Minié Ball vs. Haystacks - Winner: Haystacks (by Default)
Pecans, Passions, and Propriety - by Minié Ball's Author
The filly sat, in her frilly dress, next to the elder pecan tree. She idly poked at the storybook her father had left her before walking the grounds with the steadcropper. She could barely make out the pair as they strolled through fields of sorghum and wheat. They were no doubt discussing crop yields and rent payments and all sorts of important, necessary, utterly dull business that adults were wont to do. She snorted, but demurely.
She flumped down onto her back and kicked her hooves into the air. Her eyes closed as she imagined what her parent’s friends would say. Some would say she was acting like a petulant child, but Minié Ball was the very image of sleek sophistication and her hooves were kicking with all the grace of a ballet dancer.
“Howdy.”
Minié snapped into a most ladylike sitting position with commendable speed, the purest expression of young fillyhood if one ignored the stray blades of grass hanging from her mane. She gave the sandy maned colt who had approached her a cold, even glare. He returned it with an easy smile.
“Excuse me?” Minié asked, tone frosty.
The colt tipped his oversized hat, unperturbed by her cold demeanor. “Begging your pardon, miss. Mama always said that I should be neighborly with everyone who comes on the farmstead, so I reckoned I ought to greet you.” He gestured back toward the farmer’s house with a flick of his head. “If you’re so inclined, we got sweet tea and pecan pie laid out on the veranda.”
Minié gave a haughty laugh, hoof hiding her her mouth. As a lady should—as a lady must. “I think you will find, sirrah, that I have neither the time nor the inclination to participate in your little tea party. I am a lady.”
The colt laughed at that, a rough sort at odds with his innocent face. “Well, if you do find yourself so inclined, you’re welcome to it.” He gave her a sloppy bow, if it could be called that. Minié was the gracious sort and accepted it with a cursory nod as he laughed and turned away. She looked away with a derisive sniff as she listened to his whistling departure.
She pawed through her storybook. She sat straight and true, ignoring the paltry temptations of iced sweet tea and moist, freshly baked pecan pie.
Yes.
Ignoring.
Sweet, delicious pie. Cold, refreshing tea.
She clutched her book to her chest with a wing as she made her way down the hill.
Haystacks looked up as a figure stood on his veranda, silhouetted against the setting summer sun. He smiled as he took in the scent of peaches and magnolias. He knew that scent well.
“Minié.” His voice was soft, loving. He swept her up into his arms, holding her close against her chest. She stiffened at first, before collapsing into his grasp. They stood in the orange sunlight tightly embraced.
With a sigh, Haystacks released the mare and motioned her to take a seat before taking his own. “You talked to your pa about…?” He trailed off, the expression on her face answering him.
“He—” Her voice hitched for a moment, before continuing on with the determination of a doctor delivering a death sentence. “He said that no daughter of his is going to marry any lowdown sharecropper that don’t even have an acre of land to his name.” She collapsed in on herself, cradling her head in her hooves. “I just—I just don’t know what to do anymore, Hay. I can’t go against him, he’s my father!”
He got up from his and pulled her once more into his arms. “I know, I know. I understand. I ain’t asking you to go against your kin.”
“Haystacks, you know I love you, right?” She sounded so nervous, so unsure. Entirely unlike the steel shod mare he’d fallen for.
“Course.”
“Will you stand by me, then? As long as it takes?”
Haystack’s smiled at that. “Course.”
She turned her face up, and they shared a kiss.
In that timeless moment, lips pushed together, framed against an orange sun over verdant fields, Haystacks knew they’d be together forever, family be damned.
He pulled her into the house, and she followed.
“Of course, I could never marry him, Jubilee, think of the scandal!” Minié looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was subtle, her coat without flaw and her mane fell in ringlets about her just so. Truly, she was perfection made manifest. She gave herself a wink. She’d earned it.
Grouse Jubilee seemed largely unimpressed. “What do you mean you’ll never marry him?” She tilted her head, eyebrow raised. “You’ve been stepping out with your young gentleman caller for nigh on ten years now, since you were nothing but a filly.”
Minié shook her head with kindhearted disbelief. Her dearest friend Jubilee was to be forgiven for her strange notions of marrying outside of one’s standing in life. She had been raised partially in far off Manehattan where things were more, say, cosmopolitan than in the gentrified southern Equestrian counties.
“Jubilee,” she began, “Do you want me to slave away in poverty and labor for the rest of my life? I could never marry a stallion that doesn’t own a lick of property nor employ a single stripe or ass. It just isn’t done ‘round these parts.”
Jubilee had her back to Minié, eyes carefully fixed at some point far in the distance. “You have no intention of marrying him?” Minié made some small noise of consent and Jubilee rounded on her, hoof pointed in accusation. “Why would you treat him so cruelly, after all you’ve been through? Why would you play with his affection?”
