Dresses, Lunch, and Glue
Chapter 12: Dresses, Lunch, and Glue
Problem one: Whoever this stallion was that was cantering over without a care in the world and talking a million miles a minute had, simply by his presence, made Applebloom visibly uncomfortable, as Rumble couldn’t well imagine that she had a strong inclination for suddenly dropping into the foetal position and covering her face in addition to her affinity for the choicest inanimate objects the farm had to offer. It was possible, yes, but generally when one is happy, one doesn’t make long, drawn out groaning noises. Problem two: Rumble had been rather enjoying the tender moment in which his mane, clearly made of magic and a far more valuable asset than his bumbling powers of flight, had worked in harmony with his oft limited vocabulary to draw him and Applebloom closer together, and that moment was now officially over. One could say that Braeburn being oblivious to all of this could have constituted and qualified as a third problem, but such was his nature.
“It’s just amazin’ how much everything around here has grown in the few short years I’ve been gone! I mean, just look at Applebloom!” Braeburn chortled, prancing towards the filly quite earnestly making petition to the Diamond Dogs to mistake her for a topaz and whisk her away to the wonderful world of dungeons and dirt. It wasn’t that the filly had any particular dislike for Braeburn, but rather that between him and Granny Smith, her evening was sure to be a delightful soiree of family fun and harrowing memories that would render her positively uncourtable and leave Rumble in need of the next train to nowhere on account of it not being destined for Sweet Apple Acres. “Oh, she’s still wearin’ her ma’s bow! Ain’t that just adorable? Come on now, don’t be like yer sister; show some manners an’ give your cousin a hug!”
Peeling her face from the comforting embrace of the cool earth, Applebloom blinked away a few invading bits of grit that threatened an invasion of her eyes and gave her sister a look which quite clearly read “please help me.” Unfortunately, as Braeburn moved in for the hug regardless of her consent, Applejack shot back the “he’s psycho, he’s family, it’s out of my hooves” look. They hugged. It was painful.
“Oof! Not... so... tight!” Applebloom groaned, her planned attempts at manners by returning the motion suddenly falling through as she used her hooves to press away, if only so she could breathe. What’s he think ah am, a rag doll? Goodness, he’s stronger than he looks! Need... Air...
“Oh! Sorry there, cous!” Braeburn offered, setting the gasping filly down and smiling cheerfully as he continued without a care in the world. “I must have just been too excited to be here in beautiful Sweet Apple Acres! Who are all of you, then?” he inquired, turning an eye to a host of ponies whispering amongst themselves. “Why, you must be Applebloom’s friends! Come on now, don’t be shy! Introduce yourselves!”
“I’m, uh... Sweetie Belle?” the unicorn filly began, nudging Spike to continue. One by one they went through the line, until it came time for Pipsqueak to speak, which he did at length and with great embellishment.
“Ye expect me t’ just give my name to this brigand?” Pipsqueak asked, his face serious and his tone level. “Nay, I don’t give such information out to just anypony.”
“But why not?” Braeburn returned, sounding concerned. “Everypony knows it’s proper to start things off with a name!”
“Not when yer as wanted as I am!” Pipsqueak declared, glancing around and leaping onto a nearby cart. “I’m the purloiner of chocolate pudding and the seven time saboteur of bake sales far and wide! If yer missin’ yer favorite bauble, then it’s already in me chest o’ loot that reaches towards the heavens! I’m the fiercest terror never to sail the seas! I don’t need a name, fer me title speaks more than all the books in Golden Oaks Library! I am... the Captain!” Braeburn gave this due consideration for a moment before shaking his head, saddened again by the woeful conditions of Ponyville’s youth.
“No name, and a heap of lies to boot. Ponyville just ain’t the same, cousin,” Braeburn lamented, turning an eye towards Applejack, currently massaging the side of her head with a hoof. A challenging cry directed his attention once more to the diminutive though dashing rogue who had leapt from his soapbox to make his stand.
“Who are you callin’ a liar then, eh? Let’s settle this over a duel!”
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Spike whispered, leaning towards Scootaloo who was almost too excited to answer with a whisper.
“Are you kidding? This is going to be awesome!” she shot back, just one pulse of adrenaline away from bouncing in place.
It ain’t been two minutes, and there’s already gonna be a barnyard brawl? Well, if he wants manners, there’s only one colt who can turn things around! “Braeburn, ain’t you fergettin’ somepony?” Applebloom called out, trotting over and giving Rumble an encouraging smile.
“You can’t be a real captain,” Braeburn countered, stubbornly holding to his former appraisal. “After all, everypony knows a good captain has a nice pair of boots, just like a proper settler pony needs a good, trusty hat.”
Critical hit! Pipsqueak is knocked out. Without a further word on the matter and too humiliated to continue the fight, Pipsqueak went stiff, teetering for a moment before flopping onto his side, leaving Braeburn further estranged and ready for a change of pace, himself turning towards a light gray pegasus colt who couldn’t tell if he should be minorly annoyed his mane was no longer receiving adequate tussles, congratulate the stallion for single-hoofedly besting the captain in combat, or seek to avenge his fallen comrade.
“Howdy!” Braeburn began, staring into a docile pair of violet eyes. “I’m Braeburn. What’s your name, then?” In the midst of weighing his options, he caught sight of Applebloom’s pleading glance and laid aside his battle cry, at least for a moment.
I bet this counts as part of Applejack's test... sorry, Captain. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name’s Rumble.”
“Well, whaddaya know!” Braeburn cheered, rearing excitedly and usurping Applebloom’s place as primary mane brusher as his faith was restored in Ponyville. “Did you hear that, cous? He called me ‘sir!’ Why, I can’t remember the last time somepony was so polite, even in Appleoosa! Most of the time, I’m lucky to get a “Mr.” in front of my name, and that’s if they even say it right. I mean, ‘dunderhead’ don’t sound anythin’ like ‘Braeburn,’ does it? Little Strongheart is always right kind, though. In fact, wait until you hear about what happened just last week...” No longer in the spotlight, Rumble excused himself to be with Applebloom, who instantly petitioned the colt’s understanding that she already had.
“Ah’m sorry ‘bout this, Rumble. Ah didn’t know he was comin’!”
“Sorry?” Rumble repeated, tilting his head to the side with a playful grin. “You don’t have any reason to be sorry, Applebloom. He seems nice enough, and things certainly won’t be boring with him around.”
“But...” Her protests were cut off as her name, spoken gently and with undeniable affection, one honest declaration dispelling for the moment the myriad of anxieties springing from unexpected happenstance.
“Applebloom, whatever happens, I’ll be right here with you.” Scootaloo ceased her conversation with her expired captain’s “ghost,” Spike grunted as Sweetie Belle’s squeal of delight had an unexpected effect on her hooves, causing them to instantly wrap around the dragon’s torso and tighten, while Ruby opted for the obligatory “awwww!” as she clasped her hooves together and swayed back and forth.
