Ugh. The Greyhound bus pulls up to the stop, your earthly Charon come to collect. The brakes scream like a river of dying souls as the dingy mammoth shudders to an unseemly halt. You pick up your handful of bags - just the necessities, some books, and your Nintendo DS- and head towards the hateful ferry.
”Dearie, please,” comes the voice of your mother. You turn back to the sight of your mother, dressed up like she was going to one of her banquets. She’d come to see you off to your relative’s home. Although it was more likely that she was just making sure you got on the bus. After all, you certainly didn’t want to go to some orchard in the middle of nowheresville. You were a city boy through and through, made for the streets and clubs of Manhattan and you were being sent on a forced vacation to some distant relatives, though you couldn’t remember even meeting them.
”Don’t just run off without saying goodbye to your mother.” You turn towards her with a venomous glance. Appearances were always so important to your mother; the image of the perfect family being the totality of her goals. However, she did hold the key to your trust-fund, and wasn’t afraid to hold it ransom. Fear of poverty and vitriol were unable to come to peace, and you ended up saying
“Goodbye Mother dear. I’ll miss you,” with your glare still directed squarely at her. She stares back blankly. So caught up in her own act, she heard the words without the context.
“I’ll miss you too, Sweetheart. And so will your father.” Ah, your father. He had long upheld the tradition of being absent, but only recently begun shedding the tradition of explaining why. Reports of meetings, traffic, sickness, work, and so forth had been substituted for your father’s presence until you had lost your desire for it. Your mother looks at her watch, a genuine expression crossing her face for once. In horror, she exclaims
“Oh dear! I’m going to be late for my banquet!” and without another word to you, she turns abruptly and waddles out to her car. Your turn, always eager to part ways with any experience with your mother. At least there’s one positive side to leaving Manhattan. The conductor is staring at you, impatiently tapping his foot while he waits for your ticket. You slap your ticket in his hands, looking at him with the disdain you’d be taught to have at a young age. The old gremlin hands you your stub back and mumbles something you don’t care to listen to. And with that, you board the bus
The ride is uneventful. You sleep most of the way, play video games for the rest. Hearing the driver announce Ponyville as the next stop, you begin packing your things. Half awake, you drag your bag to the doors, and wait for the bus to stop. That familiar, harpy-esque screeching returns once more, as if the bus aimed to grant you one more gift to remember it by. You grimace, and ignore it until the bus lurches to a stop, almost tipping you over. The door opens, and golden light fills the entryway. You take a step outward into the folksy little station, your mouth curling upward at the dead station in front of you.
You had come from a living world, buildings and stations thriving and bustling with people. Here, in this sparsely populated little town, was just a few old folks, looking bored as they waited to die. Among the few people, you spotted a group you presumed to be your own. A tall, dark skinned man with a great brown backpack hugging his shoulders, golden hair stuck out in all directions. Next to him, a small girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, whose most distinguishing feature was the massive red bow on her head. She held a great white sign, with black marker spelling out “Anon Orange,” and was hopping up and down
Uh. Wow. She’s looking around frantically, as if she couldn’t find her target. There was only one other person exiting the bus, an old Mexican lady. Clearly her powers of deduction were sub-par. The man with her had been looking at you since you got here, making up for her. You stick your hand and wave it in the air, just so the girl would stop whisking her head back in forth. She spots your signal, and drops the sign as she sprints towards you. You don’t have time to process just what’s happening until you feel her small body colliding with your very tired self. You stagger backwards, losing three steps before gaining your balance. As you straighten yourself up, you feel two thin arms squeezing you with a strength they have no right to. You look down at the constrictor, and the bow brushes your chin as she leans her head back. A pair of golden eyes, holding shades of light red to orange, meet yours, and a big, white-toothed smile opens to say
“Welcome to Ponyville, Anon!” If the attempted tackle hadn’t shocked you out of your drowsy state, the sheer volume sure did
“Uh, sure, alright,” you respond, a pained expression join forces with pushing arms in an attempt to force off this invader. Neither succeed, although she does loosen one arm to point to the dark man, who’d appeared soundlessly in front of you
“I’m Apple Bloom! An this here’s Big Mac!” He nods at that, his eyes directed towards you, with an expression either serious or vacant. Finally, she drops off you and takes a few steps back, continuing her wide grin. You take a deep breath, never having missed air before this moment. After a few wheezes, you’re situated again. “Are you okay there?” Apple Bloom asks you, her head cocked to one side. Man, what is this little girl’s deal?
