimed the colt, astonished and irate peering down over the edge of the loft.
“Look kid, I really…” began the mare, but she went silent at the furious look on the colt’s face.
“This is really…not a good time…to talk Dash.” growled the colt tightly.
“Yeah, look I…”
“No…”
“But…”
“No!”
“Kid, I really, really need your help…”
“Rainbow? Wut in tarnation is going on here?” This comment came from Applejack as she entered the barn after cringing at the sounds coming from inside.
“Whatever it is…you need you can…do it yourself Dash!” snapped the colt from high in the loft.
“That’s just it. I can’t do it. I need your help!” exclaimed Dash, hovering a few feet off the floor, her rose-colored eyes imploring.
“Fer cryin’ out loud. Get over here Dash.” Applejack leapt up and snagged the end of the flying pony’s tail in her mouth and pulled her to the ground and out the door in a matter of a few seconds.
“AJ!” cried out Dash in desperation as she spun around with flared wings.
“Dash, wutever you need to talk to Peppermill about is gonna hafta wait. Ah reckon he ain`t in any mood fer doing anything fer anypony right now.”
“But I need his help!”
“Why?”
“…b-because.”
“Dash, please tell me ya didn’t go shootin’ yer mouth off again.”
“But this is really, really important.”
“It’s always really important with you, ain’t it? And usually it’s cause ya cain’t stop yerself from braggin’.”
“…”
“And ah reckon ya had to go and wait til the last minute to ask fer help with yer tail inna knot, right?”
“…”
“Dash, ah reckon it might do ya a world of good to take yer lumps fer once. Maybe then you will think twice before you make promises ya can’t keep.”
“Nnggrrr…” The speedster stood still long enough to throw her friend a furious look before launching herself skyward. Applejack stood there, dividing her gaze between the disappearing speck in the sky and the grumbling voice from the barn.
“Ah swear when it rains it pours…”