//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: All In the Making // by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch //------------------------------// Chapter 3 It didn’t take long for me to decide to get some food before taking the trip to the Apple family home. It was already past noon, I had a hangover, and I hadn’t eaten anything yet. My tum was protesting with some pretty enthusiastic growls. And there was no way I was making any sense to anypony if I was trying to offer thanks through the haze of embarrassment and hunger. Of course, that would mean mingling in with Ponyville’s populace… something I was actively trying to avoid: at least until the memory of my antics weren’t so fresh in everypony’s minds. But I’ve noticed that being rather desperately hungry makes you forget important details sometimes, so instead of sneaking off into the sky from one of the town hall balconies like I would have if my head were screwed on straight… Nope, I just walk on out, and only realize what I’ve done several steps into town. I feel my heart try to jump into my throat, and it’s only by sheer force of will that I don’t freeze in my tracks; or worse, jump straight into the sky. That’d be sure to attract more attention than the looks I’m probably getting right about now. The thing is, as my chest slowly stops trying to plop itself out in front of me in a gross mess, I’m not sure anypony has actually noticed me at all. I roll my eyes at myself for sounding like such a stuck up, attention starved, and washed out Canterlot play star, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. I turn my head tentatively from side to side, watching as houses fade into shops and those shops drift to restaurants. Thankfully I don’t catch anypony trying to jerkily appear as though they weren’t staring at my plot, or me in general. They all either don’t notice or are too occupied with chores or running their businesses to look up and stare. I didn’t think it was possible for emotions to shift so fast when not under the stress of a flight performance, but my accidental stroll through Ponyville is proving that little bit pretty wrong. My initial panic and pent up embarrassment slowly fades; and by the time I reach a place selling something too enticing to pass up, worry at being recognized or hooted at is the last thing on mind. But like anypony else on the team always tells me, I have a bad habit of settling one issue only to latch onto something else. So… when I take a seat at one of the outside tables, despite my smile from not wilting from shame, my head is already running wild with what could happen when I meet this Big Macintosh stallion. The waiter comes over and takes my order without comment (come to think of it, ponies might not recognize a Wonderbolt with her mane down…), and I’m left with what in Equestria’s borders I’m going to say to him. What does somepony say in a situation like this? I’m fairly sure most nights like mine end in a passionate if not completely conscious lovemaking. I shiver. How lucky I am actually hits me with its reality without the stronger effects of a hangover to muddle the impact. I take a breath and try to focus. After all, I can’t just wander there with no plan. I need at least an idea of what I’m going to say. I blink, as a simple thought strikes me. I don’t even know where the Apple farm is. My waiter chooses that moment to very conveniently show up with my food (which does smell amazing), so I brush my mane out of my left eye and ask, “Sir?” “Yes, Ma’am,” he replies, turning back. “Is there something wrong, anything I can ask the kitchen?” “No, no,” I say with a small chuckle, “I’m not from Ponyville, but I need to see… that is, where is the Apple family farm?” “Sweet Apple Acres?” he replies with a raised brow. I only shrug. I don’t even know where the place is, much less the name. “It’s just west of town. Head that way and it’ll be the only road that keeps going and still has a fence.” “Thanks,” I say, nodding before digging into the plate (I don’t know what it is, the menu was one of those that just used random words that aren’t real). I let myself savor the glorious flavor of dried tomatoes before settling back into my conundrum. The contemplative chewing of said tomatoes with a filling tum made it breezes easier. I sit there, going over my options and staring off into