“Yeah yeah, I’m fine,” you mutter, trying to cut off any connection with this overenthusiastic kid before it starts. Big Mac’s got his left eyebrow raised slightly, proving that he is not, in fact, a statue.
“C’mon,” His deep voice matches his dark, heavy look. You don’t have a lot of time to consider it, what with him turning on his heel and moving away. He moves purposefully, neither hurrying nor strolling. Apple Bloom perks up at the sound of his heels on the hard stone floor, and jumps towards him, each motion of her legs closer to a bound than an actual step. You bring out your trademark grimace as you mournfully try to match their quick pace. Though Apple Bloom’s chokehold woke your mind up, your body is still trying to sleep. That, along with your heavy bags, marks the attempt to keep up as impossible, which you’re sure will define this next week . Ugh
You’re halfway to the door when the two Apples reach it, looking back to see you heaving, dragging your luggage behind you. You glare at them, furious at their desertion of you. Big Mac huffs, then leans back against the wall, patiently waiting for you to catch up . Apple Bloom, however, speeds towards you at a similar pace as before. You shut your eyes and brace yourself, hoping not to be flung to the ground this time. Instead, your feel nothing but a slight weightless on your arms as two bags are lifted from you. Her dazzling smile expectantly waits for you to open your eyes, and greets you as you do so. Her high voice, thick with the accent of this town, pips up once more
“I got em, Anon! Don’t you worry! She turns to her older brother, unmoved: “I got it, Big Mac! Don’t you worry!” He nods his head, not worrying. With the extra weight lifted, you manage to shamble slightly faster, and manage to greet the patient farmer at the door. He opens the door for you, letting you stumble past him, a bounding bow in close pursuit. A tattered old truck sitting in the center of the mostly vacant parking lot, which you assume is your destination. Along the way, your eager cousin, unable to contain her no-doubt illimitable energy, she charges forward to the truck. She tosses the bags into the bed, and, seeing that the two slower member of this party are only 3/4s of the way there, she jumps up on the side and begins kicking her legs and whistling. You turn to Big Mac, asking
“Is she always like this?” Big Mac looks towards you, a slight glare encouraging you to shut up. You gracefully comply. You toss your bags in the back, and walk to the passenger’s side. Absent-mindedly, you open it and get in, shutting the door behind you. You forget that there are three passengers, only to be reminded of the matter when Apple Bloom opens it and pushes to into the middle seat. You find yourself squeezed between the two Apples, the cabin being intimately tiny. This couldn’t get worse, you think, silently sulking. Things get worse immediately when Apple Bloom reaches past you and turns on the radio
“Go get it out boy! Say I’m the only one that makes you this crazy!” Oh no, please no, no country please. Apple Bloom jumps a little bit in excitement when she hears the sound, and chimes in with her high-pitched voice. “Come on, tell me how boy! How I’m the only thing you’re thinkin ‘bout lately!” Your iPhone’s in your pocket, along with earbuds. You try to reach them, each new verse increasing the frantic attempts to access your pockets. You can’t get into them, due to the close quarters of the truck. However, as a blessing in disguise, Apple Bloom stops when she notices your hand working its way between your thigh and hers, which have been pressed together. The blessing doesn’t last long:
“Anon, why are ya touching my leg like that?” she asks innocently, while Big Mac whips his face you-wards, his furious eyes burning a hole in your head
“I was looking for my headphones! I was trying to get into my pocket!” comes your panicked cry. You may not be from around here, but you know not to cross the silent, strong types. You scootch closer to him, trying to increase the visibility of the situation, which you point at
“See! There’s like, no way I couldn’t touch her leg!” He glares at you even harder, while Apple Bloom just looks at the both of you questioningly. Then, miraculously, he pulls back and lets out a soft chuckle
“I know. Real tight in here.” You exhale most of your terror and move back over, your life spared for the moment. The rest of the ride passes with silence form you and Big Mac, and unending crooning from the littlest farmer. The scrappy little truck pulls up to a giant barn, followed by Big Mac turning it off . This causes the radio to stop, along with the chipper sing-along; you’d be raising your hands in the air with the biggest cheer if there were room. Your cousins hop out of the car, and your sides feel like they expand, free from their imposing bodies. You follow them out, only to be greeted by the most horrifying of gargoyles. Green-tinged skin, wispy white hair, and a gnarled hand… that’s coming right for you! You instinctively take a step back, narrowly avoiding the grossest hand pat in the world