Yeah, fine, that’s great, Rumble. Don’t dance around the subject none or give me time t’ prepare or anythin’, that’s just fine. Ah wasn’t ready fer that! Oh, goodness, ah’m blushin’ bad... Refreshed by the dispelling breeze wafted over by the wings of romance, Pipsqueak was pulled away from the light at the end of whatever dank tunnel he was scrounging around in for adequate hoofwear and given his second wind, coming to and leaping to his hooves. Assuming his mantle with gusto, he whispered a few orders to his deckhoof which Scootaloo confirmed his plan with a nod and a nearly compromising squeal of visceral delight, and after she had dutifully spread the plan to the rest, Pipsqueak set out to prove he was a captain, boots or not, and nopony was going to say otherwise.
“Ye may have landed a lucky blow to me pride, lad, but a captain is only as good as his crew is ready! Come on, everypony! Charge!” At the head of the pack and his sword drawn, Pipsqueak lead the battle, taking a few swipes near the hapless Braeburn’s legs while Spike and Sweetie Belle each grabbed a hind leg. Completing the attack, Ruby and Scootaloo joined Pipsqueak at the front and leapt upon him in unison, toppling their foe while they delivered light-hearted justice in the form of a multi-pronged tickle assault with a pony pile artillery barrage to effectively end the beast’s reign of tyranny. Any lingering remnants of romance were blasted back by the onslaught, and thus, Applebloom chose to wait until a more opportune time to reciprocate Rumble’s sentiments, resolving within herself to make the most of whatever the day threw her way which, with Braeburn present, could be just about anything.
“All right, y’all, ah think he’s had enough; let the poor guy breathe,” Applejack interceded with a satisfied chuckle, noting the stallion’s ragged gasping for air and the delightfully blue tint edging into his cheeks. “Ah think that’ll do as nicely as any welcome back t’ Sweet Apple Acres, huh cous?” Applejack listened for a minute while some noise that might have been imagined from speech escaped, losing coherency before it made it out of one dusty yellow muzzle. “Ah’ll take yer babblin’ t’ mean ya agree,” she chuckled, straightening up and beaming back at the cluster of friends doling out congratulations and high hoofs all around.
“Ahoy, deckhoof!” Pipsqueak called out, nodding with sage approval as the filly instantly presented herself before him with a snappy salute.
“Aye, Captain?”
“It’s important to recognize talent like yers, an’ that’s why from this moment on, you’re me deckhoof no longer!” Pipsqueak declared as officiously as a pirate could. “Fer yer invaluable ferocity in the heat of battle and snappy coordination in the field, I hereby promote you to ‘Queen o’ the Crow’s Nest.’ Congratulations, look out; you’ve earned it.” Unable to contain her excitement and slightly overwhelmed by her captain's praise, Scootaloo shot into the air pulling loops and corkscrews with fluidity and ease, letting her natural poise direct her wings. While Scootaloo danced below the clouds, Pipsqueak couldn’t help but appreciate his look out in a slightly different light, and while calming for the filly, one colt couldn’t help the heat rising in his chest. Or his cheeks.
“Ah, much better...” Scootaloo murmured with an airy sigh, lighting easily and folding her wings before noting the google eyed stare with which one colt sat fixated on his harpy. “What’s that look for?”
“You’re pretty...”
“C-cut it out! You’re acting creepy.”
“Creepy? Shoot, Scootaloo! You’ve got it all wrong!” Braeburn chortled, prancing over and looking first at Pipsqueak and then back at her. “Why, there ain’t no mistakin’ it; this colt is right smitten with you!”
“What? N-no, he’s just my captain!” Scootaloo denied, vigorously shaking her head.
“You’ve even given each other pet names?” Braeburn exclaimed, single-hoofedly stripping the awesomeness from the monicker with which she held her esteemed leader. “Ah’ve got to admit that there are a right number o’ cute little romances blossomin’ all ‘round Appleoosa, but you two are...”
“Not romancing anything!” Confident she wasn’t alone in her adamant denial, she turned to glean confirmation from Pipsqueak that they were most definitely dabbling in the mushy. Unfortunately, and perhaps more worrisome than the eyes of her friends eagerly awaiting comical rebuttal was the strikingly serious expression of deep contemplation worn by a colt who had yet to stop exploring the strange fire burning within his chest. “Pipsqueak, now would be a really great time for you to speak up...” Scootaloo urged, receiving nary the faintest sign of comprehension from the colt. What the hay is taking him so long? No, forget that, what is he even thinking about? There’s no way he’s actually... thinking about... romance? In his own roundabout way, he was, or at least trying to.
I don’t know what kind of devilish trickery she’s using, but this funny feeling in my chest really isn’t so bad. I kinda like it. I wonder... if just watching her makes me feel like this, I wonder what holding her hoof would do? I’ve kinda wanted to try that for a while...
“Pipsqueak? Come on, Pipsqueak! Tell him we’re... we’re not, you know...” Pipsqueak slowly raised his gaze, his eyes dilating a little as they refocused on the filly who was just moments from attempting to forcibly remove him from his daydream with a good swift shove. Yes! Finally, he’s snapping out of whatever adventure he was having in his mind. This is going to be sweet! Wait, why is he walking towards... me? As the thought completed, Pipsqueak admirably took a step towards the unknown horizon, slowly walking over to Scootaloo and placing his hoof to hers without any warning or time to prepare for the heart-melting articulation of a silver-tongued rogue.
“...you’re soft.” Scootaloo looked at her hoof. Scootaloo looked at Pipsqueak. Scootaloo looked back at her hoof, still eclipsed by his. Scootaloo looked back again at Pipsqueak, her eyes holding true to her recently acquired title of “look out” by growing to a rather fantastical size, though their scope only seemed to include the colt in front of her as a result of the “does not compute” messages cluttering her peripherals, spelled “whatthehaywhatthehaywhatthehay.”
“Yeehaw! Sound out the weddin’ bells, Applejack! We got ourselves a couple t’ marry!” Braeburn whooped, throwing his hat in the air and catching in expertly back atop his head as a little bit more of Scootaloo’s resistance shriveled and died. “What’re you doin’ waitin’ around here, then? I happen t’ know there’s a real seamstress here that could probably make you the prettiest little weddin’ dress this side o’ Equestria.”
No wedding, no dresses, no dating! I’m too young to tie that huge of a tangled, mushy knot! Dang it, I can’t think! I’ll get you for this, Pipsqueak! I just want to go home and hide... maybe dress up a little, and... that’s it! Pipsqueak knew that the twisted grin of his former deckhoof couldn’t just be hubris from her recent promotion, nor did it match the tone of the current happenings, and his own pride couldn’t ignore such a direct challenge to his, well, whatever it was, forcibly reverting the colt back to his usual self.
“...I don’t much like that sneer ye seem so fond of, look out.”
“Oh, you’re about to like it a whole lot less,” Scootaloo snickered mischievously, adopting a disturbingly sweet smile laced with concealed allure as she sauntered over and spoke gently, barely maintaining her act long enough to deliver her ultimatum. “I tagged you.”
“Tagged?” Ruby chimed in, shaking her head and missing Scootaloo’s implication entirely. “You shoved him from the top of the swingset, Scootaloo. I’d say that’s a fair bit more than tagging. I mean, just look at him!” Sweetie Belle and Spike both turned to find one colt’s confidence very much in the same condition as a chocolate bar left atop an active stove: melted and running.
