Sharp tongues...sharp knives...sharp lessons

I think I am beginning to understand what Fluttershy’s friend was trying to explain to me about cooking being ‘zen’, whatever that means… At least three to four times a week, the chore of preparing the evening meal for the hungry ponies of Sweet Apple Acres fell upon Peppermill, the youngest and newest of their clan. One might have questioned why they would allow a mere colt to do such a deed, but as the son of an accomplished chef and gifted with a considerable about of culinary talent it was really the only option.

I mean, it does take a lot of concentration to chop vegetables, but once you get into the rhythm, it reaches a point where you aren’t really thinking about it… While one might have questioned how a Earth pony could handle a knife with such ease and speed without some sort of magical, unicorn-based assistance, it was a trade secret the colt’s father passed down to him. And the budding chef used that skill to great effect, easily slicing the myriad of vegetables he was preparing for his planned meal.

I really should make some soup or something to take to Miss Tree Hugger for the next time I see her As was his nature, the sudden thought of another dish to create caused the colt’s attention to waver ever so slightly. It took only a single second of his focus to be removed from the task at hoof for the inevitable outcome to occur. As Peppermill himself would have said to any who might have asked: sharp knife plus not watching what you are doing equals…

“Ergh!” The colt’s dark eyes squeezed shut as a grimace crossed his face. The knife clattered across the counter as he initially tried to tuck his foreleg to his body. But memories of his lessons at the side of his beloved father forced him to keep his foreleg out, mostly to prevent the potential mess. A single tear trickled from one eye as Peppermill gazed down at his now wounded appendage.

“Oh bother…” The colt’s voice sounded more annoyed than frightened by the sight of the red fluid welling in a large micro-puddle on his foreleg just along his fetlock. The chef in him knew this was nothing more than a minor setback at best, but the pony in him still tugged frantically him to panic or run or both. But he would not heed that instinct, knowing that sudden movements could only lead to a gory mess. He was about to reach with his free foreleg for the damp dishcloth nearby he kept for such events when…

“Howdy sugarcube!” The familiar, friendly drawl of a certain orange Earth mare entering the house normally would have brought a smile to Peppermill’s face. But given the situation it only caused a lump of dread to form in his stomach.

“Oh crumbs!” swore the colt softly. As much as he cared for the powerful apple bucker, she had this distressing tendency to over-react whenever anything even slightly negative occurred to him. There had been more than a few times during the first few months of living as a member of the Apple clan that the colt found himself the subject of Applejack’s frantic acts of over-coddling and blind panic whenever any harm befell him.

If she sees this… The colt quickly grabbed the washcloth and tried his best to wrap his foreleg so that the cut and the blood would not be noticeable. He just got his wound covered when he felt the presence of his elder sister coming up behind him.

“Hard at work sugarcube?” questioned the mare cheerfully. Peppermill carefully looked at her from over his withers, trying to put on as neutral of an expression as possible.

“Yes, everything is fine Applejack. Is anything wrong?” The colt mentally kicked himself at how suspicious he must have sounded. Despite this, the mare seemed oblivious to his peril as she walked past him to examine the vegetables he had been preparing.

“Just came in fer a drink of water. Apple bucking is mighty thirsty work, and wouldn’t ya know ah left mah canteen behind this morinin’. I swear that is one thing ah always ferget.” Peppermill kept his back to the mare, hiding his leg from her as she approached the cold box and grabbed the water pitcher. As she held the container in her forehooves and took a long pull of water, the colt edged towards the living room.
If I can just get to the upstairs bathroom… His progress was halted when the mare finished her drink with a sigh of relief.

“Whew, ah reckon I needed that. Whoops, darn near forgot to fill the pitcher back up. Ah know how much ya don’t like it when it ain’t full sugarcube.”

“It’s fine, really Applejack. I’d…I’d be happy to fill it for you. After all, you must be really busy…” exclaimed Peppermill, wincing at the crack in his voice that only he heard.

“Don’t fret none sugarcube. Ah got it…” The colt began his desperate trip out of the room, thankful for the fact the mare’s back was now turned towards him as she filled the pitcher from the sink. A wave of relief washed over him as he reached the edge of the kitchen tiles, until…

“Are you sure you have been cuttin’ these vegetables right sugarcube?”

“What?” squawked the colt, spinning around in surprise.

“It’s just ah thought you were supposed to cut them up all the same size, that’s…” The mare’s comment died on her lips as she gazed at the colt, who now stood facing her. The realization of what he had done in his shock at having been accused of not cutting his vegetables uniformly hit the colt like a bolt. He guiltily followed her gaze down at his foreleg that he held gingerly off of the floor. To his growing mortification, the previously white towel was now an unmistakable shade of pink heading quickly to red. I’m bleeding a lot more than I thought. It doesn’t feel like a deep cut…

“Applejack, before you say anything I…” began the colt approaching the mare, images of heavy locks being put onto his bedroom door.