“Well howdy there, Anon!” The old lady creaks, her hand receding to its previous place by her side. “Boy, I haven’t seen you since you were this tall,” she exclaims, holding up her hands to show about a foot in length. This must be Granny. You’d hoped she was the kind of old person that sat in their room and wouldn’t communicate unless it was to instruct you to turn that racket down. Because old people, as scientists have proven, are way super icky. True to your beliefs, your own great aunt was threatening you with her affections, the withered hands ready to spring on and ravage your cheeks with pinches. With a truly forced smile, more of a grimace, you nod along as she recites some pointless family story. Apple Bloom had been awestruck by it holding onto every word, whereas Big Mac was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. In all your pretending you listen, you didn’t hear her tell you that they were going down to somebody’s house to pick up AJ.
If you’d been listening, you’d know that she was just finishing up band practice, and needed a ride. She had asked if you wanted to come, and said that if not, you could just stay home and unpack. You, hearing only the tone, and recognizing it as a question, responded with an over-exuberant yes. She smiled wide, showing off every one of her snaggly teeth, and began marching down to the truck. She opens the door for you, and a pit opens up in your stomach. Instead of climbing in, she just smiles there, barely moving. Apple Bloom had charged in, eager to ride next to you again, but Granny pulled her back out with some terrifying secret strength, reminding her that there wasn’t much space. This ride managed to be even worse than the ride up here, merely through the awkwardness of riding with Big Mac, who didn’t say a word.
You arrive at some weird-looking house that’s all shimmery, as if it were made out of crystals or glass or something. It’s standing alone, almost in the middle of the street, like a one-house cul-de-sac, with other houses forming a perimeter around the street leading up to it. You hop out of the truck once Big Mac brings it to a halt, and look up at it. If the sun weren’t directly in your eye, you may have gotten a better look instead of a piercing pain. Shutting your eyes and looking down, the sound of a car door slamming informs you of Big Mac’s exit. Without the distraction of the titanic house, your ears pick up a faint rumbling, or something like that. Hard to put a word to it, especially with it being so faint. Blurry eyed from the ray of sun, you follow the hazy form of Big Mac as he ascends the steps and enters without even knocking. Come on man, have some manners. The open door no longer blocking the sounds from inside, you can clearly hear the frenetic clamor of a garage band. You wipe your feet on the welcome mat and follow Big Mac down a series of halls and stairs, each heralding greater volume as you close the distance. He opens the final door, and you’re met with a cascade of noise and teenage girls jumping about
Big Mac finds a seat near the door and sits, hands in his lap. Already tired from the train ride and the family, you sit down sullenly beside him, not at all happy to listen to this. It’s not that bad, as you happen to notice through your burgeoning headache. You’re just a bit too exhausted for this now. Your head falls into your hands, and stays there through the end. As the music crashes to a close, a voice tells everyone that that was almost as awesome as its owner. Some more clamor, this time with voices, some crashing of instruments, and then a pat on your shoulder. Your head transports itself to your left hand, your left elbow supporting itself on your knee, and you mumble a concise
“Euuugh... sup?” A smiling girl, bending over so that she’s eye level, asks you how you were doing. The cowboy hat on her head tells you that this is your cousin Applejack
“You’re Anon, aren’tcha?” she asks in a lazy Southern drawl
“Yes, that would be me”
“Well it’s a pleasure to meet ya! I’m Applejack! Didn’t much expect you to be here at band practice, but I cain’t say I’m unhappy about it!” She beckons the girls over to you, and your spirits rise as a torrent of cute girls assemble before you. A litany of odd-sounded names match the odd-looking girls, and you smile your biggest at each of them. Maybe something good can come from this trip after all. Your meetings seem to go adequately, with the pick-haired one offering you a more radiant smile than the rest.