“N-no, wait, there has t’ be some mistake! Slight o’ hoof, I say!” Pipsqueak shot back, taking a step away as Scootaloo’s grin grew wider. “The game was never officially declared over! There’s still time for me to win!”
“Uh, Pipsqueak?” Spike interjected, walking over and casting a wary eye on a filly who looked like Scootaloo but was giggling far too much to be who she appeared. “Why are you freaking out, and why is Scootaloo acting... like Pinkie Pie?” Pausing her victory dance, which consisted of wing assisted prancing around one unfortunate sailor condemned to walk the plank of embarrassment with nary a chance of salvation, Scootaloo failed to maintain her indignation long enough to cow Spike into silence before bursting into a fresh wave of victorious chortling.
“Why? I’ll tell everypony why!” Pipsqueak moaned, hiding his face in shame. “Me an’ the lass made a wager, an’ her underhooved methods an’ trickery...”
“Whoa, hold up!” Scootaloo shouted, leaping upright and beaming in her confidence. “I won our bet fair and square, and you know it! And now he’s just trying to get out of his end of the bargain!”
“Which would be?” Spike asked, glancing over at Pipsqueak who was currently seeing how many square inches of his face could effectively be shrouded by his bandana. Even with his face completely wrapped, it didn’t make Scootaloo’s declaration any easier to bear.
“Loser has to wear a dress in public!” While the fillies sided with the filly, Spike placed a sympathetic claw on the victim’s shoulder, shaking his head at the cruelty inherent in the female heart.
“Tough break, man. It could be worse, though.”
“Ye don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, mate...” Pipsqueak muttered, knowing full well it couldn’t.
“Well, what if they made you wear make up, too? Or perfume, or...” Spike continued, putting more and more ideas inside Scootaloo’s devious mind to call upon later when she won future bets, but such plans were cut short as Pipsqueak shocked them all.
“It ain’t about wearin’ a dress or lookin’ girly! Ah couldn’t care less what kind o’ fancy outfit they stick me in! I just can’t believe I allowed myself t’ be bested! I never lose!” With a dramatic wail, Pipsqueak fell onto his back, laying the bandana across his face and sticking all four limbs into the air. “It’s all over, mates. No captain could reclaim ‘is pride after bein’ bested so easily. Just bury this bootless has-been!” Sweetie Belle turned a curious eye towards Scootaloo, currently standing triumphant next to her conquered colt, wondering if Pipsqueak was always like this and grateful for her relatively normal relationship with a fire-burping, scale-having, spiny...
Ok, maybe “normal” isn’t the right word, but yeesh, what a drama queen!
“Pipsqueak?” Scootaloo received naught from the prone form of her yet again deceased captain for her inquiry, not even a twitch. Come on, Pipsqueak! You’re supposed to put up more of a fight than this! I mean, it’s no fun if you just let me win. I want a challenge! It would have led to another disgusted yet delightfully mushy moment if Scootaloo were informed that Pipsqueak was already so into her that he somehow knew by instinct her sentiments, and was already concocting a plan to rise from his deathbed, riding on the winds of competition.
“That’s it!” Pipsqueak cried, leaping upright and marching straight up to Scootaloo, plundering her overconfident smirk for himself. “Ye want t’ see yer captain in a dress, eh?”
“...I’m suddenly having second thoughts. What are you planning?” Yes! Pipsqueak is back in the game!
“What could a deposed, despairing captain possibly do t’ harm ye, lass? Nay, this rogue is nothing if not a scoundrel of his word. A dress I promised, and a dress ye shall have.” Without another word, he took off at a full gallop, leaving everypony to ponder what kind of ploy the crazy colt would conjure up next.
“...why’re you stickin’ yer fiancé in a weddin’ dress? Scootaloo, you’ve got it all backwards,” Braeburn corrected gently, shaking his head in remorse for the state of Equestria's next generation. “You’re the cute little lady that...” It was too much. Weddings, dresses, being called cute? What remained of Scootaloo’s once sizable ego just couldn’t take it, and Braeburn was soon left to ramble to empty space as Scootaloo made like her captain and bolted off into the trees.
“Ouch, tough break for Scootaloo,” Spike muttered, turning to find Sweetie Belle acting as if she were next in line for matrimony, her hooves clutched to her chest as envisioned walking down the aisle.
“Better start saving for a ring now, Spike,” Ruby chuckled, waving a hoof in front of the humming filly’s face, a pointless action that sparked not even the faintest hint of life from the starlet.
“What’s this? Another couple?” Braeburn chortled, turning towards Sweetie Belle and Spike.
Oh, forget this! I know where this is going. I’m out of here! Following in Scootaloo’s stead, Spike decided he wouldn’t much like to be in the stallion’s spotlight and took off running, jolting Sweetie Belle back to life as she gave chase. Only Ruby remained of the group, who looked around at the empty spaces and then back to Braeburn, wondering what harm he could possibly do, given she had no significant other and Rumble was stationed at Applebloom’s side.
“Don’t worry yerself, miss,” Braeburn offered, stooping down and giving Ruby an encouraging smile. “You’ll find somepony someday, too.” Rather than acknowledge the assertion and thereby guarantee further elaboration, Ruby slowly leaned to the side and gave Applebloom the most sympathetic look manageable while trying to constrain her giggles.
“Good luck, Applebloom. Later!”
“Luck? Ah’d say ah’m just about fresh outta that,” Applebloom moaned, dropping her gaze to the ground as Ruby trotted away at a leisurely pace with Braeburn waving enthusiastically. How can somepony be so nice an’ not realize that they just single-hoofedly drove everypony away? It’s like ‘is talent is makin’ everypony red in the face or somethin’...
“Hey, cheer up,” Rumble urged quietly, resisting the urge to place a hoof about her shoulders for fear of drawing further attention to themselves. “It can’t be too much worse from here on out, right?” Applebloom didn’t even have time to conjure a response before Granny Smith’s voice rang out, prompting a loud whoop from Braeburn and impressing upon Applebloom how things can always, always be worse.
“Lunch time, everypony! Come an’ git it!”
It all began with a knock. It was a plain sound, one that most ponies hear multiple times a day, and Storm thought nothing of it as he dutifully rose to answer the beckoning call, careful not to tread upon Hope as she viewed each of his hooves as a mini-circuit, racing in circles until finally collapsing in a dizzy, giggling heap near the entryway. Normalcy ended there as Storm swung open the door to find none other than the dreaded pirate himself, ready to call a temporary truce in a mutual beneficial parley.
“Pipsqueak?”
“Listen up, bucko,” the colt replied, disregarding the stallion’s lack of respect for a pony of his title and laying forth his proposition. “We’ve had our share o’ differences in the past, but I’m the fergivin’ type, so I’ve got a little offer that I think ye may like.”
Just remember, this is the colt that Scootaloo likes. Who knows, maybe he’ll actually be a lot of fun, as long he’s not getting frisky with my little sis. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Nay, ye can’t hold a strategy meeting where pryin’ ears can hear! Just look at that lass what tried t’ steal me treasure not a week ago!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusing hoof at Hope who mindless pointed back, blissfully unaware of her alleged transgression. “She’s trouble, I can tell.”