Minié stopped fussing with her hair, face immobile and the eyes of her reflection staring, boring, into her own. “Because I love him,” she said, oh so quietly. “Because I love him with everything I am, and I could never let him go.”
Jubilee never heard those words, whispered as they were. When Minié looked at her window in the mirror and spied that familiar hat, no longer oversized on his sandy brow, galloping away, she knew that he hadn’t heard them either.
She ran out of the room with a despairing cry, as Jubilee stood in confusion, still clutching the lady’s dress.
Haystacks sat underneath that old pecan tree, folded in on himself. He had never been a crying sort. Not even when his mother had—not even then. But right then, with the sun gone from the sky and his heart breaking in his chest? He felt like weeping.
His spine stiffened as he heard her tromping through the thick bushes, calling out his name. She stumbled out of the undergrowth, her mane drawn ragged by clutching branches, coat sullied by mud and sweat. Her eyes were desperate, full of tears.
He couldn’t bear the sight of her, she was so beautiful.
“What is it?” His voice was husky with unshed tears, quivering with barely contained anger. “What do you want?”
“Hay, please, it’s not what you think—”She began, but he spoke over her mewling protestations.
“Not what I think?” His voice rose with every word. “What should I think then? That you love me? That you ever truly loved me like I loved you? That you even could hold in that spoilt, rich girl heart of yours?” He shook his head, breathing heavily as tried to contain himself. “I just—I can’t do this, Minié. I thought, I thought I could be strong for you. That even if we couldn’t be married, that we could still be together, that I could be satisfied with that.”
His whole body seemed to sag inward as he uttered the words, finally making real the idea that had broken his spirit. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”
“Hay—”
“No, Minié. Just. Just no. It’s done. It’s over, between us. All I’ve been to you is the dumb farmcolt, always chasing after your heart.” His shoulders squared, braced against the tumult of emotion that threatened to boil forth as he turned away from her. “I wonder. Did you ever really love me? Or were you just in it for the storybook romance? The dumb farmer and the cruel debutante?”
He walked down that lonely hilltop. “Hay, Hay please—” He ignored her pleading cries. “Hay, don’t, don’t do this to me, Hay, please, I love you, I love you—” He paid no attention to her tears as he walked away.
He paid no attention to the pain in his chest.
He left her weeping, alone, under that old pecan tree.
“Miss Ball?”
Minié’s eyes snapped open, jolted out of her empty reverie by the concerned tones of Jabalaa, one of the house zebras that had served her family for generations. The young zebra’s eyes welled with concern as she scanned her mistress’s face for the source of her distress.
Minié cleared her throat, giving the zebra a hollow smile. “I’m fine, Jabalaa, thank you.”
Jabalaa gave Minié a steady look before eventually giving a smile of her own. “That’s good, miss, that’s just fine.”
They sat in a companionable silence as the zebra set out a new glass of sweet tea and slice of pecan pie. Her ear flicked as she picked up the sound of church bells from the township not far from the manor front. “That must be the wedding wrapping up,” Jabalaa said, enthusiastically as Minié remained silent. “Young Mister Haystacks and Miss Jubilee, if you can believe that. A storybook affair. They’re friends of yours, ain’t they, miss?”
Minié nodded, slowly. “Yes, Jabalaa.”
“It’s good to see young hearts finding love, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Jabalaa paused, looking over the spread she had prepared and giving a satisfied nod. She looked to the miss one last time. “If there’s nothing else, miss?”
Minié shook her head. “That will be all, Jabalaa, thank you.”
The zebra inclined her head as she headed back into the manor, leaving the mare upon the veranda.
Minié listened to the sound of church bells in personal silence before taking a bite of her slice of pecan pie. She chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and downing it with a sip of sweet tea.
How strange. They tasted like ash.
Haystacks vs. Minié Ball - by Haystacks' Author
The sharp quilltip pricked against her tongue, and she sucked it thoughtfully. Not that there was a great deal to be thoughtful about. Her reasoning for the offer was simple. If he took it, he took it, and if not, well ― then it was no skin off her muzzle. Green River Farm was a mere hundred and fifty acres, and not ones she needed, either.
Her eyes paced back and forth over the cheque. Green River fell within that luxurious category of something she desired, and she was willing to spend as much to show it. A pittance, but enough to satisfy him, of that she was sure.
The knock at the door came twice, paced and gentle.
"Miz Ball?" hummed a bassy voice, muffled by two inches of polished oak.
"Yes, Cotton?" she called back.
"Mister Hay is here, askin' for a moment of yo' time."
So he'd come, then. She'd seriously wondered whether or not he would. Perhaps Hay Bale had finally acknowledged his age.