A brief round of goodbyes pass, and you’re back to the truck, an extra member tagging along. A phone number marks itself as the singular piece of luck you’ve scraped up in this unfortunate trip. Applejack sits close next to you, making you feel a bit uncomfortable in a different way than the others. Apple Bloom had been too spritely, Big Mac too imposing, Granny too old. But Applejack was nice to you, flashing a gorgeous smile constantly, her light laughter filling your eyes as she told hilarious stories about her bandmates. She had this strange combination of girliness, like that of that pink girl, while being distinctly grounded, or down-to-earth. You were liking her a little too much, considering her being related to you. It wasn’t a full on crush, nothing like that. Just a bit of affection you weren’t too overjoyed to entertain. And so it was that you mimicked Big Mac, and silently wandered off inside your own head. The truck stopped, and you slide out of the car, Applejack in short pursuit
“Here, lemme help you find your room.” You thank her, and look into the bed of the truck. Your shit!
“My shit!” Applejack looked almost as shocked at your wording as you were at the disappearance of your luggage. Your eyes darted over to Big Mac, as you worriedly asked “Where’s my stuff?”
“They got it,” came his typically short reply, as he pointed towards the house. You breathed a sigh of relief, and began the march up to the house. You find Applejack behind you, her lips pursed and her eyes stony. What’s eating her?
“You know, you really shouldn’t be swearing, anon. Ah get that that’s what they do back up in the city, but that ain’t how we do things here.” Oh man, was she serious, you say to yourself, keeping yourself from laughing but not smirking. She continues looking at you with those uncomfortably cold eyes. Huh. Guess she was. You nod, and toss out a meek promise not to ever do it again. Though you can tell she doesn’t completely buy it, she seems somewhat satisfied by the words. You make it into your house, and almost start off to your room before remembering you don’t know where your room is
“Hey, where’s my room?”
“Anoooooon!” comes a small, chipper voice. Oh geez, it’s friggin Apple Bloom again. The small, sunburnt body of the smallest Apple comes stomping across the banister above you. She runs hallway down the stairs, grips the railings, and vaults to the bottom with a loud “Oof!” and a frightening stomp
“Apple Bloom!” her elder sister chides, “Ah told you not to be jumping down those stairs! You could hurt yourself or someone else!” Apple Bloom might have heeded the advice, but in her temporary shame, she looked away and saw a suppressed smile on your face. It was a pretty cool jump, after all; AJ had almost jumped in the air. Your approval accidently given, Apple Bloom shook off the look of embarrassment. She nodded obediently to AJ, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. AJ begins to lead you upstairs, but Apple Bloom chokes out a quick “wait!” She cuts herself off abruptly once AJ turns to look at her. She looks at her older sister, her eyes widening to an absurd, heart-melting degree. Her small hands reach up to her mouth, making a prayer-like gesture
“Pleeeease, please please please-” she whines, adding another plea to the mysterious wish. Her older sister glances from her to you, then back at her. A comic smile crosses her lips, and she nods her assent before turning back to you
“Apple Bloom asked if she could help you unpack. Would you be alright with that?” you shrug your shoulders, not really caring for the idea, but ready to accept help with your luggage. Apple Bloom jumps in the air, and grabs the bag you’d lain at your feet, then rushes upstairs. More awake now, you move up the stairs at a greater pace than your typical saunter. A wide, vacant hallway greets you, with no trace of Apple Bloom. Her sweet voice calls out from one of the bedrooms.