space. If I’m lucky, it’ll be quick and my conscious will clear and both of us can forget by the time we wake up tomorrow morning. But I’ve been around when Rainbow Dash talks about her friend Applejack and her family… and my chances of finding one without the others are probably pretty slim. That’ll likely mean I need to talk to the other Apples. Which, isn’t a bad thing, just… I’d prefer not to dwell on this longer than I need. I think my best bet is gonna be to just walk over, phrase it all as doing my dues as a lady, and be done. “Quick, simple, easy. Not complicated,” I find myself muttering as the last tomato disappears down my gullet. They really were delicious. And if I’m getting stuck here a week, I think I’ll come back. I leave my bits and a generous tip for the waiter leaving me be with my thoughts and start the walk toward the Apple farm. It’s getting late by this point. Not quite dusk, but that strange time of evening where if you’re not paying attention to it, the sun vanishes behind the horizon before you realize it. I get a good sigh for once, thinking of the princess doing it on purpose. Ponies are headed inside as I walk the streets, but the night life hasn’t started stirring yet. I’m sure I’ll see them on my way back, though only for a bit, since I’ll definitely be flying. The growing lateness of the hour almost makes me turn back, just as I reach the edge of town and the road that’s fenced on only one side. I even swivel my head back toward the shrinking buildings as their light from the windows grows brighter every minute. But this far outside town and the smell of ripening apples already dominating every other scent, I grit my teeth and keep on. And I’m glad I do. After only a block or so more of road, I round a pretty bend and bear witness to the Apple family farmhouse… and the rest of Equestria it feels like. The house itself is two stories just like most of the homes and shops in Ponyville, but I can’t shake the feeling that the farmhouse is still… bigger. But as outright impressed as I am with a farm dwelling (oh Celestia, could I sound more elitist?), I can’t keep my eyes focused on it or anything else. As a pegasus, I’m used to the wide, endless expanse of the open sky and the beauty of the freedom that oozes from it all. I’ve always thought that experience to be something unique to the sky. A thing that only the shifting shapes of untended clouds can bring out. But as I stand here (I shiver and blink to get my bearings and force my hooves to start working again), I’m finding that notion slowly slipping into my own mental myths. The farm is massive. There are rolling hills and flat plains full of crops beyond just apple trees, though the apple orchards do take up a dominating amount. They are all arranged in neat, clean rows with plenty of room for the plants to grow and a pony to work. And as if the whole place didn’t need an accent to its scale, the Canterlot mountains make up the horizon and don’t feel imposingly large. I don’t even bother trying to keep my mouth slightly agape as I continue wandering down the road to the farmhouse yard’s entrance. It’s a good thing too that the place is just so damn inspiring and very Earth pony (by Luna’s… plot… ugh). I realize only once I’m actually at the gate that I’m well, at the gate. My distraction with just trying to take it all in did a fine job squashing my apprehension. I nod in approval and crane my neck, hoping somepony will be in the yard to let me inside. I mean sure, I could just flutter over the gate, but… manners. I’m so focused on catching a glimpse of somepony and keeping my own nerves down, I fail rather spectacularly to notice the approach of a pony behind me until she gives a hard grunt followed by something heavy hitting the dirt road. I nearly jump out of my skin and squawk in what feels like the most ungraceful way possible. My wings even poof out. Fantastic start this is. “Hey ya’ll,” the pony says, and I recognize her as Applejack, if only from having seen her around some of Canterlot’s bigger events with her friends. “Fleetfoot right?” she asks, and my pleasant surprise that she can recognize me even without the signature Wonderbolt ‘look’ makes settling back a touch easier. I nod in reply to her question. “Good seein’ ya,” she carries on, flicking the gate latch open casually and re-adjusting her hat. “Heard ‘bout the