She removed the quilltip from her mouth and began to sign the small rectangular slip, not bothering to look up at the door. Preparedness was vital, if nothing else. She applied her most winning smile, and carried the same energy through to her voice.
"But of course!" she spoke, folding the small slip away into one of her sleeves. "Do show him in!"
The door opened with a gentle sigh, and Cotton entered. The zebra's beckoning murmur to the visitor was barely audible over the tapping of hooves on polished oak.
She'd thought gloating was beyond her. All the same, she allowed her nose a slight crinkle of smug satisfaction.
"So, you got my letter, did you?" she said, resting her head lazily in one hoof.
The stallion that followed behind Cotton was not Hay Bale at all. He looked up as he entered, somewhat confused at being hailed.
Oh. She sat upright. Uncertainty flashed across her mind as she took stock of the newcomer, a tall and solidly built earth pony with eyes like glassy azure plates. Or at least, such was the surprise on his face.
She hid her own adeptly. The stallion was a far cry from the half withered fool she had been expecting, though he bore a strangely familiar face. Among other more pleasing features.
"Oh, forgive my manners!" she uttered, standing quickly. "I was anticipating Hay Bale."
The perplexed expression on the earth pony's face slowly gave way to a smile. "Oh, I see," he said, before bowing his head politely. "I'm his son, Haystacks. I own the farm now."
The words poured over her ears like scotch on cubes of ice, melodious and pleasing. It took a second for the homespun accent and wheat-gold fur to click with her memory, but not too long. After all, Minié Ball could scarcely forget him, standing at his father’s knee, all stony faced like the big ponies were during their little 'business chats'.
Like so many colts her age, he had borne that flimsy, lanky appearance that said he was not quite a stallion or a colt at all. And even then, he had been the cause of an unusual fixation on her part.
Things had clearly changed in the last six years. A tiny ripple of predatory delight slunk its way down her spine as she drank him in.
"Charmed, Haystacks.” her smile was a little less feigned than she had intended. “...I believe we've met before?"
The stallion removed his hat, and held it to his chest with one hoof. Behind him, the zebra quietly departed.
"We have, Miss Ball," he replied, flashing her a quick grin. "But we’ve both done a bit of growing, I think! I hardly recognise you."
He was right. He had grown since she'd last seen him. And for the better, she thought. Usually, she was more discerning about such ponderings ― but there was no crime in a few guilty pleasures every now and again. After all, there had always been something about the Mason-Dixie stableponies that had struck her as particularly robust. Perhaps, she mused, she just had a weakness for blondes, even if they were of a less exquisite lineage.
Idly, she entertained the fantasy of a pure blooded earth pony suitor. That wasn’t too out of the question, was it? He was a landowner, after all.
She laughed, and fluttered her eyes shamelessly. "Oh my," she purred, offering him a hoof to kiss. "Miss Ball?" A gentle burble of laughter escaped her lips. "Well that won't do at all, Hay. You simply must call me Minié."
He smiled, took her hoof in his own, and... shook it firmly.
"Good to see you again, then, Minié.” He smiled, still oblivious, and took a seat on the far side of the desk.
Ah. Well then. Some hopefully meandering part of her mind fell a short way back to earth. Truthfully, she didn't really know what she'd been expecting out of a simple farmpony. Her thoughts returned to the task at hoof.
Her desk was large and rectangular, and she slipped around it to the side that Haystacks was on.
“I take it that Hay Bale has retired?” she said, smoothing the many ruffles of her dress before taking the second seat.
The farmpony’s reply was simple. “Yes, that’s right. He left the farm to me, though I still ask for his opinion from time to time.”
“A shame," she lied, not missing a beat. "...And does he know of your plans to sell up?”
There was a pregnant pause. Haystack’s hoof found its way up his chest, where it scratched nervously underneath his chin.
“Well… I haven't spoken to him about it, if that’s what you mean.”
And that was all she needed to hear.
Before her Green River counterpart could even think to offer anything further, her hooves clattered together twice, a pair of castanets in the dance of trade.
“Cotton! Drinks for my guest and I, if you please!”
The chance to be the only pony whispering things in Haystacks’ ear was highly appealing in many respects. The sudden reality that Hay Bale was no longer in the picture was just one of them.
Without hesitation, she tapped into old history.
There was always something wonderfully meaningful about old business acquaintances, she observed, halfway through discussing her father’s untimely demise. Haystacks seemed more gripped by her and her words than any immediate business deal, in that good natured, benign way that all farmfolk were. For all he seemed to care or notice, the visit might have been a social one.
At some stage in recanting the year that had been, drinks were poured by a spectral Cotton, who floated in and around the room with practiced quietness, a silver platter between his teeth. Her guest watched him come and go, even offering a cursory ‘thank you’.
Much to her pleasure, Cotton knew better than to reply with anything other then ‘Yessir.’