“Ahnon! Ah’m in here!” You follow the voice into the room furthest back and to the right. Oh good heavens
Apples. Apples everywhere. Apple rug set over a soft red and green floor. Apple drapes and apple wallpaper. Apple blankets and sheets on the bed with apples carved into it. Apple girl lying on the bed, your non-apple possessions strewn about. If there was ever an apple-obsessed serial killer, this is what their house would look like. You walk over to the bed, still trying to take in all the apples. Your littlest cousin sets down the shirt she was refolding and scooted over to you
“Anon, Ah’m real glad you’re here.” The girl’s exuberance had been slowly turning from annoying to perplexing, impelling you to ask
“Why?”
“Well,” she starts off, matter-of-factly, before lying down on her bad and tracing apples on your blankets, “This place can get kind of boring.” Not trusting your ability to respond without sarcasm, you lift your eyebrows
“Ah know, it doesn’t seem like it,” she explains, buying your ruse of surprise, “but there’s just not that much to do!” She sits straight up, her frustrated pout threatening to melt your heart, “And the worst part is, the only thing anyone around her wants to talk about, or do stuff with, is apples!” She stand up on the bed and begins acting out caricatures of her kin
“Come on now, sis,” she says with her chin thrust forward and her hands on her hips, “We all gotta work together. That’s what being a family’s all about! That’s why you can’t keep blowing up parts of the barn with your friends crazy experiments!” You tilt your head and widen your eyes in confusion, but she moves ever onwards. She hunches over, closing her eyes and waving a shaking finger in front of her
“Now now, little Apple Bloom, back in my day, we never wore awesome clothes or when tree-surfing.” her voice, now creaky and labored, groans “We only wore lame clothes and married whoever our parents wanted us to.” She straightens up, pushing her mouth downwards to make a morose, bored-looking face. Then she just looks at you for a few seconds with blank eyes, followed by an “Eeyup,” in her deepest voice. Which of course is not even close to deep. Then her legs collapse under her, and she falls on her behind, sighing deeply. You feel like you oughtta be defending her family or something. That’s what you were taught to do
“Apple Bloom, that’s wrong,” you say, looking sternly at her. In the face of her disappointment and regret, you tell her “It’s more like this.” You open your jaw and let it hang, and soften and unfocus your eyes as you look at her but appear as if looking through her.
“Eeeyup,” you drawl, emphasizing each syllable by tilting your head down, then up. And your little cousin bursts out laughing beside you
“No no no, he’s like this!” She stands straight up, stiff as a board, and does even better . A couple more minutes of impressions, and Apple Bloom is positively glowing. Even more than before, if you could guess. Still, this time her exuberance doesn’t bother you. Laughter, high-pitched, squeaky and touched by her accent, rings through the room. You find yourself joining her, a rumbling chuckle turning into an uproar. You hunch yourself over to an absurd degree, you face almost meeting your knee and tell her in the most crackly, witchy voice you can muster
”Why you little-un ain’t oughhta bein laughin at your elders! I youghta be paddlin’ yer hide!” Snickers keep erupting from you during your performace, but Bloom doesn’t seem to mind, judging by her gasping for air through her laughing. A hard knock interrupts the two of you. The two of you shut up right quick, fearing you’d been caught
“Reckon they heard us?” a meeker Bloom whispers to you
“Not sure how they couldn’t,” you respond, suddenly aware of how loud you’d been. “Except maybe Granny.” Bloom snickers at that, then sits up straight when the door opens. The stern face of Applejack enters, gazing at the two of you with a squint Clint Eastwood could only dream of having.
“Hey, Applejack, what’s up?” You say coolly, familiar in the circumstance of keeping secrets. You try to control your scowl, which always arose in the face of authority figures. A partial success, as your mouth had moved to a state of neutrality, but your eyes .