delay an’ all. If ya’ll run into problems with lodgin’, don’ think twice ‘bout comin’ down. We’ve got plenty of space an’... heh, Dash’d kill me if I didn’t at least offer.” “We’ll be fine. Spi - the Captain’s already running around the hoops to keep things on track,” I say, a little pleasantly bewildered with her. It’s not often somepony we don’t work with often recognizes us and still treats us… normal, I guess. Applejack nods, returning to a cart and saddlebaskets overflowing with apples and hitching herself back to them both. I try to stand out of her way awkwardly before nearly smacking myself in the face and opening the gate for her. “Thank ya kindly,” she says, and I take several deep, long breaths when she passes me. I need to get my head on straight. This is simple. Everypony makes mistakes. Everypony. There’s nothing weird about thanking somepony for bein’ there to keep your face out of the dirt when you trip. Nothing at all. I still knock myself in the back of the head for good measure before lightly trotting to keep up with Applejack. I don’t say anything, mostly because I can’t. I realize I hadn’t planned what to say, but Applejack doesn’t object to me walking with her. So we just carry on in a bit of silence toward her barn. “Ya sure yer alright, Miss Fleetfoot?” AJ asks me after we enter the barn. She slips out of the hitch and lets it thunk to the ground again, somehow keeping the ridiculous pile of apples from shifting into a cascading disaster. “I was a little shaken up this morning,” I reply. There’s no point trying to play dumb about what she means. That much I did think about over lunch. It was her brother after all. “But it’s gotten better as the day’s gone on.” I sidle out of her way as she busies about, sorting the apples. “Don’chu worry,” she says, winking at me. “Rainbow Dash gets through these trial-whatsits, ya’ll’s little act will go right out tha window.” Applejack chuckles to herself. “She doesn’t strike me as the drinking type,” I say, eminently aware most ponies would say the same thing about me. “Even if she does seem to enjoy a good party.” “Ain’t got tha right kinda alcohol at the parties ya’ve seen ‘er at,” AJ says, wiping her brow of sweat before rummaging in crate and pulling out wheel oil. I scratch my back leg and shift my feathers. I’m feeling increasingly pretentious just standing around, watching her work. “Dash likes hard cider,” she goes on. “Like I said, ya’ll just wait.” I swallow hard. This next bit is always the hardest aside from the thanks itself. Always. “Applejack?” I hesitate, hoping she’s fine with me using her name… plainly. “Look, I don’t wanna get in your way or overstay my welcome -” “Now, lookee here Miss Fleetfoot,”AJ cuts me off, sliding out from under the cart and righting herself to look at me level. “Just Fleetfoot is fine,” I half-mutter. It looks like I did something. I don’t know what, but I did it. Good job, Fleet. Your planning is really taking you far on this one. I resist the desire to roll my eyes, even if it is just at myself. “Fleetfoot,” Applejack says again, “I’m mighty impressed with ya comin’ down here on yer own. Ain’t a lot of ponies got that kinda decency anymore. Least not the ones ya’ll deal with. I’m guessin’ ya’ll’re wantin’ to see Mac?” “Ye… yeah,” I say, taken aback and not sure what to make of my rapidly collapsing understanding of what’s going on or whether I should be worried. “Alrighty then,” Applejack says with a genuine, almost teaching smile. “Then yer welcome as long as ya need ta be. Here, why don’tch ya’ll head inside an’ meet Granny while I grab Mac.” “I - I guess?” I answer, still not quite sure how I was roped into meeting the whole family (despite knowing it would probably happen somehow), but glad I seem to have not stepped on any hooves. “Good thing,” AJ says, leading me to the right door. “Now don’t mortify Granny too much with that manecut of yours, and I’ll be back in a jiff with Big Mac.” I make to protest my current and personally undersireable manestyle, but I’m already inside the Apple house, and Applejack already closed the door and is taking a jaunty trot out to the orchards. ______________________________________________________________________________ I don’t know what I was expecting myself to think. Hay, I didn’t even know what I should expect at all. I’ve never been in a farmhouse, and while I