The thoughts and new awareness in Sumac’s mind were heavy and difficult to bear. He sat on the couch, knowing that he had homework to do, but he was far too distracted to even make the attempt. In his mind, Sumac had discovered the concept of evil. It wasn’t terrible monsters, or unicorns using dark magic, or nefarious villains bent on destruction—no, it wasn’t any of these things. Evil was something far more simple, something far more tangible, and something far more prevalent in the world around him—a lack of benevolence.
Twilight had helped him understand what was possibly the most dangerous evil of all. She even had a word for it, a word she had spent several long and uncomfortable minutes explaining—apathy. The Princess of Friendship had given him a lesson about apathy, something she had told him that she considered one of her greatest foes.
Being a little scrapper, he had offered to help her fight it, but now, at home, he realised that he had no idea where to even begin to fight such a thing. He felt foolish and a little bit stupid for having said something. But he did intend to fight. Perhaps Twilight would teach him what to do if he approached her and asked how, in some subtle manner. He didn’t want to look stupid, because looking stupid was embarrassing beyond measure, and unbearable.
Crossing his eyes, he looked up at Boomer, who seemed to be content to hang from his horn and groom herself. She was picking crumbs and bits of debris out of her scales with her claw, then flicking them away.
“Boomer…”
The hatchling paused her grooming and twisted her head around to an unnatural angle. Sumac was able to look her in the eye. Her tiny eyes glittered with what he knew to be intelligence.
“You have it easy, Boomer… you don’t know the difference between right and wrong yet.” Sumac squirmed in his seat and studied Boomer’s face as she looked at him. “When you do, the world becomes complicated.” He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Or maybe it doesn’t for some ponies. Maybe they learn the difference between right and wrong and they don’t care. Maybe they can’t be bothered. Maybe they don’t think that the little things that they do that are bad aren’t such a big deal and so they just don’t care. But little things add up to big things.” Sumac’s brows creased into deep, wizened furrows. “It’s like eating unripened green apples, Boomer… you can eat one, and you might get away with it. You can eat two, and you might get away with it. But if you keep eating unripe green apples…”
The colt paused for dramatic effect, something he had learned from Trixie.
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna get the green apple splatters.”
Boomer let out a trilling sound, puffed out her frills, and then, wasting no time, she returned to grooming herself. Sumac let out a flustered grunt. Boomer didn’t seem to understand how devastating the green apple splatters could be.
“Sumac, be ready to go,” Trixie called out. “We’re going to the Ponyville Pickle Palace!”
A scowl crossed Sumac’s muzzle and one ear drooped. “But I don’t want to go… my legs hurt—”
“Kiddo, you’re going. You’ll be in a cart so you don’t need to walk.”
Knowing it was pointless to argue, he settled into a silent sulk. He wasn’t in the mood to go to the Ponyville Pickle Palace, whatever that was. He wanted to stay at home and have a good think—or better still, go to the cemetery, where it was quiet and peaceful. But he didn’t think he could walk that far.
Without realising it, his lower lip protruded quite a bit as he pouted. “Don’t wanna go to no Ponyville Pickle Palace…”
The Ponyville Pickle Palace, as it was known, was down near the river. As its name suggested, it sold pickled goods of all kinds. Anything and everything that could be pickled was sold here, and it sold supplies for pickling. As they approached the large, ornate, brass decorated double doors, the smell of salty brine was thick in the air. It made Sumac think of the ocean. He had seen the oceans a number of times, on both the east coast and the west coast, after having walked the length and breadth of Equestria several times over.
The river was low in its bed, a mere trickle after a long, hot summer. Sumac, sitting in the cart, watched the river flow. Lemon Hearts had borrowed the cart from somepony. It was a small thing, compared to a full sized wagon, two wheeled, and it had a squeaky, annoying axle that needed greasing. Lemon Hearts was pulling the cart, but she wasn’t very good at it. Her stops were sudden, jolting him, and she didn’t seem to know how to take off in a smooth manner either.
“Hmm, Trixie Lulamoon, Lemon Hearts, and a little bump on a log with a pouty lip!”
“Hello, Discord,” Trixie said as she began to chuckle.
