Bailout

This work of fan fiction contains characters, ideas, situations, and places found in the Hasbro Studios series "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". No infringement of copyright is implied by this work of satire and parody, and this work is meant as a celebration of the people involved in the creation, development, and production of the series.

“Bailout”
Written by The Descendant

To:
Mayor Mare
Ponyville City Hall Fixture

From:
Applejack
Proprietress
Sweet Apple Acres Farm and Marina

Dear Mayor Mare,

It was wit’ no small amount of disappointment that we received yer’ newest letter o’ sympathy, madam mayor. While yer’ elocution was a sharp as ever you could say we was lookin’ for somethin’ a bit more practical to arrive from yer’ office.

Somethin’ along the lines of, oh…say, a bucket.

As you will recall, madam mayor, mah’ recent spate of frenzied letter writin’ to your most gilded office concerns a bit o’ governmental constipation. I herein repeat my story in case you were simply usin’ the old rubber stamp for the three previous occasions. It seems that our local government, under your rather inebriated leadership, had a variety of inter-curricular activities comin’ about simultaneously and at the same time.

The first was the yearly teachin’ of the local baby beaver population how tah’ build dams. This activity is so sweet tah’ behold that it requires the presence of a certified dentist and results in a yearly run on the diabetes testing supplies at Mortar and Pestal’s pharmacy. Of course it was lead, as it is every year, by mah’ dear friend Fluttershy. She did her utmost and best to pursue the situation professionally whilst blushing fiercely as the driest of Ponyville wits stood around and made “munching beaver” jokes.

The second was an outing of the First Years of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, which was lead by another dear friend of mine, our local Designate Twilight Sparkle. Twilight, bein’ Twilight, was so thorough in her explanation of the local flora, fauna, and magica of the surrounding environment that she failed to note that her little scholars were at the very livin’, bleedin’ edge of their rapidly departin’ attention spans. They had, in point of fact, begun to rapidly take on the appearance of those on ah’ death march rather than ah’ field trip.

The third occurrence which conspired tah’ result in mah’ current sodden situation was the testin’ by our local pegasi of their new rain production techniques. I did raise mah’ concerns about having such experimental variables so close to the farm, but mah’ close friend Rainbow Dash assured me that they had everythin’ under control and that it was “all cool” and that I needed “to chill out” and “chillax”.

I immediately informed her that if this went south in a hurry she’d need to “call a proctologist” so that she could once again “fly straight”.

With these facts well in hoof we, the residents of a decidedly un-flooded and relatively dry and not in any way damp Sweet Apple Acres Farm watched as the following events transpired.

First of all, the baby beavers commenced to build their very first iddy-bitty cutsely-wootsy dams as the blood sugar level of the onlookers rose and our most proficient comedians continued to make off-color jokes.

Secondly, Twilight consented tah’ allow the students from the School for Gifted Unicorns five minutes to watch the saccharine exhibition. What Twilight failed tah’ account for, as she frantically raced tah’ adjust her schedule, was that her young charges, bein’ bored, simply then began testin’ out their meager magical abilities on the little rodents.

As we looked on the beavers began growin’, with the assistance of various an’ sundry magical incantations, to many times their typical size.

One of the immediate implications of such was that they immediately began construction of new dams to hold their most appreciable girth. This was of immediate concern to mahself’ as the most readily available source of lumber was my dang apple trees!

Yes ma’am, as I’ve told you in my two previous letters, the beavers ripped mah’ trees right out of the ground, clean as a whistle, shore off the branches, and commenced to partake of engineering with ‘em!

As I began calculatin’ the amount of bits I was gonna have tah’ report to the insurance company the impeccable jesters of Ponyville began makin’ “big beaver” jokes as the crowd groaned.

Then, much to our relief, the rodents gathered up said comedians and made them structural elements of the new construction, much to the applause, relief, and cheer of those there gathered.

Now, a storm was brewin’…and not just the one indicated by mah’ rising blood pressure. Overhead a great black thundercloud was commencin’ tah’ gather itself up as the pegasi commenced with the experimentin’.