“Right...” Storm said slowly, making a mental note to inquire at a later time as to how Scootaloo came to the conclusion that “spastic nutjob” was somehow affiliated with “cool.” “Well, come inside, I guess.”
“Thank ye kindly. Ahoy, landlubber, yer fresh outta luck. I didn’t bring any treasure today,” Pipsqueak jeered, giving Hope a smug grin before making himself at home on the couch, getting right down to business. “Word on the wind is ye go by the name o’ Storm. Well, fer reasons that don’t concern anypony save meself and that sneak who calls herself yer sister, I’m due t’ wear a dress by the end o’ the day.”
“A dress.”
“Aye.”
“Like the frilly kind?”
“No, the tasty kind ye put on salad,” Pipsqueak shot back, rolling his eyes. “Somethin’ wrong with yer head, mate? What kind o’ pony goes around covered in salad dressing?”
“Clearly, you haven’t had dinner at Applejack’s house...” Storm replied, laughing under his breath.
“We’re gettin’ off topic,” Pipsqueak chuckled, warming a little bit to the imposing stallion who still threatened to activate his fight or fight reflex at a moment’s notice. I guess he’s not so bad. He’s still scary big, but right now, I think I can handle it. Besides, I still have to come out on top! “Now, it’s come to me attention that the sweet little lass who put a cross-dressing hex over this here captain happens to be the little known owner of a number of dresses...”
Scootaloo hadn’t actually run all that far, only putting enough distance between herself and Braeburn that she could be confident further despicably mushy utterances made from his muzzle were sure to miss her ears, and she found it slightly satisfying to know she wasn’t the only pony who felt the way she had; Spike was booking it. Sweetie Belle followed shortly after in high spirits, if not a little distant on account of whimsical fantasies, and as Ruby showed up none the worse for the wear, the group moved back towards the park, determined to resurrect a morning gone crazy with... crazy. It was sound logic.
“So...” Sweetie Belle began, waving a hoof in front of Scootaloo’s eyes as her eloquent monosyllabic conversation opener failed to wrench the filly’s attention away from the anticipation dominating her other senses. “Aside from imagining Pipsqueak’s humiliation, or Scootaloo’s, for that matter, what should we do now? We’re near the park, but we’re missing a few ponies, and I think it’s safer for everypony if we stay away from tag for now. Any suggestions?”
“Hmmm... we don’t really have a good number for anything,” Ruby deduced, looking around. “We have two fillies, one distracted filly, and a dragon. Not enough for dodgeball.” Sweetie Belle was forced to concede on that point, and one by one they knocked out every other game they could think of.
“Ugh, Spike! You haven’t said anything this whole time! Come on, you have to have some idea for a game to play!” Sweetie Belle pressed, nudging the dragon who, if nothing else, roused her curiosity with a yelp and a poor excuse for a lie.
“Gah! Huh? Nope, nothing!” Three fillies, one me? What the hay do you expect me to think about, Sweetie Belle?
He’s... blushing? Now I just have to know! “You do have a game! Come on, tell me! Please~?” Under the scrutinizing gaze of three lovely fillies, one hopeless dragon was forced to show his hand: a royally screwed flush.
“Spin the bottle?” While Sweetie Belle had herself a little internal debate on whether to smack the dragon for suggesting a pastime that had a high chance of landing him lip-locked with somepony that wasn’t her or leap at the chance of getting a kiss herself, Ruby and Scootaloo held a brief whispered conversation before pounding hooves and turning back to Spike, currently waiting for the axe to fall.
“I’m down.” Sweetie Belle could only stare in disbelief as Scootaloo gave willing, no, eager consent to play, with Ruby agreeing wholeheartedly.
“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, Spike!” Ruby quipped, sauntering over and wrapping her hooves around his arm. “In fact, why don’t we play at my house? I’m sure there are plenty of bottles we could use...”
“What? No way!” Scootaloo snapped back, grabbing Spike’s other arm, and shooting Ruby a competitive glance. “My house is way bigger, and my room is super comfy!” It was all a bit much for Spike who, as much as duty would bid him kindly decline the mounting attempts to make one another’s abode seem a more sensuous locale, found the strength to do little else but smile, sigh, and turn his blushing features towards the sky. Sweetie Belle was not amused.
“Both of you leave Spike alone! He’s mine!”
“Yours?” Ruby snorted, looking hurt. “Don’t be so selfish, Sweetie Belle! After all, there are plenty of colts in Ponyville, but there’s only one dragon.”
“S-selfish?” Sweetie Belle sputtered, growing more flustered as Scootaloo pressed the joke just a little too far, pressing the side of her face against Spike’s and pursing her lips in a kissing motion. In truth, Sweetie Belle really should have given her more credit for pulling off such a daring feat, as she was hard pressed to keep from blanching immediately afterwards from the sickening display of mushiness, feigned though it was, and all around romantic hooplah, but the only thing Sweetie Belle could think about pulling was her own hair, and maybe that of her friends. It was in her frustration that she realized she had a trump card that was not easily bested, and while slightly over-powered by nature and underhooved to flaunt, she made an exception as she turned her attention to an overwhelmed Spike and wrenched his mind back to where it should be.
“Spike, if you spend one more second letting my friends get all mushy on you, I swear to Celestia, I will tell Rarity!” Sweetie Belle’s countenance returned to its usual calm and cheerful manner as Spike all but threw the two fillies aside in his haste to preserve his life. Ah, nothing like the threat of impending doom to make a colt see reason, huh Spike? Adopting an air of benevolence as Spike prostrated himself before her, she held his gaze with a warming smile before cupping the dragon’s face with both hooves and dropping her voice to a quiet growl. “I’ll be worse than Rarity if I ever catch you kissing anypony but me, got it?”
“Y-yeah, I got it!” Content that her work was done and quite certain she’d hit her limit of mushy output for the day, Scootaloo turned to wander off for a breather and, if necessary, give her a head start should the singing spirit of vengeance come to deliver melodious reprimand. She made it three steps before stopping cold, wishing for all the world that she was on a stage somewhere making out with somepony after a night of licentious dancing. Well, not really, but it was the closest thing she could imagine with a comparable blush level to seeing Pipsqueak, not just sporting her favorite dress but playing the part far too well, swishing his tail with every sauntering step and an utterly unnerving leer focused entirely on her.
“No, it can’t be!” Scootaloo wailed, unconsciously taking a few steps back as she recoiled in horror at what she’d made. This can’t be happening! This absolutely cannot be happening right now! That’s not...
“Never before have I laid eyes on such beauty...” Spoken with flair, flamboyance, and startling femininity that threatened to rival her own, Pipsqueak’s opening left no room for doubt that he was indeed the lewd lady lacking in decency or restraint. Petrified at a touch and totally in character, Pipsqueak struck everypony speechless as he floated by, shooting Spike a wink before adopting a coy smile and threatening immediate upheaval of Scootaloo’s breakfast with his thoroughly effeminate tittering. “Behold, your fallen star has returned, milady.”