The bourbon was silky and rich ― three years aged, with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon. Her favourite, of course. Just one mouthful left her licking the inside of her muzzle. It scorched all the way down.
The glass left her lips, and she felt herself smile. She glanced up at the stallion, whose near silence she had been thoroughly enjoying. She noticed he was still gazing at the zebra as he left through the door.
"...But Haystacks, I must confess, this all a bit nostalgic of me. Forgive me for pushing to the point, but I don't want to waste your time. I assume you're here because you wished to hear my offer."
The stallion paused, bringing his attention to bear on her. "Yes," he uttered. "I'm the owner now, so it's up to me, but..." his voice trailed off.
"But it's a big move to sell the farm, undoubtedly."
He pursed his lips together, his gaze fallen on the broad brimmed hat in his lap. He said nothing.
Minié leaned towards him, placing her hooves together. The stallion looked up, breaking from his thoughtful reverie.
"Haystacks," she softly spoke. "Let me be sincere, for a moment. We're quite alike, aren't we?" The rather generous admission rolled off her tongue. "We're both the executors of substantial parcels of land, we both had fathers of substantial character. We both know what it means to work hard; I'd be lying to your face if I said otherwise!" She allowed herself the tiniest of titters. "I understand your concerns. I'm like you, you see. I know I'd have reservations if someone wanted to buy Mason-Dixie. But you can rest assured knowing that it would go into good hooves."
The small paper slip tucked up her sleeve itched and poked at her fur. She decided, in the end, that there was little point in cajoling him any further.
"I'm making this offer on the notion that our families go back a little way." She smiled, slipping a hoof up past her cuff and producing the paper slip. It was remarkable how often she could use that excuse. "And besides," she added, turning her attention to her drink as he plucked the cheque from her hooves. "I think it might present an attractive proposition to a young, enterprising stallion such as yourself. Perhaps you'd consider the opportunity to do something else? Perhaps consider a move on up to the city?"
Another delicious buzz of pleasure found its roots in the sudden and complete silence that filled the room, as if somepony had suddenly ceased to breathe. She swirled the glass a few times, enjoying the smell of bourbon. Enjoying the moment.
She glanced up at him once she'd had her fill of it.
The farmpony stared down at the thing, cradling it in his hooves. Seven digits in length, it was more money than he would have seen or held in his life. She knew he was too young to have ever seen real money before. And, well ― she would be quite honest with herself ― it was unlikely that he would ever see it again. Not with his family.
"This?" he all but whispered. She could hear the shaking in his voice, see it in those pallid blue eyes that kept reading over that figure again and again and again.
She smiled, inwardly and outwardly, and nodded. A lock of dark mane slipped over her eyes, and she replaced it behind her ears idly.
They always had second thoughts after the money came out. Hay Bale had been no different, though his answer had ultimately been something along the lines of ‘not on his life’.
The seconds ticked by harmlessly. She gave him the precious moments he wanted.
He raised his head. The stallion was clearly shaken, and thinking hard about something.
“Minié, the offer is…” he paused again to search for words. “More than enough.”
And there it was. The subtle satisfaction of another pony won washed over her. She took another sip of the delightfully heady bourbon, savouring the moment.
"But I must ask...” he hesitated slightly. “...What do you pay them?"
She blinked, and coughed slightly. A bit of her drink had missed the mark. With one hoof held before her mouth daintily, she lowered her glass back onto the side table.
"I'm ― ahem ― I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring to."
For a moment, only the grandfather clock against the far wall broke the contemplative silence of the office.
"The donkeys," Haystacks continued. "The ones I saw in the fields on the way here. How much do you pay them?"
His voice was even, and his expression impassive, but there was a dead weight that hung on the end of his demand, like a zebra on a noose―a careful absence of anything even resembling a question.
It was only then that she noticed that his glass of bourbon was untouched.
Slowly, she placed her hooftips together. She did not smile.
"They are paid well," she replied. "Enough to support themselves. Less than the minimum wage, but we also give them a place to stay and live and eat. It is better than what they are paid in the Burros, Mr. Hay. I can tell you that much."
The answer seemed to mollify him, though she was sure it was not the one he wanted to hear.
"And the mules I saw? Are they taken care of?" he asked.
"Half-castes, you mean?" she replied idly.
The farmer paused, and then nodded once more.
Minié's pout and furrowed brow was genuine, for once. She had never really lent a thought to the animal instincts that sometimes lent a regular pony to cross paths ― and tails, for that matter ― with a Burro. She dropped a hoof to her drink again.