Now understandably our dear pegasus friends were very happy with themselves. I’m not one to go castin’ disparages but I couldn’t help but feel that our friends went a little overboard when they began to attempt to build what could only be described as an “epic rain cloud”.

Seriously, madam mayor, this thing was so awful huge it covered all o’ Sweet Apple Acres in a kind o’ hoverin’ menace. It was thick, palpable, fillin’ us all almost as full of fear and apprehension as mah’ brother Big Mac gets whenever he sees a mare walkin’ the road up to the farm with a baby carriage.

Anyway, this big black cloud hangs there until the precipitation starts in with it’s precipitatin’. Oh, colt howdy! How it came down! The drops came faster than the sweat that pours off of Big Mac when he sees…oh, but I repeat mahself’…

Now, bein’ that we are a farm, rain is most often viewed by us here at Sweet Apple Acres as largely beneficial and we are happy for it. All of this would have been fine and dandy if it weren’t for the fact that somepony among the First Years of the unicorns had seen fit to try out a spell that made things slightly more impervious to disassembly than one might expect…

“I can fix it, I can fix it!” called Twilight over and over as she put her horn tah’ summonin’ all sorts of spells and incantations, as unicorns are oft want tah’ do.

Despite mah’ hopes to the contray the accumulatin’ evidence was that she, despite her best efforts…couldn’t.

The newly inflated beavers continued the enlargifyin’ of the now impervious dams at a startlin’ rate, despite Fluttershy’s implores for them to stop.

I felt mah’ eye begin to twitch when it became rather obvious that the pegasi weren’t havin’ much more luck keepin’ their big old cloud under control. Despite her assurances that everythin’ was “fine” and “cool” I could clearly see Dash makin’ mental preparations for a doctor’s visit.

So, Mayor Mare, as the sun set and mah’ friends all tried to go about rectifyin’ the situation all we could do was gather up whatever bit of our meager belongin’s we could find and tie up the farm as best we could as the puddles began to get deeper.

I have always wanted to live in a nice spot with a waterfront view…but I’ve always wanted to keep the farm in the family as well. To mah’ disappointment the followin’ morin’ showed me just how incompatible these conflictin’ visions of mah’ real estate ventures truly were.

Durin’ the night the rain cloud had kept delugin’ the farm with water and now very tired lookin’ pegasi fluttered all around blamin’ various atmospheric conditions and usin’ rather colorful language…

…wincing a bit when I gave ‘em a good hard stare.

All around mah’ little white farmhouse stood an expansive lake where Sweet Apple Acres Farm had once stood. We’d been deluged!

As mah’ family all stood around with blank expressions we watched as the ephemera of our farm began to float about. Atop the waters we could see the bobbin’ of hay bales, apple crates, and the occasional perturbed lookin’ sheep.

We began to take stock o’ the situation. Twilight continued runnin’ back and forth insistin’ that she knew what to do, Fluttershy called to the decidedly unimpressed lookin’ beavers, and Dash hid behind a cloud.

To our immense relief our milkin’ cows were all safely atop the milk shed and appeared at the time to be very well organized tah’ deal with the situation as they saw it. Flossie indeed seemed to be conductin’ some sort of democratically inspired proceedin’s tah’ get the bovines through the present crisis.

At the east barn things weren’t goin’ nearly as well. Our farmhoof Caramel somehow had found himself lodged there durin’ the night and had awoken in a sodden state. He danced about the top of the barn callin’ for help as the structure itself was slowly circled by very hungry lookin’ beavers.

We waved to Caramel and yelled tah’ him that we knew he would do his best.

When he started tah’ cry we slowly walked to the other side of the porch…

It was at this juncture that I thought it best tah’ contact yer’ office, madam mayor.

When the stallion from the Disaster Management Bureau arrived Big Mac paddled out to him, carefully avoiding the sheep, and fetched him up from over across the way where we’d hung a “and Marina” notice underneath the “Sweet Apple Acres Farm” sign.

As Big Mac rowed the representative over to the house, Caramel crying for help in the distance, the large fellow began to show a bit o’ mirth.

“Ahoy Apple family!” called the corpulent pony as he neared the house, “Permission to come aboard!”