“No.” It was the only thing Scootaloo could manage, and small though it was, the word served as a mid morning snack as she was forced to eat it, even such a small utterance being turned upon her.
“Oh, don’t be bashful, now,” Pipsqueak cooed, running a hoof along the length of his body before holding it over his mouth and fluttering his eyelashes. “After all, I went to all this trouble to be... presentable for you.”
“I don’t want you to be presentable!”
“Oh?” Pipsqueak cooed, lifting the ruffled edge of his ravishing magenta gown ever so slightly. “So, you’d like me to be... less presentable?”
“No, make it stop! I’m sorry!” Scootaloo wailed, covering her eyes with both hooves and unable to escape the images seared into her mind. This has to be some kind of punishment for fighting my girly side! I’m sorry, I’ll be more girly, I swear it! Just make it stop! “Please, give me the old Pipsqueak back! I want my pirate!”
“You know, you two make a cute couple.”
“Ruby! Not helping!” Scootaloo barked, using her hooves as blinders so she could focus her frustration on the grinning filly who never seemed to be fazed by much of anything. “Don’t just stand there, Ruby! Do something! Anything!”
“Okay, if you insist,” Ruby replied with a shrug, trotting over and tapping Pipsqueak on the shoulder. “Wanna dance?”
“What?!? No!” Suffering from a heaping dose of embarrassment and an unquantifiable injection of pure frantic energy, Scootaloo suffered a temporary lapse in judgement and forcibly removed her favorite dress from the colt doing far too good of a job acting like a lady. Pipsqueak, no longer dressed, blinked a few times, glanced at himself, and then back at Scootaloo.
“...it’s a bit forward t’ tear off yer captain’s clothes, lass.” It was the final crushing blow, and Pipsqueak couldn’t care less about fact that he had just confirmed himself as verifiably insane in the minds of every pony present. No, as he turned and faced the laughter and the questioning looks directed at his mental stability, he held his ground and stood short with renewed self-confidence, throwing up a hoof and cheering but a single word to describe his elation.
“Win!”
Lunch. While it looked more like a dessert buffet than anything else, what with platters loaded with fritters and turnovers and pretty much all things apple related with an assortment of other fruit filled goodies, there were simpler things like salad, cheese, and crackers. For Rumble, whose meals generally consisted of whatever semi-palatable meal Thunderlane attempted to cook or raw foods, generally tastier, it was a fantastical spread that made him draw a frightfully delicious connection: if this is lunch, then what’s dinner? It was slightly dampening to his spirits that Applebloom didn’t seem to be sharing in his wonder, and given that the only cause for alarm was the unannounced arrival of additional family, he took a moment to ease her concerns with a few thoughts of his own.
“Hey, Applebloom?” Rumble began, speaking quietly while Applejack and Big Macintosh continued setting the table. “Is everything all right? You seem kind of...”
“Worried, nervous, just a hair shy o’ freakin’ out? Gee, what tipped ya off?” she snapped back, neither angry nor accusing, but simply far more in the know than Rumble, who continued in his cluelessly optimistic view of the dire situation. “Today was supposed t’ be nice an’ relaxin’, kind of. Ah’d just finally started to come t’ terms with dinner tonight, an’ then Braeburn had to go an’ show up!”
“What’s wrong with Braeburn?” Rumble pondered aloud, sitting up straight and glancing towards the livingroom where Braeburn was catching up with Granny Smith. “He seems nice enough to me. And hey! He’s well mannered! I thought that was something you liked?”
“What ah like is not havin’ mah ears burnin’ from dang near bein’ talked off about the more personal things that are best not discussed with a distant relative in the presence of all.” Rumble frowned at this, tilting his head to the side a little as he struggled to bridge the gap between the learned and unlearned.
“He hasn’t done anything like that, Applebloom.”
“No, he’s just knocked Pipsqueak clean off his hooves, declared a weddin’ that had Scootaloo blushin’ like she was dancin’ pervy on stage, an’ sent Sweetie Belle into a lovestruck daze by mere mention o’ marriage. Nothin’ embarrassin’ at all! What part o’ all this are ya missin’, Rumble? He’s trouble, plain an’ simple.” Applebloom, in her fervor, had leaned in quite close, but her seemingly unjustified suspicion of somepony who had yet to transgress Rumble’s standards for proper behavior garnered her not an ally, but a frown.
“I don’t think you’re being fair, Applebloom.” No anger, no condescension, just a simple statement was all it took to steal the wind from her sails, and the filly slowly sat back to give the colt’s words due thought.
He don’t know Braeburn like ah do, but maybe ah am jumpin’ t’ conclusions. Even Applejack can vouch fer the fact that he ain’t a bad sort, he just don’t have a whole lot o’ common sense. Maybe he’s changed? Stranger things have happened here on the farm, ah guess... “Ah’m sorry, Rumble.” While Applebloom wasn’t entirely convinced, the warmth of an approving smile gave her what fortitude was necessary to face the coming family time with all the courage she could muster. “It ain’t fair o’ me t’ assume the worst o’ somepony ah don’t even really know that well. Most o’ what ah know is from stories ah hear from Applejack, since he ain’t been back t’ Ponyville much since settin’ up in Appleoosa. Just promise me that no matter what he says, you ain’t gonna, um...” Stop likin’ me? Ah can’t say that, it’s too obvious! But how else do ah say it, then?
“Nuh uh!”
“You mean...”
“Uh huh!”
“You’re sure you won’t...”
“Uh huh!”
“Because...”
“Nuh uh!” Rumble declared, forestalling any further checking, cross-checking, double-checking and other such unnecessary fretting on Applebloom’s part by gleefully, but gently, slapping a hoof over her mouth. “No more worrying! I’ve been looking forward to tonight all week, and it’ll be a lot more fun if you’re laughing with me.”
“An’ besides,” Applejack chimed in, trotting over and cheerfully worked towards undoing the calm Rumble had wrought, “if ya keep brainin’ Rumble with a hammer, he’ll probably end up a lot like Braeburn: nice an’ clueless!”
“Ah’ll thank ya kindly never t’ say that again, Applejack,” Applebloom warned, slouching as she held her head in both hooves. “Alright, Rumble, that settles it; no more crashin’ ever, ok? Ah’d like mah coltfriend t’ smarter than the average doornail.”
“But you love nails, and...” Rumble began, stopping midsentence as his ears shot upright. “Wait, did you just...”
“Nuh uh!”
“Oooh, that was a horrible lie, Applebloom,” Applejack chuckled, cringing. “An’ besides, yer cheeks are speakin’ for ya. Ah’ll give you a few seconds t’ calm down before...”
“Hey there, cousin! Why didn’t you tell me lunch was ready? I ain’t seen a spread like this since, well, last time I was here!” Braeburn chortled, trotting past and stopping cold with a gasp as he spied yet another blooming couple with ever so faintly flushed cheeks. “Whoa nelly, another one? Applebloom, shame on you! You didn’t tell me that fine colt was more than just yer friend! How long ‘ave you two been seein’ each other, then? One month? Two?”
“W-we’re not... ah...” Applebloom stammered out before a different, much less desirable hoof shushed her.