“Sit!” Applejack’s surprisingly calm but commanding voice had its intended effect. The colt stopped abruptly and sat down on the kitchen floor, his face a mix of puzzlement and worry. Applejack said nothing more as she walked over to a nearby cupboard and dipped her head inside for a moment. A moment or two passed, then she turned back to her brother, holding a first aid kit by the handle using her mouth.

“I would have liked knowing about that earlier…” muttered Peppermill.

“Ah reckon we were hopin’ we wouldn’t hafta use it sugarcube.” Responded the mare. Peppermill’s puzzlement deepened at just how composed she seemed to be, given the circumstances. She set the kit down, and gently took the colt’s foreleg in her own. “Let’s take a look sugarcube.” With a sigh and a nod, Peppermill allowed Applejack to carefully unwrap his leg to examine the damage.

“It was an…avoidable accident, honest.”

“Ya don’t need to fret none. It’s been mah experience that these types of cuts tend to bleed plenty, but they ain’t too serious. Ah suppose that’s wut comes from using a mighty sharp knife.” The mare, with impressive precision, began to dress the wound and dab up as much blood as she could off of the fur of his leg. Soon enough the wound had been cleaned as well at it could be, and the mare began to dig through the kit once more.

“Ah reckon this here will be the hardest part.” murmured Applejack, producing a small spray bottle that the colt instantly recognized.

“Just go and do it AJ. This isn’t my first…rodeo, right?”

“Heh. Alright sugarcube.” The mare gave the colt a smile as she carefully pointed the bottle of antiseptic and triggered it. The colt flinched ever so slightly, but didn’t pull away at the burning sensation that tingled across the cut. Applejack quickly applied a bandage, then sat back to admire her work. “Ah reckon Nurse Redheart couldn’t have done better.”

“Okay, what is the story Applejack?” demanded the colt. “How is it you could be so calm about this? Ponies aren’t traditionally good when it comes to the sight of blood.”

“Ah reckon ah could ask you the same thing sugarcube.” retorted the apple pony. The mare’s green eyes and the colt’s dark ones held each other’s gaze for a long moment, neither one wanting to back down from getting their respective answer. Finally, Applejack relented with a shake of her head. “Sugarcube, ifin we had an apple fer every drop o’ blood that got shed on these lands you yerself would be downright drownin’ in them. Shoot, ah reckon ah myself have got a load of scars ah could show ya ifin I felt lahk it. Ah reckon it’s mighty hard to live on a farm without getting a cut or two…or more dependin’ on the pony…”

“I never thought about that before. I guess that makes sense.” Peppermill gently ran a hoof over his bandage, until the mare cleared her throat.

“Ah explained mahself sugarcube. Ah reckon it’s yer turn…”

“I suppose that is fair. After all, I now have a matched set…” Applejack tilted her head and gazed in puzzlement at her adopted brother. The colt looked up at her, giving a snort of amusement. “You mean you never noticed? I thought you made a habit of knowing everything about your ‘kinfolk’.”

“Wut exactly are you talkin’ about?” demanded the mare. In response, Peppermill extended his good foreleg to the mare.

“It’s a bit hard to see, but if you look real close you should be able to see the scar.” At the word ‘scar’, the mare blinked, and carefully took hold of the appendage with her own. She gazed closely, then gave a small gasp.

“Well I’ll be. Ah reckon ya do have a scar there. How the hay did ya manage to get that?”

“A few years ago, when I would have been closer to Dinky Do or Ruby Punch’s age my father allowed me to go into the restaurant kitchen for training. I remember very clearly him asking me to cut a number of vegetables meant for the soup that was going to be that night’s special. You wouldn’t believe how excited and proud I was to do that.”

“Oh ah reckon I can imagine.” smiled Applejack.

“In any event, this cutting took place just at the end of the lunch rush. As you could guess it was a bit hectic, and it seemed a lot of the workers were busier than usual. I admit only after reflecting on it that my presence in the kitchen may have been the reason for that. I think a lot of them wanted to see their boss’s son in action. “

“Ah reckon you have always been a popular fella.”

“In any event,” continued the colt tightly. “There were a lot of bodies moving around, but I was focused. I think having Father speak to me as I chopped away with the new knife helped.”

“Hold on a second there sugarcube. You mean one of those safety knives dontcha?”

“What, you mean one of those plastic ones for foals? Certainly not. You’d never be able to cut raw root vegetables with something like that.”

“You mean to tell me yer pa let you play with a real knife?!”

“I wasn’t playing; I was performing a vital food preparation task!” snapped the colt. He immediately looking abashed at his outburst. “I’m…I’m sorry about that. But the knife plays an important part in my story, if you’ll let me continue.”

“Go on sugarcube.”

“Ok. So there I was cutting vegetables and all sorts of servers and chefs rushing around. Suddenly one of our busboys came rushing into the kitchens with a full tub. As he went by, he stepped on a bit of garnish that had accidently fallen onto the floor rather than the garbage bin. His hoof slipped and he dropped the tub onto the floor.”