Turning his head, Sumac looked away from the river and up at the towering draconequus. He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for Discord’s shenanigans. There was something about Discord’s grin that gave Sumac cause for alarm. The tall serpentine figure floated past Lemon Hearts and Trixie, then hovered before Sumac.
“You look bitterly bummed out, Sumac Apple.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Sumac replied.
Discord’s leering grin grew ever wider. He clapped his paw and his talons together as his eyes glittered with mischief. “I think a distraction is in order… I can never pass up the chance to have a chat with a sour looking Apple.” The tall, floating figure paused. “You look so very much like Applejack when you make that face. The family resemblance is so startling!”
Sumac’s brows furrowed and behind his darkened glasses, his eyes narrowed. It didn’t help matters at all that Trixie and Lemon Hearts were both laughing. Sumac just wanted some quiet so he could process everything in his head. Was that so much to ask for? He didn’t want to be at the Ponyville Pickle Palace, and he wasn’t in the mood to be harassed by Discord.
“Tell me, Sumac Apple, which weighs more… a pound of bricks, or a pound of feathers?” Discord leaned forwards, getting a little closer to Sumac, and his ears waggled in anticipation of an answer.
Before saying anything, Sumac though about the question, suspecting a trick. And it was a trick. “Hey… a pound is a pound… a pound of feathers is no different than a pound of bricks. Everypony knows that.” His ears pivoted forwards.
“No difference, eh?” Discord leaned back, reclining on the nothingness below him. He began to stroke his chin with his talons. “Very well then… Sumac, which would you rather be hit by? A pound of bricks, or a pound of feathers?”
Sumac’s mind went blank as his mouth dropped open. It took him a moment to recover his senses and there was a click as his teeth clacked together. Boomer let out a shrill trilling sound and snorted smoke at Discord.
“A pound is a pound, Sumac…”
“I’d rather be hit by the pound of feathers.” Sumac, feeling a little confused, wasn’t certain what Discord was driving at. The troubles plaguing his mind had fled from him. Now, he was trying to understand what was going on.
“But there is no difference. A pound is a pound. Why should it matter?” Discord’s grin vanished.
“A pound of feathers won’t hurt as much as a pound of bricks,” Sumac replied.
“But they’re both a pound—”
“But the feathers are a soft pound while the bricks are a hard pound.” Sumac drew in a deep breath and tried to bolster his mental defenses against confusion and chaos. All unnecessary thoughts were jettisoned in favour of marshalling better defenses against the Herald of Chaos. He even ignored Boomer, who was bobbing up and down on his horn, making squeaky honking noises at Discord.
“So, not all pounds are equal?”
“B-b-but-but…” Sumac stammered, “it has nothing to do with being equal, and everything to do with… with… with, uh, um… uh—”
“Perception?” Trixie said, being helpful and coming to Sumac’s rescue.
“Yeah!” Sumac nodded. “Yeah.” He nodded again. “Yeah… maybe?” He blinked, no longer so sure. “Getting hit with a feather pillow isn’t so bad, but getting hit by a brick hurts. Bricks are hard—”
“I should say so,” Discord said, interrupting Sumac with a casual, dismissive wave of his paw. “So… would a pound of bricks have more emotional weight?”
“I…”—Sumac’s mouth moved as he tried to make words come out—“don’t know!” His ears pinned back against his skull. “How would one even weigh emotions anyhow? They’re not tangible—”
“Ah, but there is where you are wrong,” Discord said, interrupting again.
“How?” Sumac demanded.
“Easy.” Discord grinned once again. “Friendship is magic. Which means it is a measureable, tangible force that can be observed and studied.” Discord’s eyebrows bounced up and down and he let out a chuckle. “So, tell me, Sumac Apple… which weighs more… a pound of bricks, a pound of feathers, or a pound of friendship?”
“I… don’t… know…” Sumac felt himself start sweating.
“Which would you rather be hit by?” Discord’s tail swooshed and swished from side to side. “Having been hit by the full force of friendship, I can tell you, it’s heavy stuff… so, again I ask, which would you rather be hit by?”