"Well," she murmured, her hooftip circling the crystal tumbler's rim. "To be honest, I am not sure yet. Our decision to house Burros is only a recent one. I suppose, in time, they will join hooves with their parents in the fields." She sniffed, and wrinkled her nose slightly. "There are half-caste foals born here, and they are a wholly unpleasant matter, Mr. Haystacks. Reprehensible breeding, one might say. We treat them as fairly as we treat their parents, though we often dismiss the pony responsible. We do not need workers that cannot keep their thoughts away from..." she paused. "Their beasts of burden, if you'll forgive my wording."
He nodded again to show his understanding, the cheque still clasped between his hooves. As she had been speaking, his gaze had fallen to a spot on the floor between them, where it searched for some greater answer.
"Of course," He murmured, not really looking at anything. "That's fine."
Minié was no stranger to the sensation that something was awry. She had been hoping that Haystacks would be more malleable than his father, and so far that had proven true. After all, the golden farmpony did not seem overtly bothered by anything she had said. Not like Hay Bale had.
Perhaps pushing the envelope was the way forward.
"So," she said, resisting the urge to retrieve her glass for a toast. That would be a bit too much. "Do we have a deal?"
Had his ear not twitched slightly, she would have been sure that he didn't hear her. He glanced up at her, his smile present, but muted. There was a dreadful absence of the joviality that had accompanied him through the door.
And it would be at least another one of the same, all encompassing moments of silence before he responded.
"Well, I think I've made up my mind," he replied. With a gentle purpose, he drew his hooves together, folding the little slip of paper in half. He ran one hoof across the spine of the fold a few times, as if sealing it shut, before placing it next to his untouched glass, all the while still bearing that almost laughably empty smile.
"I'm afraid this land is not for sale right now," he said. There was a certain degree of finality to his voice, one given all the more presence by his making to stand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business in town."
Minié's mind raced. Years of her father's business acumen had lent her a certain adeptness with salvaging the losing scenario, and this one was rapidly slipping through her hooves.
She quickly drew back her frown, giving way to homely smile that had seemed to resonate with him before, and slid a hoof across the gap between them, placing it gently on his. It did not seem to have the desired effect ― at the merest touch, she felt him tense up.
"Haystacks," she began, her voice sweet once more. "If I may explain further―"
A very large hoof settled over hers, and she fell silent. She felt a slight pressure against it ― the gentlest of squeezes, and nothing more.
She let go.
When he spoke, she heard only a gentle voice. There was not a thing about him that resonated indignity or outrage. He even had the audacity to offer her a tiny smile from that haggard, common face, as if all was well, as if she might have better luck next time. But she recognised the distant look his eyes, one that offered no warmth, yet spread no farther than two pale blue irises for the sake of plausible deniability.
"No, Miss Ball." His voice was barely audible above the deafening silence. "I'm very sorry. But you may not."
The halls of the hospital were graced by the familiar aroma of iodine and disinfectant. He had trodden them so many times that he could guide himself around by pure repetition, allowing his limbs to do all the work. He nodded to the one or two of the orderlies that he recognised, though their smiles felt distant and spectral.
He found her room empty, barring the occupant of the bed against the wall. The hinny looked up as he entered, and after a moment of recognition, her face lit up like dawn across the valley.
"Hello, love. How are you?"
Haystacks nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt. Still fueled and swept onwards by a mad wind, he trotted slowly to the hospital bed's side, and took a seat, his head bowed. As was his default, he removed his hat, and laid it on the pristine white bedsheets, the partly drawn blinds throwing playful lashes of shadow across it.
"Your father's down the street, buying some fresh bread from the bakery."
A pause heralded a moment of uncertainty. He did not notice it until the soft clicking of knitting needles stopped, giving him cause to glance up.
She peered back at him through half-moon glasses. Her eyes and face were worn with lines, a mix of love and weariness, though her smile was still bright and full of life.
"You look tired, dear," she murmured. "Are you sleeping well?"
"Such reprehensible breeding," a coquettish mare's voice said, in the far off reaches of his mind. An equally attractive figure kept repeating itself over and over to him, one with seven digits. One that whispered the unknown truth that, perhaps, there was life to be had outside the farm.
The corners of her lips fell. "Haystacks?" she asked gently. "Is something wrong?"
He swallowed.
"No," he replied, smiling faintly. There was little sense in telling her, he decided. He took one of her greyed hooves between his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Nothing at all, Mother."
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Minie Ball Author
While I think Haystacks' is much better without the narrator floating around, I'm very surprised Minie Ball's managed to stay away from the racism and make a little love story.
Minié Ball's Author
Okay! Since there's less stories this time around I'm going to attempt my best at randomly reading them and leaving a more significant comment than a little vote and some observation.
And of course I would choose first a story that was complicated. Dammit. Again, I dislike Minié Ball as a character, which is funny, given that I have therefore a stronger reaction to her than a more likeable character like Haystacks. To begin with, they're both good stories, and I find it interesting that both had the characters know each other from childhood (although to different extents.)