“Ah reckon ah can guess wut happened next…” sighed Applejack ruefully.

“It is usually loud in the kitchens at the best of times, but that tub hitting the floor was the loudest sound I had ever heard. Every single pony in the room, including me and Father all jumped a looked at him. I still can see the embarrassed glow on his face at what he had done. Then, I looked back down at my chopping…”

“Ah I expect ya saw a whole lot more red than wut ya started with. Not ta mention everypony else…”

“Absolute mayhem.” agreed the colt with a nod. “Everypony was shouting, and the poor busboy looked like he wanted to crawl into the garbage bin or a whole in the ground, whatever he could find first. And while all this was happening I was upset over ruining all the food…”

“Ah reckon ah ain’t surprised at all hearing that sugarcube.” Applejack reached over and patted her brother warmly on the head, which made the colt grin.

“It was Father who finally restored some order. He got me cleaned up and bandaged, got everypony back to work and promised the busboy he wasn’t in any trouble. Come to think of it, I remember begging Father not to punish him, as I blamed myself for the accident.”

“So that’s how ya got yer scar.”

“Yes, but there is one more part to this story. You see, not everypony was all that keen on me being in the kitchen at that age.”

“Like…?”

“Mother…”

“Oh mah…”

“She was…not happy with Father at all, and that was before she found out about me getting hurt. That was probably one of the very few times I remember Mother angry with Father. Angry like a certain mare I know…”

“Humph. I reckon I can guess who you are talking about sugarcube. But ah hope you remember that we are…or were…more scaird than upset. I reckon yer ma would have fretted plenty ifin she knew her foal wuz potentially doing something dangerous. Ya can’t blame me…us…fer that.”

“But Mother didn’t banish me from the kitchen, or told me I couldn’t learn from Father anymore, or lock me away or have me under constant surveillance…” Peppermill’s carefully chosen comments, based on observation and first-hoof experience from his short time as an Apple, did exactly as he expected. Applejack’s face went as red as the apples out in the orchard and her snout scrunched ferociously.
For a brief moment, Peppermill wondered if perhaps he had stepped over the line. This wouldn’t have been the first time this topic had came up between the two of them. It usually didn’t end very well, with him being on the receiving end of a silent treatment for a day or more before the mare would suddenly act as if nothing had happened. Peppermill almost began to utter an apology when the mare’s face suddenly went back to it’s normal shade of orange, and she let loose a gusty sigh that ruffled his mane.

“Sugarcube, ah reckon you know that ah consider mah family to be mighty important. Shoot, ah reckon ah consider you folks more important than every apple in the orchard. The thought of any of ya, Granny or Big Mac or Applebloom or you getting hurt and me being unable to protect ya tears me up inside something awful.”

“Applejack…”

“But ah know that there is going to come a tahm when I ain’t gonna be able to protect ya. There is gonna come a tahm when you an’ Applebloom are gonna hafta grow up and have lives of yer own. Ah just…ah just want to make sure yer good and ready. It’s just…dang it all ya’ll are growing up too dang quick! Applebloom finally got her cutie mark, and you are so grown up…”

“Applejack, please…”

“No, I gotta say this before ah pop lahk Pinkie’s party cannon. Ah love ya ta death and ah ain’t gonna let no harm come to ya. But…ah guess it’s wrong to do that, on account ya won’t learn without a bump or two along the way.”

“Heh heh…”

“Wut? Wut’s so dang funny?”

“You know, if you ignore the Appaloosan accent, that was almost like what Mother more or less said to me after everything that went down that day. I had gone and promised her that same night that I would always be careful from that moment on, but also begged her not to banish me from the kitchen.”

“Sugarcube, ah know that wild ponies couldn’t keep ya away from doing wut ya love. Ah sure as heck got no chance of doing that either. Ah reckon ah need to start trustin’ you and Applebloom more, but…”

“But…?”

“Ah reckon I’d be mighty appreciative ifin you would just…be more careful next tahm.”

“It was just a brief lapse of concentration. From now on I will not let my mind wander. I promise.”

“Ahm sure ya will sugarcube. Are you gonna be able to finish making supper with one hoof?”

“Just because I have a bandage doesn’t mean I can’t cook. I’ll just have to be careful, that’s all.”

“Well, ifin ya need any help don’t be afraid to ask sugarcube.”

“Of course.” Accepting the colt’s confident response, the mare began to put the first aid kit away while Peppermill went back to the cutting board. As he picked up his knife however, there was the sound of a bang, followed by…

“Dang nab it!”

“Applejack?” The colt spun around to find Applejack sitting on the floor, grimacing and clutching one foreleg. He approached her, only to find she was trying to hide something from him. He juked around her, and discovered a small scrape along her foreleg and a sheepish if somewhat pained expression on her face.

“Wut are the odds…”

“Oh…bother…”

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