“Oh, just wanted to see what all the ruckus was about,” she responds, looking at you evenly, then over at Bloom. Bloom gulped guility, ruining what might have been a good cover. AJ’s eyes glanced over the room
“Noticed you two ain’t unpacked yet.” You grin facetiously,
“Well, there was a lot, and we just got kinda intimidated.” Applejack looks over at your three bags, then back to you. You didn’t know eyes could get that narrow. Then she shrugs, and with a big sigh, offers to
“help y’all out.” Dinner’s gonna be pretty soon.” The three of you make short work of your belongings, with a minor hitch in the process
“Cool,” Bloom says, holding a pair of your Neon Genesis Evangelion boxers in the air, stretching the elastic waistband. You blush furiously, and swipe them out of her hands while she laughs at you. AJ’s points a “you serious?” look your way, then goes back to putting your jeans in the dresser. You harrumph, and stick your nose in the air. Ain’t nobody gonna insult your rad boxers. No sooner do you finish than you hear a triangle clanging like a frantic church bell. You guess that’s it
“Alright, let’s go on down,” AJ says, walking towards the door. Bloom had started to ease open your underwear drawer, when she’s caught
“Apple Bloom!” her sister cries, a partly incredulous, partly infuriated look crosses her face
“Aw,” she pouts, then shuffles towards the door
“Stop looking at my bloomers, Bloom.” She chuckles at this, before stopping when her sister’s look returns. As the two of your exit, AJ follows. You hear her mutter, barely audible.
“…and that is not how I sound…” Heh. The three of you head down the stairs, the loud creaking announcing your arrival. A sumptuous smell shocks you as you hit the landing. You dart into the dining room, eager to find the source of this spellbinding scent. An incredible spread meets your eye, the perfect welcome to a first meal. A straight up roast turkey sits pretty in the center, surrounded by potatoes and stuffing. A tray of butter accompanies the steaming mashed potatoes. The whole meals lies in glittering metal dishes, intricate patterns traced upon the edges. A loaf of garlic bread, a gravy train, and a great bowl of yams fill the rest of the table in. Your face must have reflected the awe you felt, because you’re seeing AJ grinning at you out of the corner of your eye
“We figured, since this is the first time we’ve seen you in years, we oughtta welcome you in style.” You nodded and thanked her over and over, more touched by the inclusion than you’d like to admit. The rest of the Apples have already been seated, and you join them. Bloom sits next to you, of course, her chair surreptitiously scooting close to you. The lot of you load up your plates, faces eager in anticipation. Before you dig in, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and notice everyone’s heads bowed. Their hands are joined, two being offered to you. Oh yeah. You’d done this a long time ago, before your mother decided it was unfashionable. You grasp the hands beside you, and bow your head as well.
“Bless us, oh Lord, in these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through
Christ, our Lord.” comes AJ’s voice, followed by a resounding “Amen!” It’d been a long time since you’d been a part of this, but you felt a little comforted by it, though you’d expected the opposite. And then you dig in. Pile of food after pile of food is shoveled into your mouth, your appetite greater than you’d noticed. A bottle of sparkling cider makes its way to you, and you make good use of it. After the greater portion of the meal is concluded, you sit back and sigh, occasionally munching on more. Granny speaks up, her toothy smile less disturbing to you
“Well, how’d ya like it?” You can’t help but return a grin
“It was absolutely fantastic! I can’t believe you did this for me!” Your favorite Apple pipes up next to you, a graceful smile warming your heart.
“That’s how we treat kin round here, Anon.” You reactively smile at the kindness, but it feels like a whole is gaping within. Here was basically a straight up Thanksgiving meal made just for you, for no other reason. And your own parents never lifted a fucking finger on the actual holiday. By the time dessert comes around, you just aren’t in the mood. This was nice of them, but you still barely knew them. You were just the shitty kid of the world’s shittiest parents. You brush off somebody’s concern over your imperfectly hidden melancholy. You tap at your food for some minutes, then quietly excuse yourself. A DS awaited, ready to take you out of your uncomfortable life. As you slunk away, a small hand touched your back. You twitched, hesitating at deserting the owner’s outreach. Then you walked up the stairs.