Sumac never got his chance to answer. Boomer, perhaps sensing Sumac’s distress, belched a gout of flame at Discord, setting the elder draconic creature’s eyebrows on fire. Discord let out a worried cry, patted the flames out with his paw, and then gave both Sumac and Boomer a displeased glare while his eyebrows smouldered. Trixie and Lemon Hearts began to giggle together.
“Young lady, that was rude! So very rude!” Discord continued to pat out his flaming eyebrows as he glared at the tiny hatchling. “No respect for the older generation I see. That is not how one wins a debate! Setting your opponent on fire is dirty pool!”
Her tail lashing from side to side, Boomer sucked in a deep breath and held it in a threatening manner, her cheeks bulging as her head swayed in a circular motion. Smoke curled from her nostrils. She growled, making a valiant attempt to sound menacing.
“So that’s how it’s going to be!” Discord let out a harrumph and just as Boomer belched out another gout of flame, he snapped his talons and vanished. His voice remained behind however to get the final word. “Contemplate a pound of friendship, Sumac Apple! It weighs as much as five tons of flax!”
“Eh, getting his eyebrows set on fire serves him right,” Lemon Hearts said as Trixie laughed.
A whole bunch of barrels all stood stacked atop one another, forming an impressive sight. Sumac, whose nostrils flared from the briny smell, looked up at the sign hanging over them. He stared at the sign for a moment, fought back the urge to sneeze, and then asked, “What’s a gross?”
“One hundred and forty four,” Lemon Hearts replied as she lifted up two of the small barrels and set them down into the cart with Sumac.
“We need two hundred and eighty eight pickled eggs?” Sumac blinked and scooted out of the way, shuffling to the very back of the cart.
“Well, think about it, Sumac… there are three of us living in the house.” Lemon Hearts looked over her shoulder at Sumac, giving him a patient smile. “If each of us eats two pickled eggs a day, how many days will one barrel of pickled eggs last?”
“A math lesson? Now? After Discord just messed with my head?” Sumac’s voice was a low whine and he started feeling sulky again. He let out an annoyed huff and tried to do the complicated arithmetic in his head.
Trixie wandered off, looking at jars of pickled okra.
“If we each eat two eggs a day and there are three of us and there is one barrel of pickled eggs…” Sumac closed his eyes and tried to visualise a sheet of paper inside of his head to help him figure this out.
Lemon Hearts waited.
“Uh, twenty four days?” Sumac opened his eyes.
“Very good.” Lemon Hearts looked pleased. “So, what if we eat more than two eggs each or have guests over? How long do you think a gross of pickled eggs will last?”
Eyes widening, Sumac had a moment of understanding. “Less than a month.”
“Sometimes, Sumac, things might seem very large, or something might appear to be much more than it is, but, if you look at it, if you break it down, you sometimes find that what we see isn’t as large or as much as we first thought.” Lemon Hearts turned her head and looked over at Trixie.
“My perspectives feel all jumbled,” Sumac said to Lemon Hearts. “I find myself doubting if a pound is really a pound and things that seem large aren’t nearly enough when you examine them. Life got confusing all of a sudden.”
Lemon Hearts nodded. “Yeah, there are a lot of things in life that don’t make sense.” The yellow mare stared over at Trixie, let out a wistful sigh, and then, after turning her head to look at Sumac, she said, “Wait ‘till you get older, Sumac… a lot of things will become a lot more complicated and confusing.”
As Sumac sat watching, a contemplative expression upon his face, Lemon Hearts returned her stare to Trixie, who was eating a sample of pickled okra. Lemon Hearts’ ears drooped for a moment, her smile looked sad for a second, but then her ears stood back up, pivoting forwards as they did so, and her sunny smile broke through the sadness that had become like clouds crossing over her face.
I do not want to live in a house where everyone eats 2 pickled eggs a day. I have a good nose, and in any case pickled eggs should only be eaten with fish and chips, preferably late at night after watching a football match.
... Why did Sumac want to go to the cemetery?
What I mean is... I really do get "I just want to think and everyone else wants me to do things with them." What I don't understand is what caused him to want to go specifically there. Am I forgetting an incident where he learned already to like them and am having a brain fart?
I'm guessing yes but I cannot recall off the top of my head.
Discord got what was coming to him.
7427580
He likes cemeteries. The story makes that pretty clear. They are his happy place.