On Minié Ball's Story
What I liked: I think I enjoyed more the exploration of her character than anything else. Although the romance was an interesting subplot... it's a bit interesting how her character is handled around the
slavesservants when that is not put as the focus of the character. It's... natural in an uncomfortable way, a bit of an Elizabeth Swann vibe there. She's distinctly aware of their roles and places, but it's subdued by the same thing. Even her romantic situation has less to do with that and that is a big plus.What I didn't like: That I voted for Minié? No seriously, I have a hard time really finding a reason to dislike it. If I were to have any problem, it might have been that the romantic resolution between the two of them felt a bit forced, even tho it evolved to that point naturally.
On Haystack's story
This is the opposite, I mean, it's well written, but it felt again as if it were yet another single-focus on two aspects that had been explored before. Business and
slaveryservitude. And I hate that, because it affects an otherwise excellent story.What I liked: Haystack's non-verbal communication. Spot on. So many people (me included) always make less of the non-verbal cues in stories, and they are ever so important. The reflection of Minié's business acumen and her ability to read body language was a very nice detail and I can honestly say I would have never done it as effectively unless an editor jumped in and demanded it of me.
What I didn't like: The uncomfortable discussion about
at the end, but it's that same twist that I also have an issue with. When re-reading Haystack's character sheet, there's NO mention of his mom being a hinny. It's... sort of an important character trait, but okay, let's set that aside... the fact that his mom is a hinny, makes this whole thing about
slavesservants to begin with. I mean, I get it, because of theslaveryservitude all over again. I know it's a writer's trap, there's no way to avoid bringing it up somehow, but at the same time, making it so that it affected the character as a direct result of it, just... didn't really work for me.I thought it was kind of funny how both authors tapped into childhood relations and mentioned the business of their fathers as secondary motives to the characters. It was pretty crazy!
Haystacks' Author
God, this was a super-fucking hard choice. I'll start on what I liked about Minie Ball's piece first.
It was excellent. I felt engaged, I felt emotionalised, I felt substantially involved in the plot to care. It was nice to see a piece about Minie Ball that had nothing to do with slavery outside of a passing mention of a house-zebra, which is fine. The author showed a great grasp of language and writing techniques. It engaged all four of my senses (sight, sound smell, hearing, touch) and twisted them in with eachother - I could practically taste the pie and tea, and at absolutely every step of the way I was gripped by the mental image of what was going on in the story, which I adore. Ultimately this led for a very compelling romance that actually left me wishing it was a little bit longer.
Sadly, I feel that's what let it down. I like this story, but it's really a concept that would have required 11-12,000 words to fully flesh out and give the appropriate sense of pacing. It's unfortunate, but I think this author would have been the better of the two with a larger word limit. But it's so choppy and I can't really pick up the story and connect it to myself. I cared, but I didn't care enough. I liked the romance, but it felt slightly rushed. All of these points could have been ironed out with more words.
Haystacks' author, again, taps into an emotional capacity for us to care. As 6086384 mentioned, the non-verbal actions of Haystacks and Minie together said entire volumes about their interaction, and what each thought of the other, which is fantastic. I'm a very big fan of 'show, not tell,' so this is a big hit with me, and likewise, it was actually a great move for the author to not engage emotions directly throughout the piece, as I think doing that might have spoiled it. Haystacks' author kind of goes the other way about it. I like that his mother is bought up in a way that wasn't overly saccharine or sappy, and that the concept of her and ultimately him being some part donkey isn't something that elicits outrage. I like that Minie Ball wasn't hung out to dry because of this. I think Haystack's portrayal of Minie Ball as a bit of a ruthless fiend when it comes to business and social situations is accurate with her depiction as a bit of a 'proper' lady. It feels false and elicits a genuine dislike towards the character.
I think the nail in the coffin was that Minie's piece was disjointed and great, and that Haystacks' piece was one fluid one that was also great. Haystacks' piece pulled in the world around it, whereas Minie's was a bit of a classic 'love-torn dame' that tried to snap a picture of a life and an issue that, while well-executed, just couldn't be done well enough in the frame allotted.
Haystack's Author
While cute little love stories are fine by me, they often tend to developing the romance more than the characters that are the actual meat of the romance. It was only classic Princess Bride, where farmboy loved beauty woman. Very nice imagery and all, but...
I loved Haystacks' author's writing piece. Every detail was laid out, and it it was all very... believable. I could feel and almost relate to everything there. The story developed Minie's tactical side, Haystacks' values, and everything inbetween. Also, I felt as though it pulled in other topics, applied them well, and made sure the topics were relatable yet still world-building.
All in all, while Minie built a powerful relationship, Haystacks built a powerful world.
Or maybe that's just my overabundant appreciation speaking. Either way, Haystacks gets my vote.