The quietness of your room was somewhat soothing. The conversations of families, others and your own, was never your favorite sound. But your room was the solitude, the perfect escape. And boy howdy, you wanted nothing more than that. You grab your DS off the dresser, and boot it up. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some legendaries to capture. A couple of hours later, you’re the proud new owner of a Latios. A low knock at the door told you Bloom was coming
“Yes?”
“Hey, Anon.” she says tiredly, her usual spiritedness giving way to an easy contentment. She enters, dressed in baby blue pajamas, her signature bow missing. She smiles at you, her eyes half-lidded. Hnnnnng. She crouches slightly, then hops onto your bed with a small *pomf*. Her legs dangle off, not reaching the ground, while her thin arms are placed at either side of her, hands holding onto the blanket. You turn your DS off, and place it on the nightstand. We aren’t done just yet
“What’s up?”
“We’re about to do our midnight prayers. I’m coming to getcha.”
“Oh. Uh, alright.” You can’t really see any harm in it... She looks up to the sky, and your eyes follow. The inky black sky had been steadily swallowing the yellow glow that had persisted throughout the day. A handful of glittering stars, bunched together like excited faces of parents at a graduation, had sprung up from nowhere. The perfect blackness that surrounds them, giving them their tremendous luster, shocks you. There was always so much light in the city, you’d never really got a good look at them. The sight transfixes you, your full attention set on finding good ol’ Orion. Practically a tradition for you. Her fingers interrupt you, tugging at your sleeve
“Anoooon,” she says, drawing your name out. You turn to her, a pair of golden eyes meeting yours. When did she get so close? “Come on, let’s go.” A knot in your stomach appears alongside that warmth she gave you. It isn’t helped when she grabs your hand and leaps off the bed with a teensy “hup.” You follow her, not wanting to break the connection. A conversation-less walk ensues, your cousin humming softly, the bounce in her step almost hidden, but not quite. And you, following gratefully, capable of being led just about anywhere by this strange girl. Bloom opens the door to the master bedroom, the three remaining Apples all kneeling by the bed. You take your place beside them, feeling a little out of place, but not wholly. You plunge your mind for memories of the small nightly prayer, but come up empty. Fending off thoughts of Metallica, you close your eyes and listen
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. This I ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.” You rise, preparing to return to your gravely injured Snorlax
“Wait, Anon.” AJ’s looking at you, a benevolent visage making you less inclined to exit. “Ah don’t mean to keep piling all these traditions on you, but we’ve got a couple more; you can join us if you’d like. If not, we won’t be offended.” Bloom nods eagerly, and Big Mac graces you with a single, solemn tilt of his head. “At night, we say what the best and worst parts of the day was.”
”High-Low?” you blurt out, flashbacks of your childhood bringing back the name. The Apples beam, their guest becoming a little more familiar
“Yeah, I’ve heard it called that,” Applejack informs you. “Would you like to go first?”