Mah’ Granny Smith then proceeded to ask him into which of his orifices he’d like one of the examples of our last apple crop tah’ find a “safe harbor”.

He became decidedly more professional followin’ that.

We were informed that there were several exploratory committees beginning the process of considering ways to start the possible remediation of our situation.

“These things take time!” he said, gulpin’ slightly as he watched Granny Smith continue to roll the apple back and forth beneath her hoof.

Seein’ the bureaucrat off the property Big Mac returned just as Celestia’s sun was setting, and we, the residents of the S.S. Farmhouse looked out over the waste that was once our farm. As Caramel’s cries continued to float out over Lake Sweet Apple the cows closed the executive session of their parliament and began tah’ bed down for the night.

We did the same, hopin’ that the ‘morrow would bring some sort of respite from our troubles.

The next day began wit’ Big Mac fishin’ Ditzy Doo, our mailmare with whom you’ve been familiarized, out o’ the waters very near where our mailbox stood in a submerged state.

As we looked over the applications for boat storage we noticed the second reply to our implores for help from your office…

…couldn’t help but notice, madam mayor, that it was pretty much the exact same letter you’d sent the previous day.

We took a look over the situation once more. What met our eyes was about as comfortin’ and inspirin’ as Hoof and Mouth Disease.

In the far distance Twilight still sat on the embankment of the beaver dam, drooling slightly as she cast spells seemingly at random. She was still mouthin’ “I can fix it!” wordlessly as objects and individuals (some seemingly torn unaware from various activities ranging from professional to romantic in nature) were seemingly summoned to our farm/marina in a flash of her magic an’ dropped into the cold waters wit’ little regard for their state of awareness of the situation.

Not too far from that Fluttershy, herself looking more than a little flustered, attempted to avoid the plummeting ponies an’ various ephemera our friend was unintentionally callin’ out of their daily lives and into our cold an’ wet reality. As she did she still attempted to call out the beavers in the most adorable display of uselessness I’d personally ever witnessed.

The beavers themselves were a bit occupied at that moment, ya’ see. They had begun an assault on mah’ east barn, apparently intent on usin’ it as a basic resource fer’ the erectin’ of some kind o’ warren.

As they gnawed on its timbers Caramel ran back and forth across the roof usin’ a tennis racket that Twilight’s magic had materialized in his presence to attempt the dissuade the rather unimpressed appearin’ rodents from disassemblin’ his place o’ employment.

Over at the milk shed things were goin’ swimmingly…to turn a phrase. The cows had now outlined the basic form dat’ their republic would take and were now movin’ on tah’ basic constitutional liberties and term limits.

We all stood and saluted as their flag went up, tryin’ tah’ be neighborly and the like. We did our best to sing along with their national anthem, but not knowin’ the words we all ended up just singin’ whatever in the hay we felt like singin’.

We would have listened harder but the now the cursing and sounds of annoyance the pegasi overhead had reached a state that I felt the need tah’ cover Apple Bloom’s ears against the tirades.

As I looked up to the pegasi, all of them kicking, biting, or verbally berating the big ole’ black rain cloud, I couldn’t help but notice Dash tip-hoofing through the air from cloud to cloud to avoid my gaze.

As I was envisionin’ the medical pony of her choice fetchin’ an array of objects from her innards I heard a most amazing noise!

The four of us turned to look up the path that lead to the marina…errr, farm. There, shining in the noontime sun, came an entire regiment of Equestrian Army Engineers!

Their armor shone brightly, an’ the sun reflected off of their axes and shovels! How proud they appeared as their colonel looked upon our forlorn state! How heroic the army appeared as their flags crested the earthworks of the beaver dam! How gallant the army looked as they surveyed the scene…

…what jerks they looked like as they all did an about-face and went off to fetch the navy!

About this time mah’ good friends Pinkie Pie and Rarity arrived. They had spent the previous day gatherin’ up some consumables and basic needs for our use, and now Rarity levitated them to us with her magic.

Pinkie, on the other hand, had brought her water wings and was a splashin’ about in Lake Sweet Apple before too long. Almost instantly she had even begun to gather up some of the random objects, bits of detritus, a sheep or two, and confused ponies that were bobbling about tah’ build herself a private island!