A better question to ask, I feel, is why would you ever want to eat two pickled eggs per day? Or even one pickled egg, for that matter?
Poor Sumac not feeling good and here is Discord playing with his mind. its annoying but compared to what Discord can do relatively harmless
I wouldn't want to live in a house where that many pickled eggs are eaten either. They do interesting things to the digestive system...
7427566 I see no reason to confine oneself to such limiting conditions for eating pickled eggs!
Or, for that matter, fish and chips!
7427587
You live in an agrarian society in a pre-industrial region where food preservations methods haven't yet hit the standards that we enjoy?
That seems like a pretty good reason to me... pickled eggs, vegetables, and fruits tended to last and provide sustenance through difficult times. Lean times. Times with food scarcity.
A phrase I like that may fit with this story "Getting older, problems don't go away. The more time you spend in this world the more your problems keep building up. You can never just take all your problems away, no matter how lovely that solution seems. You just have to learn to make the burden of each easier on you so that you can keep living and smiling."
These mares are not rich. They need to make ends meet no matter what. Having sumac in their midst also doesn't help that matter. You make cuts where you can and keep on kicking. Also I'm sure that pickled eggs last quite a while, lemon hearts was just using it as an example to get sumac thinking along the correct lines.
to
7427566
and
7427613
+of
Don't forget Piccolo Pie's Pickled Peppers, made by Pinkie Pie's... uncle, I think. It was in one of the comics.
Ahhh, pickled okra. So good.
7427613
7427651
Yes, but if everyone is eating 2 pickled eggs a day, I can only imagine the amount they'd have to spend on air freshener and mouthwash, which they must be doing when the alternative is being given a wide birth by anyone with a nose. Not sure you'd be able to have any naked flames in the house for that matter, as rebuilding after methane explosions often costs quite a bit...
I sure hope that Sumac doesn't take the evil route and try to alienate Olive.
7427693
Unicorns, with flame spells.
A dragon with firebreath.
This is living dangerously.
7427616
Damn you and your incredibly well thought-out, reasonable answers to my hyperbolic rhetorical questions about the edibility of preserved foodstuffs!
7427566
Like with most things you will eventually get used to the smell and not notice it anymore. Which can be a good or bad thing depending on how you look at it.
7427718
- I thought we'd get used to the smell...
- Oh?
- But we live in a house with a curious colt and a dragon.
- Oh!
- Do you have any idea what happens when a baby dragon eats a pickled egg?
- Of all the worst possible things...
- Celestia fed me pickled eggs when Twilight wasn't looking and I turned out just fine.
- I sure did!
- You fiend! I thought he had digestive issues! I thought I was doing something wrong!
I hope Discord becomes Sumac mentor
can I just say I love this exchange?
Please remember, flax is string!
7427837
Yeah... no. See, this is about growth and humility.
Plus, if this happened, it would pretty much bork key moments that happen later in the story. Boy am I glad that I'm writing this and I know what I'm doing.
Only assuming you stay on the same planet- the pound is a unit of force, at least in general use, and is thus dependent on the acceleration of gravity. A Kilogram is the same everywhere though- or at least it will be once they finish redefining it.
I'm rooting for you Lemon Hearts!
The way Discord interacts with Sumac reminds me of stories I used to read about Coyote. I am very much okay with this.
They were clearly misreading it. When it said two gross pickled eggs, it meant there was one for Trixie and one for Lemon. Sumac wouldn't eat any because pickled eggs are gross.
If the Ponyville Pickle Palace has pickled eggs and pickled okra then they must,
by prodigiously penetrating deduction, have pickled peppers. These pickled peppers would most likely have been produced and provided by Peter Piper. A a possible relative of Pinkie Pie by her second cousin twice removed aunt Penelope Persnickety Pipers son Peter.
Peter Piper having personally produced the perennial producing pre-pickled pepper plant.
Which are picked and packed by the peck and promptly sent to the Ponyville Pickle Palace.
I'm going to go put a hot washcloth on my head and lay down I think I sprained something.
7427570
My current theory is that you can tell who the protagonists are in kudzu's stories by who gets time with the POV narration.