know better than to think it’d be something like a Cloudsdale apartment (I suppress a half formed racial some-such before it grows enough to make me sick with myself again), the only thing I really could anticipate would be age. And I’m not wrong, just… It’s comfortable. The walls are a soft yellow cream and there are serene pictures of ponies and vast countrysides beyond Equestria dotting the yellow. Normally I’d call the amount of… stuff on the floors and antique shelves cluttered, but making that comparison only invites thoughts of Soarin’s quarters into my head. This home is definitely not like that. It’s just full… in a pleasant way. My hooves carry me forward ever so slightly and a gentle smile from the atmosphere starts settling on my face. I just can’t fully enjoy it. My brief moment of serenity is broken when I bump a hoof on some kind of old-looking farm tool that also half reminds me of dungeons. I grit my teeth and slowly back away from it, silently praying for it to not fall over. Clutter or not, now I feel like I’m tip-toeing through a minefield. Only the minefield is a house of priceless family heirlooms. “Ah don’ reckon ya need be bein’ ‘fraid ah them old sheers,” a creaky mare’s voice says from some room to my right. I take extra cautious steps forward to peer into the next room. Sure enough, an elderly (geewillikers, that feels like putting it mildly) mare is sitting in the next room on a rocker that sounds as ancient as she looks. “They’ve lasted this long ‘aven’t they?” “Sure?” I say, glancing back at the giant scissor things. I take a look around my general area and fully round the corner. I’m pretty sure I looked ridiculous poking my head around like that. And it’s flopped my mane every which way… ugh. I take to readjusting it back over my one side while strolling to the center of the room. It’s graciously free of fragile valuables. “Not to sound rude ma’am,” I say as I sit and keep her within view of my uncovered eye, “but which Apple are you?” “Why, I’m Granny Smith, oldest Apple still in the business!” she tells me with a proud swing of her front hoof that sets the rocker to creaking. “But just Granny is fine too. It’s what all Ponyville calls me.” “Good to meet you, Miss Smith,” I reply with an outstretched hoof. A pony didn’t get much more matriarchal than a whole town referring to her as grandmother. Due respect was almost required even if my own social grace failed me. Like for why I’m here in the first place…, I glummly remind myself. “Oooh,” Granny Smith chuckles, taking my hoof anyway. “No need ta be so formal ‘round here, sweetie. Long as yer in an Apple house, ya’ll might as well be a good Apple friend.” “Oh…” I half-laugh, half-stutter. Sure I’d heard of country hospitality, but threw it off as a myth like most pegasi. Seeing it so boldly on display caught me off guard… and honestly, I didn’t really feel like I deserved that kind of trust. Not after the embarrassment I had probably but Applejack’s brother through, now that I thought about it. Luna’s plot I’d been selfish. Just had to be all about me and my fancy Wonderbolt problems… It took some real effort to not sigh openly, and I convinced myself my hangover was still doing too much thinking for me. Yeah… “What’s yer name, hm?” Granny asks. “Not many pegasi come ‘round tha farm ‘cept for AJ’s friends.” “Oh, sorry for being so rude,” I answer back with all the speed public signings teach you. “I’m Fleetfoot, Wonderbolt, Lieutenant Junior Grade.” “Fleetfoot says ya?” Granny replies slowly, her eyes squinting at me in what has got to be intense thought. “And Wonderbolt too? Ya’ll wouldn’ be the same pony mah grandson was talkin’ ‘bout had a rough time with the ol’ fashion Ponyville liquor, would ya?” I swear to Celestia I’m not paralyzed. Not at all. The shakes running all through my body make that an unfortunate impossibility. I’m racing through so many ways to reply, but I can’t decide which sounds less pretentious, irresponsible, or both. Slutty Cloudsdale military girl and can’t hold her liquor! Wow. Really makin’ some great public relations headway, Fleet, is the only coherent thing I can put together. Spitfire was really too nice. Management is going to go up my plothole with probations and NJP when we get settled. But even in my shattered headspace and self-loathing, I have the good sense to say something. It’s just