“Yeah, sure. Uhh…” You have to think for a minute. “Well, the early morning was pretty rough, and the bus was trash, so I guess getting here was my low. “And as for my high… definitely that dinner. Boy, that was the best thing I’d had in a long time.” Granny shows joy in another yellow crescent at the compliment, then speaks up
“My low was gittin that consarned turkey outta the ov’n without no help from my own flesh and blood,” a terrifying gaze petrifies the younger generation of Apples “and my high wus gittin that there compliment from my great-nephew over there.” Big Mac’s turn next:
“Low, missing out on seein’ Cheerilee. High, food.” AJ follows him up, having her low be “that gosh-dern Rainbow hogging all the spotlight during practice, like she always does! But my high made up for it: always love meetin’ new family, and Anon sure seems great!” Visions of the dinner return: the joy of being wanted mixed with the bitterness of not having your own parents compare resulting in a complicated expression. You’re interrupted by Bloom throwing her arms around you
“My high was Anon! Ain’t got no low!” You try to suppress a smile. You do not succeed. All Apples except for the one currently hanging on your neck stare at your grin. The discomfort of being the center of attention allows you to force the smile back down. A less genuine smile takes its place, and you pat Bloom’s arm. Maybe they wouldn’t see the difference in smiles, but you’d rather be in control . You were hesitant about showing affection and happiness around others: after all, experience had taught you that the worst moments came soon after. Nobody could blame you for protecting yourself. Nobody. Still, you appreciated the kindness of the family about you, even if you didn’t really belong. It’d be rude to reject their favor, so you let out a polite laugh, pretending to have a good time since you weren’t willing to actually have one. Your distance may have been spotted, judging by the focused look AJ shines on you. Like a flashlight, her eyes seem to be searching you, aiming to bring your secrets to light. Naturally, you turn from her, trying to keep your eyes and face from facing her. What would happen if she knew, you couldn’t say. But you were beyond even considering the possibility: hiding was what you did and what you do. Bloom continues holding your neck, but loosens her grip in order to crawl up your back. Her knees clamber up your back, then split to either side. Her feet slip outward, then wrap around you, meeting each other around your stomach area. Her head rested on your left shoulder, her face immediately to your left. Your turn slightly to the left, in order to see her out of the corner of your eye.
“Sup.”
“Yeehaw,” she yawns back, with a feeble attempt to raise her right arm in the air, presumably to make the motion of twirling a rope.
“Need a ride?” Her head lolls up and down twice in a sleepy nod Then she turns away, and slumps back into the crook of your neck. It stays there, bobbing slightly with her breath, as you put your arms under her legs to support her, and stand up. It isn’t the most graceful motion, but you manage to do it without Apple Bloom falling off. Before you get to the door, you realize a major problem in your course.
“Hey, where’s her room?” you ask, turning towards AJ. Her radiant face the perfect physical expression of the word “d’aww.” Eyes wide open, mouth slightly ajar in a half-wondrous, half ecstatic look. Ignoring your question, she informs you of how cute you’re looking right now, giving the almost sleeping girl a piggyback ride. You face flushes, and you cough away the embarrassment. You repeat your query, disguising your own small joy with inquisitiveness. Your semi-curt tone breaks her out of her stupor
“Uh, it’s on the back right of the upper hallway, right across from yer room.”
“Thanks,” you huff, and adjust Bloom for the ride. Feeling comfortable with her position, you set off. The stairs presenting a bit of difficulty, but you managed to get Bloom to her room, safe and sound. Standing at her door, you shift her weight to your left while your right hand frees itself to open the door. The creak startles you, even though you should have expected it. Your hand freezes where it is, not wanting to wake the sleeping Apple on your shoulder. Carefully, you try again, the squeaking being more drawn out but less loud overall. Still, you cringe, wishing this house could just shut up for half a second. You had a dozing little girl on your shoulder, and darnit, you didn’t need every stair, loose floorboard, and knob trying to wake her up! Making your way through her room in the low light, you find her bed in the luminescent moonlight. Apple-themed blankets and pillows covered that one too, to nobody’s surprise. You realize it’d be real rude to just dump her on the covers, leading you to decide to tuck her in. It’s only polite, you tell yourself. Again you tilt her to the left, balancing out your weight as your right arm extends to grab the blankets. You grip them tightly, and move them down the bed, sliding your body along them so as not to shake your precious cargo too much. Repeating the process with the sheets, the pure white of the mattress cover is exposed. Turning around, you bend your knees until you feel Bloom make contact with the mattress. Twisting your arm around, you hold her limply up as you turn around, then gently lower her onto the bed. Well, she’s lying down now, but perpendicular to the bed. You slide your arm under her back, and lift her feet in the air, swiveling her into the proper position. Finally, you lift the blanket over her feet, then spread it over her body. Satisfied at the comfy looking girl, head just above the blankets, you tiptoe to your room, and collapse on your bed.