It was with no small amount of disappointment that we had to inform her that the more earthy bits of her little atoll were, in reality, the contents of our manure pile from the pigshed.

With that a rather defeated look crossed her face, an’ as she squished across her compost-based islet it made rather unpleasant noises. With that she jumped back into the water and swam to the milk shed.

Much to our pleasure she was greeted as the first tourist to visit their little republic an’ was given the full tour! This consisted of, as best we could see, getting to see the quilt Bessy was working on and getting’ a four hour explanation of how Lilly’s gout was clearin’ up.

Much to Apple Bloom’s relief Rarity (who had arrived at the scene utterly bestrewn with waders and impedimentia to avoid contact wit’ the copious amounts o’ mud that had bestrewn the sodden shore of our new lake) had brought her sister Sweetie Belle with her!

Apple Bloom had grown quite tired of playing with us. As her constant and uninterrupted victory streak over mahself’ at our word games had caused mah’ blood pressure to rise even further I too was happy that she’d have somepony else tah’ talk with.

After about twelve seconds of them yelling back and forth across the detritus-strewn waters at the top of their lungs mah’ eye was twitchin’ again and my last few nerves were frayin’. Even though it did drown out Caramel’s battle cries and the near constant stream o’ profanity from the pegasi overhead it wasn’t exactly the most soothin’ o’ cacophonies.

I suggested that Rarity use her magic tah’ levitate Sweetie Belle over to us. The unicorn at first looked doubtful, but as the fillies jumped around in excitement she consented to the plan and ignited her horn.

She did a fine job navigatin’ Sweetie Belle for the most part. Good ole’ Rarity…she deftly avoided the objects and ponies the withdrawn and droolin’ figure of distant Twilight was still unintentionally summonin’ and droppin’ into Lake Sweet Apple.

“Oh Celestia, why!?” called a Royal Guardspony as he flashed into our presence, Rarity movin’ Sweetie in a swirl of purple magic to avoid him. His expression fell from stoic tah’ flabbergasted in an instant as he splashed down inta’ the cold waters.

Rarity spun Sweetie tah’ avoid another obstacle as it too joined our little sopping assemblage. “Oh no, not again!” called a bowl of petunias as it plummeted into the waters, much to the amazement and confusion o’ all the ponies there gathered.

As Sweetie Belle crossed to us her giggling became most melodic, and the sun shone behind her. She appeared as a little white cherub as she wafted over the shimmerin’ surface of the waters…her little happy laughter makin’ the scene almost angelic in nature…

This lasted until the storm cloud, reacting to the bitin’ and cursin’ of the pegasi who were workin’ towards it’s destruction, unleashed a single bolt of lightnin’ and crack o’ thunder!

This had the immediate effect o’ makin’ Rarity lose her concentration…and sending Sweetie Belle fallin’ face first into Pinkie’s recently vacated fertilizer-based island. She landed with an indecent soundin’ plop and black waters were seen to ooze about her.

“Sweetie, darling!” called Rarity, beset with horror. “Do not, under any circumstances, lick your lips!”

After Big Mac had fetched Sweetie in the boat we did our darndest tah’ clean her off. As we set about preparin’ dinner from the supplies Rarity and Pinkie had brought we looked out over the scene before us as the sun set.

Out upon the shores of the Milk Shed Republic their guest Pinkie Pie had taken it upon herself tah’ help the bovines develop somethin’ approachin’ a cultural identity. As she lead them in “the dance of their people” the constant rattlin’ and crashin’ of their hooves upon the tin roof of the milk shed went like little nails directly behind mah’ eyes.

With that, however, one of the tin panels gave way, sending a few o’ the cows crashin’ through it into the stalls below. This had the singular effect o’ settin’ off the young democracy’s first constitutional crisis…as it were…

While this was happenin’ Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, who had already bored one another with their word games, began experimentin’ with a few of the more colorful adjectives, verbs, and nouns that the pegasi overhead had been usin’ throughout the disaster as it had unfolded.