“Don’t go tellin’ yer cousin any fibs, now! Why, those cheeks are lit up like a lamp post! Come on, how long you two been a couple?”
“Thirty seconds, sir,” Rumble replied in an even tone, himself still struggling to lasso his elation at being called her coltfriend, slip of the tongue though it was.
“Thirty seconds, an’ yer already over fer lunch? Shoot, y’all are gonna make Scootaloo jealous, gettin’ married before them!” It brought Applebloom a small measure of mirth contemplating not Scootaloo’s disappointment at losing the ring race that didn’t exist, but rather her imagined response to hearing such a declaration, an amusing mix of blatant desire peeking out from a loose veil of denial.
“Ah’m pretty sure Mr. Jelly will get married before Scootaloo, Braeburn. She’s the last pony t’ show an interest in romance. Hay, she’s only just recently discovered she’s a filly,” Applebloom teased, eliciting a smile even from Applejack as Braeburn took a seat at the table looking plumb baffled.
“Really? Well, that’s right strange...” he murmured, casting his gaze down at an empty plate. “I’d have thought a pretty little thing like her would wash herself more often.” The silence that followed his honest remark for which there was no response didn’t last more than a few moments as Granny Smith made her entrance, greeting everypony cheerfully and taking her seat at the front of the table.
“What’re you all just sittin’ around for, eh? This food ain’t gonna eat itself, not while my denchers are behavin’! Just look at poor Braeburn, starin’ at an empty plate... Not in my house!” Punctuating her words with action, the elderly mare reached out a rickety hoof and slowly drew a sandwich half onto her plate while the rest eagerly dug in. For a time, conversation was minimal as ponies attended to their food, but not even the sweet taste of fabled farm fare could keep Braeburn at bay for long.
“So, Applebloom, how old are you now?” the stallion asked, neatly wiping his muzzle with a napkin before resting his chin on folded hooves. “You’ve grown quite a bit since last I was here, though not quite like Applejack has, an’...”
“Ah’m pregnant.”
“And you should sound happier about it, Applejack! Frustration ain’t good fer any foal, cousin,” Braeburn chided, glancing down towards the mare’s stomach. “Now, don’t you worry, little one. She’ll warm t’ you eventually.” In Silver’s absence, it was Big Macintosh who acted in preservation of a life, the stallion placing a restraining hoof about his sister’s shoulders as the foal within her agreed to her current line of thinking towards what to do with Braeburn and gave her a good, solid buck.
“He better watch himself, brother. Ah ain’t feelin’ at mah most charitable, an’ comments like that are gonna land him in a heap o’ pig slop.”
“Eeyup,” Big Mac murmured, slowly shaking his head back and forth. He didn’t consider himself to be the most scholarly of ponies, but commenting on a pregnant mare’s weight was one of those unspoken rules that anypony knows not to cross, and Braeburn had pranced across that border with nary a care.
“Sorry for the interruption, Applebloom. Ah didn’t quite catch your answer.”
“Ah’m eleven now,” the filly replied, comfortable enough with question. “Gonna be twelve real soon. Mah birthday is right around the corner.”
“Eleven, huh? And you even got your Cutie Mark! Strange, though, I don’t see an apple...”
...ah take it back. His talent must be findin’ a pony’s sore spot and jabbin’ ‘em with a red hot poker. “It’s got an apple blossom, an’ that’s close enough.” Rumble lifted his muzzle from a rather delectable pastry at the sudden shift in tone, confused by the seemingly innocent question and making a mental note to ask his own at a later time.
“Darn tootin’, it’s close enough! A paint brush, a hammer, and...”
“Mallet,” Applebloom corrected in an officious huff. “Ah won’t stand fer anypony gettin’ the two mixed up. It’s a mallet, not a hammer, and no, they ain’t the same! A hammer is a mallet that had an identity crisis and tried t’ grow teeth outta the back of its head. Now a mallet? That’s a respectable tool, knows what it’s for and don’t leave room fer mistakes. You lay yer plans, you pound the nails, an’ do it right the first time.”
“Just shy o’ twelve and she’s already as sharp as a tack!” Braeburn exclaimed, beaming across at the his little cousin. “Clever mind, plenty o’ know how and the skills t’ back it? You’re growin’ into a right fine mare, Applebloom.” Applebloom was blown away. After all her worrying and pointing of the proverbial hoof at somepony she’d barely had any dealing with, his forthright outspokenness in praise had actually brought her a measure of pride for her talent, something that wasn’t often there despite her ever present excitement over all things fixable. For a small, seemingly insignificant allotment of time, Applebloom saw her day laid out before her like a map, with laughs and good will dotting every waypoint. “Speaking of bein’ a mare, I’m just curious; have you hit estrus yet?”
The aforementioned map, imagined though it was, erupted into a magnificent pillar of flame and left nought but a pile of ash for Applebloom to cling to as embarrassment was draped around her shoulders like a wet blanket made of itchy canvas, her head slowly sinking from view as she hid herself underneath the table. Normally one to respond calmly, there was a painfully solid sounding thwack as Big Macintosh applied his hoof to the center of his forehead, his sentiments very much shared by a livid Applejack who absolutely couldn’t believe that her cousin, intelligence level aside, would even think to ask such an invasive question. After a few false starts, Applejack managed to finally sputter out a sentence, imploring the timeless wisdom of her elder to bring an end to the madness and placate the tension in her hooves that threatened to extend Braeburn’s visit by a few days while he recovered in the hospital.
“G-Granny Smith, ain’t you gonna say somethin’?”
“O’ course! It would certainly explain how much time she spends in the barn, now don’t it?” Had Big Mac removed his hoof, it would surely have descended again and with much more force. “Best be careful, Rumble! Fillies are known t’ get a mite frisky ‘round that time.” Aghast, Applejack sat down hard, staring blankly at nothing in particular before a wavering voice dripping with desperation sounded muffled from underneath the table.
“Permission t’ run away screamin’, sis?”
“Only if I can join you, sugarcube.” Applejack had barely squeezed out the last sound before Applebloom tore out of the room wailing at the top of her lungs and terribly red in the face. Applejack followed shortly thereafter, leaving Braeburn and Granny Smith in confused silence and Big Macintosh practicing some deep breathing exercises. Rumble looked first to Granny Smith, currently mumbling to herself, then to Braeburn, his eyes cast upon the doorway, and then to Big Macintosh, who simply mouthed the word “run.” However, simply bailing simply wouldn’t do, not for one so well mannered, and thus Rumble cleared his throat and focused mainly on Big Macintosh for safety’s sake.
“Thank you for lunch, but may I be excused?”
“Eeyup.” Clearing his plate and ignoring whatever it was that Braeburn murmured, Rumble trotted towards the doorway before vibrations nearing him bid him turn, himself peering up to find Big Macintosh right behind him. “Yer gonna need more than just a few words t’ put poor Applebloom back together after that. Come on, ah’ll share a little secret with you that you may not know yet...”