7427733
As well as an ever reducing pool of available magic, I think that Equestria has another problem. An ever expanding population of pickled produce eating, greenhouse gas emitting vegetarians.
7429886
And there are 22 ounce pints as well as 20 ounce pints. So the pint isn't a pound the world around.
Americans get screwed in their pints. We only get 16 ounces of beer.
7429886
I think they're different types of OUNCES. Troy ounces have either more or less mass than a standard ounce. The pounds are still 16 oz, but they're different SIZED ounces.
7427586
I don't remember the last time i was at a cemetery..
:V
the dead are dead, they don't give a shit what happens after they die.
that said, I'd think a cemetery would be an enjoyable place to hang out.
unless you happen to be 'The protagonist' of sweet revenge
in which case I think the PTDD would be rather haunting.
PostTraumaticDeathDisorder
#hangingoutwithcorpses
this isn't even relevant at this point?
Now I'm curious about okra. I haven't seen it in stores here in Germany. Maybe it will get in fashion someday, like sweet potatoes. Took some time to establish those around here as well.
Or maybe I can get them at an asia store or something.
Oh Discord.
I will admit, I've never heard the phrase dirty pool before. Except in the case of a literal dirty pool.
7431159
Anything that goes against the Queensbury Rules of conduct for sportsmen and boxers.
"I say, Old Chap, that low blow was dirty pool!"
"Why yes, Basil, yes it was!"
7431168
*Sigh.* Well... somehow I'm not surprised by that fact.
7427586 there is something to be said about walking on the graves of the dead.
There are some significant differences between being hit with a pound of bricks or a pound of feathers. Due to air resistance, the feathers would hit with less energy than the bricks if given the same starting force, and feathers compress easier so their impact would be longer and cause less jerk. All else being equal, I'd rather be hit by the pound of feathers because physics says it'd hurt less.
A pound is a pound, but a brick is not a feather. I think I'd prefer the bricks to the friendship though. A pound of energy would probably turn me into a 10 mile wide, smoking crater.
Pound of feathers is better than a pound of brick because it is a larger amount of volume--the energy gets dispersed over a larger area and doesn't hurt as much.
Ah, but which is worse: a pound of brick crushed to dust and blown at you, or a pound of feathers compressed into a brick?
Also, in support of cemeteries:
https://youtu.be/IqXBBjErXOw
7433631
Let's see. A pound is ~2.2kg of mass in one gravity. The equivalent is 4.0766849157E19 joules of energy (E=mc^2), which would result in a 9.7 gigaton explosion if released all at once. Nukemap Classic gives a severe air blast radius of ~35 miles for a surface detonation of that, so a ten-mile-wide crater probably isn't too far off the mark.
7439962
Um, a kilogram is 2.2 pounds, not the other way around... So a pound would be .454545... kg. You've already got the equations, so I'll leave the rest up to you.
7444087
D'oh! You're right. Still an impressive bang, regardless.
I just finished walking past this good communities shipyard and i just happened to notice a new ship in the dry docks undergoing construction! It was the most magnificent ship really, why I do believe I even saw our gracious benefactor Kudz on-board! Hmm what was the ships name again, oh that's right it was the UFN. Lemonmoon! I do hope she sails soon, would be a most wondrous sight.
It's a shame that Sumac doesn't know enough physics to understand how terrible this comparison is.
Perfection. Good dragon, Boomer, top marks in Ponyville at the very least.
I have a gut feeling that a household that eats two pickled eggs per person per day isn't going to have enough guests to make a difference.
7427616
It's good to hear that someone else remembers Applejack's solo in the "Winter wrap-up" song.
And added to that, chickens tend to stop laying during the short days of winter, though they each produce about one egg per day during the warm months, so there's plenty of eggs followed by a shortage--exactly the situation where inventive minds devise preservation methods.
I've read that some people have gone so far as to smoke-cure the hard boiled eggs as well as pickling them, though I'm not sure which step goes first.
*laughs over memories*
Ugh....
Pickled eggs
3 ponies and 2 pickled eggs a piece...
day one should be OK. day two ... things are starting to percolate...
day five through 30? wow will there be a smell.
One time I was on a diet that had 1 pickled/hard boiled egg a day. After a week I could not stand myself