not… I hardly sound like a half-way decent pony to go with my less than stellar actions. “Yeah, sure,” I basically grunt with a hoof wave and more cynicism than I intended. “Ah see ‘ere now,” Granny says with a smile that is too befitting of her age for me to not be concerned. “One, there ain’t no shame in new drink winnin’. It’s a losin’ battle from the start, ain’t Ah right?” “I… guess?” I reply hesitantly. “But… see, I’m a Wonderbolt,” I say, a train of thought finally not jumping the tracks half-way down the line, “and that means a higher standard for myself than what a normal pony can have. Maybe passing out wouldn’t have been so bad if… well, it’s no secret what happened…” I end up growling more to myself than Granny Smith at the end and glaring into a corner. “That there’s mighty respectable,” Granny says, gesturing with a hoof that I look back to her, which I do. “An’ I’d be darn willin’ ta bet the farm guessin’ that there’d be why ya’ll’s a Wonderbolt. Standard’s ‘r sound thangs, dearie, but ain’t do a pony a lick o’ good if a pony can’t admit when they stray from ‘em.” I take in a deep breath and sigh. I can’t find anything to retort with that isn’t a petty excuse on my part or just some bloated, memorized mantra from the Airborne Division. I’m beginning to get some idea why the whole town calls her Granny. “An’ I wouldn’ worry mah mane o’er whatever it was ya did,” she continues on with a more maternal nod. “We got a policy here in Ponyville that whatever happens in tha bar, stays in tha bar. An’ good thing too. I’ll go as Celestia’s witness me an’ the fillies got up ta worse in one night than ya’ll could in a week. Hoo-eee! We were crazy young mares!” “And I’ll go as Celestia’s witness that that’s pretty hard to believe,” I snark back, amused and with my hidden eyebrow raised. “Believe it, youngin’,” Granny answers firmly. “And never you worry ‘bout somepony not holdin’ ta our town’s rules. Applejack did a ol’ fine job this mornin’ remindin’ anypony who might try ta gossip it’d be right shameful.” “Wha… wait, why would she do that?” I ask, unable to hold back my confused, bewildered head shake. Because that’s exactly what I’d been thinking. Unspoken town law never stopped tabloids from finding out the worst (or making up the worst, poor Soarin’) about celebrities. And as much as thinking of myself as one made my grit my teeth to avoid cringing, it was more or less true. Granny’s assurances had been sweet, and I really did appreciate it… but I knew better. Yet here was somepony I didn’t even know going out of her way to be sure I wasn’t socially ruined for months on end. I’d expect something kinda like that from a friend, maybe, but not a complete stranger. But Applejack’s an Element Bearer, you looney, I remind myself, only to remember that being a Bearer never precluded Dash from giving into a mean streak. It just didn’t make sense to me, really. “Ain’t nopony deserve ta be ‘fraid of bein’ mocked jus’ walkin’ ta market,” Granny shakes me out of my blundered thoughts with the resolution in her voice. “They’re already tryin’ to get through it themselves, an’ payin’ dues if they’re truly sorry. An’ since yer here, I’ll guess ya’s tryin’ ta make up fer yer mistake?” “I am,” I say. “No Apple worth ‘er salt would let tha’ kinda thing happen,” Granny says. “It’s just… It’s a very…” I struggle to find the right words, but it’s like I’m drunk all over again, and I settle for readjusting my mane. It was chivalrous was what it was. And I knew it. Just what like Big Macintosh had done. I really did think that kind of old-fashioned thinking was sorta gone from modern Equestria, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Yet I was practically staring at the exact opposite. “ ‘Eya, Miss Fleetfoot!” Applejack’s voice rings through the house along with an abruptly shut door. I whip my head around at the sound of my name. “Finally found mah goof of a brother! Why dontcha come say hi?” I really should have known. Really should have. With how nervous I’d been meeting the other Apples, I should have known my legs would feel like jelly at facing a stallion who’d seen my… I shiver… my ‘dancing’. But I’m a Wonderbolt, and we face our problems with head held… mostly high. With that and Granny’s talk bolstering me against a level of shame that seemed insurmountable this morning, I hoof-tip around the antiques to