“Storm Blitz, you have three seconds to improve my mood before I... I... do something horrible and... and bad, and... get your tail out here!” Scootaloo noted with some small amount of grim satisfaction the haste with which her brother must be moving, or attempting to move through a door, judging by the reverberations and telltale slam, and within a very short time one very confused older brother was standing trial before one very peeved sister holding out her incriminating evidence in a trembling hoof. It was frilly. She was livid. “This... is my favorite dress, Storm.”
“Uh...” Storm began, knowing that he was just a hair away from banishment or some other such consequence fitting for breaching a sister’s trust twice in a week. “Ok, first off, I had nothing to do with Pipsqueak getting his hooves on that dress. Second...”
“How did you know it was Pipsqueak then, huh?” Scootaloo shot back, slamming the dress down and contemplating how much trouble she’d be in if she were to give Storm a good solid whack to the tenders. I swear, if he tells me any lies, he’s so not gonna have fun with Dash for a week! No, a month! He’s really done it this time!
“Sis... you’re pissed.”
“No, really? What tipped you off?” Scootaloo replied, snorting and blowing a stray hair from her face. “I’m seriously gonna hurt you if you don’t have a darn good reason for giving Pipsqueak my dress. Start talking, or Rainbow Dash...”
“...is going to protect her stallion’s pride at all costs, yes,” Rainbow Dash chuckled, trotting over and standing between the two. “Rough day, huh, sport?”
“Rainbow Dash, Pipsqueak dressed up in my favorite dress and started flirting with me! It was horrible!”
“Oh, that had to be... awkward,” Dash replied, maintaining her calm and giving her attention to Scootaloo who was, fortunately for Storm, somewhat calmed by her idol’s intervention. “Ok, so aside from discovering your coltfriend has an effeminate side...”
“Not my coltfriend.”
“Future coltfriend.”
“Future maybe some year coltfriend.”
“Close enough,” Dash quipped, forestalling future arguments by drawing back to her original point. “So, why are you so mad at Storm? I’ve been here the whole day. He didn’t do anything.”
“But... then... how did Pipsqueak get this?” Scootaloo wondered aloud, staring at the dress in disbelief. “Somepony here had to give it to him. He already knows I’d kill him for stepping hoof in my room without permission, so how did he... wait a second... it’s a fake!” Scootaloo cried, tossing the article aside and racing up to her room to find her closet in pristine order and her dress right where it belonged. Dashing back downstairs, she ascertained again that, while similar, they were definitely different dresses.
“Pipsqueak did come by earlier, asking for one of your dresses,” Storm began, grateful that Scootaloo seemed to be listening. “He offered to promise me he wouldn’t kiss you for half a year in exchange for my assistance.”
“He what? But... no! That doesn’t make any sense!” Scootaloo ranted, beginning to pace as she worked it out in her head. “He must have been trying to dupe you! Yeah, the captain’s clever, right? He must have known you’d probably go for it, because there’s no way that Pipsqueak’s ever even thought of mushy stuff like that. I mean, come on! It’s Pipsqueak! Right? I’m right, right?”
“Denial.”
“Rainbow Dash! Ugh, why do I even bother...” Scootaloo sighed, sitting down and glaring at her former idol who was using Storm for support as she had herself a good bout of snickers.
“Sis, I turned him down. You’re free to kiss him.”
“Really?”
“I was afraid of that,” Storm continued, shaking his head and stabilizing his stance as Rainbow Dash lost it even more.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that! I am not excited about kissing!” Scootaloo cried, darting over and shaking one of Dash’s legs. “Cut it out! Just because I might kind of like dresses doesn’t mean I’m going to get all mushy and romantic and... ugh, that’s just gross! I am not interested in tasting another pony’s slobber, okay?!?”
“It’s not so bad...”
“Storm! That’s disgusting!”
“Ok, ok, sheesh,” Storm relented, placing an affectionate hoof around Rainbow Dash as the giggles faded. “Anyways, bottom line, we’re innocent. He must have gotten the extra dress from Rarity. If nothing else, he seems to be resourceful.”
“Oh. Huh, I never thought of that,” Scootaloo admitted with a sheepish smile. It was exactly the type of thing she could see Pipsqueak doing, though how he obtained a dress so close to hers so easily was quite beyond her, but that didn't matter, really; the damage had been done. “I guess I owe you an apology. Sorry, Storm.” Geez, is there anything the captain can’t do? He’s got to have a secret weakness! Oh ho, I’ll find it, that’s for sure.
“Scootaloo, I’m actually glad you came back.” Laying aside the plotting of her captain’s thrice untimely demise, Scootaloo could hardly contain her excitement as Storm made her day. “I’ve been forgetting over and over again to say something about it, but next weekend I’m going to be taking part in the Wonderbolt’s Derby in Canterlot. Since me and Dash are both on the team, we may be able to snag some VIP tickets for you and some of your friends. You know, if you’re interested,” he concluded with a grin, wincing as Scootaloo shouted with glee.
“Are you kidding? I’m so there! I mean, sure, you’re not quite as cool as Rainbow Dash,” she teased while rushing over and giving him a tight embrace. “But it’ll still be great to see! Tricks, spins, dives, racing? Fireworks! Oh, this is gonna be great! I gotta go tell everypony! Oh, but first I should probably return this to Rarity... But then I’ll tell everypony! Bye!” Rainbow Dash couldn’t bring herself to disrupt the moment right away, instead giving Storm and affectionate nuzzle as he let slip a small sigh of relief that he and Scootaloo were still tight.
“So, when are you planning on telling her that you were the one who suggested he try Carousel Boutique?”
“Right, like I’m just going to come out with that?” Storm replied with a sly smile, chuckling as he shut the door. “I have to admit, hearing such a plot come from Pipsqueak puts my mind at ease. Scootaloo deserves to laugh, and I can’t imagine her having a dull moment hanging out with somepony like him.”
“Aren’t you the slightest bit worried?” Rainbow Dash pressed, curious about the change she was bearing witness to. “I mean, it was only a few days ago that you were up in arms about anypony being near your sister. What changed?” Storm took a seat on the couch and beckoned her over, sliding a hoof around her shoulders and drawing her close.
“It’s not that I’m not worried, Dash. She’ll always be my little sis, but someday, she’s going to be somepony else’s special somepony. I can fight it all I want, but with the emotion she’s putting out, it shows this is really important to her. How could I say I cared if all I did was stand between her and her ambitions? No,” he continued, shaking his head, “I won’t be that kind of pony.”
“Awww, look who’s gonna outgrow his dunce cap,” Dash murmured, nodding her approval even as she looked back at Storm with hopeful eyes. “We can still mess with her, right?”
“As much as possible.”
“Oh good, you’re still Storm.”
When fleeing for one’s life or the preservation of the sanctity of innocent ears, covering one’s tracks doesn’t even make the list of things to worry about. In her haste to escape the harbinger of social destitution, Applebloom had left a trail of frantic hoof prints in the rich Sweet Apple Acres soil, and Rumble, with his critically acclaimed cure-all for filly depression tucked under a wing, followed them out the door and to the barn. He was skeptical of how foal’s stationery supplies could properly bond anything other than paper, much less the shattered remnants of one’s dignity, but Big Macintosh had assured him that at the very least, Rumble would get a half-hearted smile. It was darker inside the barn, though not enough that his eyes needed to adjust. He cantered inside looking this way and that, finding nothing at first, but finally spying the edges of a red ribbon poking out of the farthest pile of hay from the entrance. After selfishly indulging a few moments to appreciate Applebloom’s unintentional adorable quirkiness even in the midst of harrowing shame, Rumble approached quietly, cleared his throat, and made first contact.