I informed them that good little fillies don’t use such language, that the acts they had described were either physically impossible or horribly overpriced, and that I thought that it was best that they now found themselves some sleepin’ arrangements…

While they were disappointed to have to go to bed it did save them from havin’ tah’ witness the horror of what seemed tah’ be the final act of Caramel’s day-long battle wit’ the impossibly enlarged beavers.

As the sun set it’s light did but shine through the tattered remains o’ the east barn. Caramel, perched atop the weathervane, took a few final swipes with the tennis racket as the mother beaver, her teeth massive and white, reached up to claim him.

As the sun set we heard only Caramel’s final cries, and Granny Smith, Big Mac, and I stood an’ saluted as the darkness rolled in.

With that we shed a tear in his memory and discussed what attributes we’d be lookin’ fer’ in the next fieldhoof we’d be hirin’ before we too headed up to bed.

Before I conclude with that day’s events, madam mayor. I want you tah’ know something about me. I am a rather honest pony…and I’ll not be lying to you.

I am afraid. I am afraid of what’s gonna happen to mah’ farm…what’s gonna happen to all of us. These fears gnawed at me as I tried to sleep last night.

Farming is an occupation that pays…

…it pays the seed growers, it pays the co-op, it pays the bank that holds the mortgage.

When my parents…

…my parents…

…

When I took possession of the farm we had to take out a mortgage. Between Granny Smith’s retirement money, Big Mac’s army pension, and all of our hard work…we, we were making it work.

When we took out the mortgage, we financed it by the square foot. If I were to have to try again today, it’d have to be by the quart!

In your second letter you asked how the crops would be affected. If I could find where they’d all floated off to I’d be happy to let you know! Next year I intend to plant watercrest and watermelons, so I’m suggesting you adjust yer’ diet accordingly!

The next morning began with Big Mac once more fetching tah’ soaked form of Ditzy Doo out of the waters above where our immersed mailbox stood.

As he returned to the house weren’t we surprised to see the longboats of the Equestrian Navy begin fallin’ over the walls of the beaver dam! Soon the navy tars were fetchin’ ponies and sheep out of the now rather unsociable lookin’ waters o’ Lake Sweet Apple.

This, unfortunately, caused somethin’ o’ an international incident when one of the navy longboats came too close to the territorial waters of the Milk Shed Republic.

The cows were apparently so incensed that they ejected the Equestrian ambassador! Yup! They scooped the still-sleepin’ form o’ Pinkie Pie up and tossed her right inta’ the proverbial drink!

Ah’ tried tah’ call across mah’ apologies, but Flossie wouldn’t hear not a single word of it…I guess she was just usin’ the whole episode tah’ distract the citizens from the secession crisis the “Dance Incident” of the previous night had developed inta’.

As our eyes followed the longboats weren’t we surprised to see that Caramel hadn’t gone and left this mortal coil at all! Nope, he sat there atop the weather vane…wrapped firmly in the legs of the mother beaver, she cuddlin’ him up into her girth. As she nuzzled him over and over and blushed with somethin’ approachin’ an indecent amount of satisfaction a rather content look swept across her jowly features.

Caramel, for his part, simply stared into the distance with deeply set and vacant eyes, a thousand-yard stare consumin’ him. He seemed, from our perspective, to be mouthin’, “Why? Why? Why?” over and over…

Overhead the cry of only one pegasus now erupted across tah’ skies. As I looked up into the heavens my good friend Rainbow Dash wheeled over with a wild scream, diving with all of her power an’ might into an amazing display of the magic o’ the pegasi…she seemed determined to destroy the lingerin’ form o’ the storm cloud.

As she powered down into it, her voice full of rage, it was magnificent tah’ behold…the very livin’ power of an entire Equestrian race flowin’ through her as she sought to free us from our woes.

Of course, everythin’ bein’ what it is, the cloud chose that exact moment tah’ simply evaporate of it’s own accord.

This had the singular effect of makin’ Dash go skippin’ across the surface of the lake like a stone, narrowly avoiding the longboats, the few remaining despondent ponies, and bobblin’ sheep as she went in a series of decreasing hops.