finally meet… well, the hero I honestly don’t deserve. And hey, I am well past that stage as a teenage filly when I hoped for a knight in shining armor who would treat me like… like a lady instead of just another mare. But just before my eyes register what Big Macintosh looks like, a little well of filly-like hope warms my chest. Macintosh is… normal. A touch taller and more toned than the average stallion, but it’s nothing I’ve not seen before. I assume farm work and military rigour work the same sorts of muscles, just based on how much Macintosh reminds me of Soarin’s physical condition. His mane and coat are even more mussed and slicked with sweat and dirt than Applejack’s, and the orange locks are only a little shorter than I’d like to keep my own mane. But his eyes… they’re the same deep green as his sister’s, and complex. “Oh, uh… hello,” I say with a little wave and a sound I think was supposed to be a light chuckle. Not that I don’t sound like a shy schoolfilly anyway. I cough into my hoof. “Ma’am,” Big Macintosh replies, and I can’t help but be conscious of how fast my eyes become saucers and my head lifts up to look at him. There is not a pony in all of Equestria, I’m certain, who could claim to have that same kind of smooth baritone. “I… uh, oh futz it,” I scramble for words, distracted even more when Applejack covers her mouth with a hoof and does nothing short of quickly evacuate the hall. “Thank you,” I breathe out, long and hard. “Yeah, thank you. Just my lucky day you were out, heh?” I gulp and cough again. My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest, but I can already feel it slowing down now that it’s all basically over with. Somehow, I’ve gotten through this mess without making it worse (legendary status for me, yay…). All that’s left is to find a polite exit - “No worries. Gentlecolt thing to do, eeyup,” Big Macintosh says, completely unfazed by what I’m sure looks like a mare nearing a mental breakdown. “May I ask your name, Ma’am?” “Flee-whu-huh,” I try saying something intelligent. Something remotely close to ‘Fleetfoot’ but the shakes decide that’s a great time to come blabbering out my mouth. This isn’t happening. What I’m hearing has to be my head tricking me. I’m acting like a school-filly getting attention from a colt for the first time for Celestia’s sake! “A moment,” I blurt before getting more in. “I need a moment.” “Eeyup,” he replies, and I all but bolt out the door and collapse against the nearest fence post. “Breathe, Fleet, breathe,” I whisper to myself, getting my hooves to steady. “Breathe, oh… oh ho ho… wow…” I inhale as much air as I can and exhale it all out in one, long motion. I lean my head back against the post, close my eyes, and stretch my wings. Slowly but surely, I can feel my composure coming back and rationale with it. Nopony has any right to be so… careful and assured. It’s the stuff out of my damn classical novels! I mean, figures right? Most likely the only pony across all Equestria who I’d ever be attracted to had to… “Ohhhh, Fleet,” I stop my own thoughts whispering to myself again. “Remember the last time. Please for your own sake, remember last time…” But my thoughts tumble on, and I actually just throw my hooves up and stare at the farmhouse. “No,” I say, stamping my hoof and not bothering to keep my voice lower. “No. I’m sure he’s nice. I know it after what he did, but I am not going down disappointment lane again. Go in and finish your business and go back to your hotel.” I stand up and put my resolve into a stomp that I keep to a firm step once I come back inside. Big Macintosh is still where he was when I left, except he’s sitting and Applejack is back with a grin fit for a circus clown. “Fleetfoot,” I say, pointing at myself. “That’s me. So… thank you again.” “Fleetfoot,” he says with a pensive glance skyward. “Sounds nice. Fleetfoot?” “Yes?” I answer, trying to hold onto enough determination to keep things brisk. I’m doing a good job so far. “It’s late,” Big Macintosh says, nodding to himself before looking back at me. I steel myself against the well of calm that they are. “Want to stay for dinner?” If control were physical, mine just had a hoofball sent through it and now it’s a beautiful mess all over the ground. I can feel my jaw hanging half open, because that sure as hay hadn’t happened last time… I’m done for. Why am I like this?