Minie Ball's Author
(Past-Aurora is hating my guts right now)
Well, I was gonna go to sleep after that last one, but I happened to open up a comment of WandererD's on the SlamJam group that said this one was worth reading, so here I am at 2 in the morning. And I'll probably go on to the next one too, since he mentioned Rachis's as well.
I really hope I'm not going into these with any bias because of that, but I'm pretty sure I'd be just as amazed with Minie's entry this round as I just was with Lilligold's even if I had gone in blind like I usually do. That was fantastic! It makes you think these characters were made for romance, and makes me wonder why I didn't see this coming. Seriously, Minie is never going to have such a perfect setup again. I lose track of who's up next to face her, but I feel sorry for them.
There was also something about the pacing of the first story that I really liked. I've been really prone to skimming through text on these (something I'm sure you're all used to with my posts), but this one had me riveted to every word for some reason. Good job, Minie's author. You managed to make me forget about my feelings for your racism gimmick.
Haystacks's author did pretty well, like I thought he would, but this is another case of tough competition. Pretty soon there won't be room for anything but these amazing ones. The second story had things I really liked and things I didn't, but I gave up hopes when the racism was called out. I realize it works with Haystacks's character, but I just felt like it was too sudden of a turn for the plot. It wasn't set up at all. I would've liked the story more if his feelings had been foreshadowed more and we had seen more of his character before he spoke up about the racism.
And I'm not entirely sure what was up with the Mom part at the end. She wasn't mentioned at all before and the dad was nowhere in sight, and I'm left wondering if she's supposed to be a mule or something. That would be odd, because mules aren't capable of having children, but she couldn't be a full burro because we know Haystacks isn't a mule. Or I could just be reading way too much into things and she could just be a normal pony. Pointlessly.
(I gotta confess, I thought Minie was saying "Hay" over and over again as the ponified "hell," until about halfway through the second story. I feel dumb)
Haystacks' Author
I'm happy we're past the trap that is Minié, and actually got two stories about two full characters. While both feature a slave or slave stand-in, and Haystacks' author's entry had Minié's racism as a major plot point, the racism was relegated just to a character trait.
To immediately argue with my own viewpoint, though, I might say that Minié's author neglected it too much—her racism is one of the few features of her character outlined on her very small sheet, and certainly the most attention grabbing, plus the more minor traits (like her "total self-possession", for instance) didn't really seem to come through that well either, apart from the nature of her background.
That said, I still enjoyed Minié's author's entry a good deal. The opening scene struck me just the right way, in particular, and while I thought the ending was a tad predictable (once Minié's friend was introduced I pretty much saw it coming), it was a fun plot to go with and it was executed to my liking. There were also little things, here and there, that really added to it in ways I wouldn't have expected. Like,
That may or may not be a tiny homage to O Brother, Where Art Thou? (unless it's actually a much more common phrase than I'm aware…), but either way, it put my head into that movie's mood/setting—ones very appropriate to both Minié and Haystacks.
Haystacks' author's entry, though, was just solid nearly the whole way through. Though the characterizations on display lacked the interesting depth/dynamic of Minié's author's entry's childhood versions of the characters, their present selves felt fuller. Minié in particular, and the analogies her brain-narration uses, and her savvy and her blindness, felt very fulfilling. This almost felt like an exercise in having two characters form impressions of one another, and I found it markedly successful in that regard.
If I have a complaint, it's the final word. Take it out, and the ending would be just dandy—something built up to well, something with specifics clear enough from context. With the word in there, the whole thing was made hamfisted. Like, the whole last scene is technically a twist anyway, but if that last word weren't there, it would feel more like added context, and not wow what a Shamalamma.
Lastly, token mention of the mechanics: Both could've used a little bit of extra proofreading, though Minié's slightly more so. Pretty sound in both cases, though.
Edit: Now, arguing with other commenters' opinions is something I feel I've done an admirable job (for me, anyway) of keeping to a minimum, but… 6087405, I feel like you skimmed too much.
See:
That was all I needed, man. Nice and subtle, but with some strong implications.
See:
And this isn't a world of base animals. I just figured on adoption or second wife to his father or something. Though now that you mention it, even if it would've been rough to work in a specific explanation without ruining the 'twist', the lack of one is indeed a bit of an issue.
Haystacks' Author
Ugh. Like, honestly. Ugh. I loved both of these stories so, so much. I wish this was like the Writeoffs, and I could just give both of them a numerical score and move on.
Minie's was engaging, and I'm amazed the author managed to pull off a story without delving into the overt racism that Minie Ball creates. The descriptions and dialogue were great. Fantastic piece.
Haystacks' was brilliance through minimalism. As 6086384 already mentioned, Hay's non-verbal communication was so well done. Managing to bring up the racism problem in a way that felt non-insulting and realistic. And, of course, the ending... yes.