At the far side of the lake she thudded into the walls of the dam. This now had the further effect o’ making the forms of Twilight and Fluttershy (who had been laying there on their backs making tiny miserable sounds, Twilight from her inability to end the crisis and Fluttershy from inadvertently witnessin’ Caramel’s nocturnal misadventures) plop into the water as well.

While the situation seemed to be improvin’ this still left us covered with a generally misplaced lake.

I was more than a little crestfallen, madam mayor. If I were ever tah’ be able to get the water out now, how long would I have tah’ save mah’ crops?

Buckets, madam mayor…hundreds, if not thousands, of ‘em.

To mah’ surprise and joy…to the whoops and hollers of all the Apple family and dear friends there assembled on mah’ porch, came the entirety of the population of Ponyville.

T’was Spike and Angel, fierce and bitter foes in all other things, who came up first, leadin’ the assemblage behind them. As they saw to Twilight and Fluttershy they simultaneously and at the same time passed out buckets, pails, pots and pans to all who came after them.

Soon enough some thousands of ponies were standing atop the dams, each one scoopin’ and bailin’. It were a sight to see, madam mayor…

…I’m sorry you weren’t here to see it.

Mighty sorry.

Powerful sorry.

You see, Mayor Mare, I had hoped that I could count on you to at least do somethin’ more than just send nice little letters and forward yer’ concerns to some higher-ups…I had hoped you’d be, well…useful.

The ground around the barns and milk shed has now returned. Though it is a touch muddy it is still good to be able to walk from mah’ porch to the barn. As I went over to inspect its remains I caught sight of a very withdrawn lookin’ Caramel getting what Fluttershy would later tell me was the beaver equivalent of a “It ain’t you, it’s me,” and “I hope we can still be friends but please don’t call me,” speech from the mother beaver.

Rainbow and I have but reconciled, of course. She said she’d be happy tah’ help me demolish the old barn once everything is dried out. This made Caramel rather happy.

It turns out that as the waters began tah’ decrease the beaver’s began to reduce in size…t’was a sort of sympathetic relationship or so I heard Twi explainin’. Spike had gotten her to swallow her pride and send off to Princess Celestia fer’ help. Within minutes a couple o’ spells had arrived and the dams were already startin’ to come down.

As they did we all stood and saluted as the flag of the Milk Shed Republic was lowered from Nancy’s tail for the last time. I ain’t lookin’ forward tah’ negotiations, but I’m glad the cows have voted for re-unification with Sweet Apple Acres Farm and Marina…for as long as it still is a marina.

Mayor Mare, I retrieved yer’ last letter from the mud, the third one that inspired me tah’ write ya’ this last letter.

It was startlingly like the first one ya’ sent.

Madam mayor, I ain’t gonna lie to ya’…I’d expected more from ya’, a fellow earth pony…the mayor of our city.

Yer’ a good pony, but at certain times there needs to be more than just fancy words and promises of help from some place beyond. Sometimes, madam mayor, ponies need to get their hooves dirty.

If Rarity can come out here inta’ the mud and muck…we’ll don’t let me catch ya’ thinkin’ that yer’ nice office up there is an excuse.

To be blunt, Mayor Mare, what I’m lookin’ for outta you at the moment you get this third iteration of mah’ letter…is a bailout.

Literally…grab ‘yerself a bucket and get down here and get tah’ bailin’. There’s plenty o’ water left and then it comes down to clearin’ the mud. I expect yer’ presence shortly…or I may have tah’ consider runnin’ for mayor myself.

I have experiences dealin’ wit’ foreign powers and everythin’ now…how close do ya’ think the vote would be?

I look forward tah’ seein’ you here with us…bring yer’ waders.

Sincerely,

Applejack
Proprietress
Sweet Apple Acres Farm and Not for Much Longer Marina

P.S. Ya’ll no doubt noticed that I made right good use of mah’ old earth pony talkin’ in this letter, rather than Equestrian proper. I did that so you’d know just how dang-nabbed upset I am and how serious I take this all. I bet ya’ one more thin’ fer’ certain sure…ya’ gone went and read most o’ this letter in mah’ voice!

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