Again, I wish I could have voted for both. But in the end, it's Haystacks that left a bigger impression on me.
Haystacks' Author
Although I liked the setup to Minié Ball's Author's story, Haystacks' Author's story had better characterization of Haystacks and more character interactions, while both stories handled Minié Ball well. Written quality is about the same, so I have to give this one to Haystacks' Author.
A great showing by both parties though.
6087645 Oh. Yeah, I completely missed that. I still probably would've been confused though, since I didn't actually know what a hinny was (had to look it up) and didn't have enough context to know that was an important thing to be. Yeah, strange, I don't know everything. I welcome your torches and pitchforks.
Is it just me, or am I quickly becoming the devil's advocate in all these chapters? I liked Mizuko's first story when everyone else hated it, I much preferred Streamline's to Minie's first, and now I'm standing up for Wispy and Minie against the rest of you. Hopefully I at least make good points.
6088274 You're forgetting the big old argument-in-the-making over me preferring Wispy's as well. And I've been liking most of your points fine. The only thing that gets me is how sure you seem a lot of the time, like the author you vote for is definitely going to win, hands down—in spite of the sometimes already present opposition. Whether you're right or you're wrong, that's got to hurt the other guy/gal.
Minie Ball's Author
Much more interesting than her opponent with accounting for personality as well as romance plot which was better developed overall.
Haystack's Author
These were both competently written, engaging and great reads overall! The thing that gave the edge to Haystack's Author in my opinion was how he handle the nonverbal communication between the Minié and Haystack. So much of the characters' internal selves was revealed in every action, and the dialogue itself was just perfect. The only qualm I had with Haystack's Author's story was that the ending didn't show the same delicate subtlety as the rest of the story. The final revelation could have been the more shocking is delivered in a less obvious way.
Haystacks' Author
Like 6087645 said, I felt Minié had a very subdued personality in the first story. He character sheet is petty much "I am a racist," but she was written with the racist part barely even nodded to. I mean, her personality segment is two sentences long.
Now, I enjoyed the story, for sure; it's well written. But I think that Minié suffers for not being as complex of a character as some of the other OCs. There's only so much you can do with her single defining characteristic before she gets stagnate, so you leave it behind, but then what is she?
For Haystacks' story, I felt that Minié's racism was not overwhelming the story, yet still present enough to define her. The "she's a steel gauntlet in a velveteen glove" also showed through when they were discussing the business propositions, which I liked. Overall, I think that the characters and story itself were much better than Minnié's.
Still, both are engaging reads.
Haystacks' Author Vote
I enjoyed both, but there were little bits about Haystacks' entry that I enjoyed more. I'm quite surprised to say that I didn't loathe Minié Ball in her own author's story this time, which is probably part of why my vote goes to Haystacks. Minié's racism is a huge part of her character, and I didn't get much of it in her story.
Haystacks's Author
Not much to say that hasn't already been said. It's hard to like Ms. Ball, but I feel Haystacks's Author's entry at least gave her more respect in her character interactions. Plus the added snide civility in her characterization there made Hay's ultimate rejection of her business deal that much sweeter.
Hey guys. Quick announcement that Minié Ball's author has decided to exit the contest for personal reasons. Haystacks will be moving on to the next round by default.
6090637 Oh. What a shame. I was gonna vote for them, too! I suppose I can give some thoughts anyway.
Minié's story was a very well-executed—if a bit cliché—romance. I really like how the author managed to work around the elephant in the room that Minié brings. It was still integrated into her character without being overwhelmingly what the story was about. It was handled exceptionally, and a lot of care obviously went into this story.
Haystacks's story had an equal amount of care put into it, and it was tough to decide which one was better. Ultimately I think that Minié's author just had a more novel approach to these characters. Both author's showcased them well, and I have no issues seeing Haystacks go onto the next round.
6090637 Well then. My first thought is it's a shame because they don't get a chance for this entry to win (though it looks like it wouldn't anyway. Too bad.), but then I remembered the whole racism thing and how glad I am that no one else has to write a story around that. It's pretty limiting. Anyway, good job to you, Minie's author. I thought you should've moved on.
Any chance we'll find out who you were?
Okay, damn.
Moot point now but it would take a pretty serious homerun in order for me to vote for Haystacks over this little love story. Let's see.
...
welp.
Well, I'm glad one of the authors dropped out, so I don't have to vote. Because fuck's sake, I can't choose! (Not glad the author dropped out, though, that's always sad.)
Pecans, Passions and Propriety
Liked: Pretty much everything. This is fantastic.
Disliked: Pretty much nothing. Thank you for toning down the gratuitous racism.
Haystacks vs. Minié Ball
Liked: How understated his decision is. You can feel the tension as he questions her, and not outright stating his motivation was perfect.
Disliked: I miss the narrator. :(