“Hey, Applebloom?” There was a brief rustle as the filly gave a start, having been deep in agonizing thought, but nothing more. “Are you... are you ok?” Whether she could see or not, Rumble couldn’t stop an affectionate though sympathetic grin from spreading as a muffled, undramatized groan sounded from within the hay. “It’s really not that bad, Applebloom. He didn’t mean anything by it, I don’t think.”
“...not that bad?” Applebloom repeated, her lamentation made through the hooves shielding her face within the protection of dried grass. “Ah just got asked an extremely personal an’ invasive question by a distant relative in front o’ most of mah immediate family an’ somepony ah really like. It don’t get much more horrible than that.”
“Can you come out? There’s something I’d like to give you...”
“Sorry, Rumble, my cheeks are still tryin’ t’ set fire t’ the hay right now.” One red ribbon was lost from view as Applebloom burrowed deeper into the dried out stalks, confident that nothing could possibly cheer her up. The only cause for hesitation on Rumble’s part was not fear that she was hiding inside the mound with a mallet clutched to her chest, but the slightly stunning, and completely unnoticed on her part, admittance of a truth they both shared but had never named. Applebloom’s ears perked despite herself as she tried to interpret what Rumble was doing that made so many hoof beats without moving, and as the colt finished his victory romp, he calmed himself and decided it was time to resurrect a wilted blossom.
Dang it, is he climbin’ up here? Ah ain’t ready t’ face ‘im right now... Applebloom tensed as the colt neared the top, not having any idea what to expect and suffering from heavily conflicted emotions, herself torn between yanking him into the hay to have some isolated cuddle therapy or push him down the mini mountain to quite clearly indicate her wishes to be left undisturbed.
“Applebloom? I, um... I really like you, too.” Unfurling a wing, Rumble reach back and grabbed his peace offering, placing it rightside up and gently pushing it into the hay with a hoof. At first, nothing happened, but Rumble’s patience was rewarded as a timid hoof grasped the article and pulled it the rest of the way down, a few moments of silence passing before being gleefully shattered by a squee and a fountain of shimmering pink goop. As a filly entirely unrelated to the moping mass of melancholy that formerly inhabited the hay pile burst forth in a dazzling spray of glistening glop of a most cheerful color, Rumble learned yet another fun fact about Applebloom: pink glitter glue seemed to be the key to unlocking the gates of madness.
“Rumble, you... you brought me glitter glue?!? You’re the best!” Applebloom cried, tossing the bottle into the air, tackling the colt down to the bottom and giving him a quick squeeze before deftly catching the bottle of glue as it fell. From his inverted position laying flat on his back, Rumble watched with fascination as Applebloom raced and leapt, coating the ground, the walls, somehow the ceiling and even herself with burst upon spray of her favorite substance in the whole of Equestria. Her sacred ritual of “Splatter Spaz” was melodiously interrupted by the sweet sound of laughter, giving the filly cause to pause as she berated herself for such improper conduct. Rumble deserved a reward.
What can ah possibly give the best colt t’ ever look mah way? He’s put up with me bein’ a right rain cloud and ain’t so much as yelled, or spoken harshly, or... or anythin’! He deserves somethin’ a little extra special. Temperance returned to find its usual place within Applebloom’s mind very much like it had been the scene of an old saloon bar fight, and stepping over the splinters of sanity’s table and nimbly dodging fragments of reason, Applebloom pranced over and slowed to a stop, a tiny globule dripping down the end of her nose and landing with a plop on Rumble’s cheek. Applebloom’s breath caught in her chest as she beheld the colt, framed by the shafts of light that made the rosen droplet glisten like the finest of diamonds, herself overwhelmed by the pinnacle of perfection laid out before her eyes. Temperance was blindsided by passion and laid out cold, her plans setting like the glue clinging to her coat.
A kiss? Shoot, that ain’t near special enough t’ show him how happy ah am! Luckily, ah got somethin’ even better! Expected or not, Rumble still squealed like a filly as he was mercilessly doused with gooey goodness, and running only fueled Applebloom’s fervor as the dashed hither and yon, young hearts aflutter on a romantic river cruise in a stream of glue. The bottle neared its end, and with temperance still poleaxed on the floor and passion carousing nearby, Applebloom tossed the bottle aside and leapt upon Rumble, the pair tumbling into a pile of hay where they collapsed breathless in a heap of laughter and heightened spirits.
Well, ah’ll be... Unknown to the pair, Applejack had witnessed most of the bizarre ritual from the doorway, though what came to her weren’t words of warning born of anxiety, but a grin of calm acceptance of what she was seeing as one gooey, silver hoof slowly reached out and took hold of her sister’s. You can be at ease, Rumble. You’ve passed the test as far as ah’m concerned. Applejack watched for a bit longer before interrupting the two, smiling as they both bashfully withdrew their hooves. “Feelin’ better, Bloom?”
“Uh huh!” Applebloom quipped, shooting Rumble a borderline amorous glance before turning back to Applejack. “Ah don’t really wanna go back inside, though.”
“Ah can’t say ah blame ya much,” she chuckled, sitting down before Applebloom and giving her yet again cause to smile. “You’ve both been as well behaved as anypony could hope for. Yer young, it’s the weekend, an’ while there are plenty o’ chores ah’m sure ah could rustle up, ah think you both deserve a little break from Braeburn. So, why don’t you both go out an’ enjoy yer day. Have fun with yer friends, raise a ruckus, whatever it is you feel like. Just be back by sundown fer supper, alright?”
“You’re the best, sis!” an ecstatic filly yelped, giving Applejack a hug before turning back to Rumble. “There’s a hose just ‘round the corner as ya leave the barn you can use t’ get cleaned up, Rumble. Ah’m gonna shower quick, then let’s get outta here! Ah dunno what we’re gonna do, though...”
“Hey, I know! Since you like tools so much, I could show you my parent’s workshop! They have tons of cool stuff I don’t even know the name of, and...”
“Enough talk. You had me at ‘tools!’” Applebloom laughed, covering his mouth before tearing out the door. It wasn’t long before they were clean and together once more, trotting towards town and away from the farm, hopeful that a little distance from trees, apples, and vest-wearing relatives would give them a fighting chance at having some good, clean fun.
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Blocking any firsts. Enjoy the new chapter.
How old are the Mane 6, their husbands/fiancé, and the CMC by the time of Whisper's and Fluttershy's engagement?
Reading this all I can think of when I read Breaburn's lines is Gomer Pyle.
There is not a mean bone in there, neither is there a clue. Just that wide eyed innocence.
Write faster, this is a riot.
So many amazing things! Transvestite Pipsqueak, socially awkward Breaburn, shit sturer Storm.
So much joy all round.
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CMC Are 11 going onto 12 soon, Applejack said in Starry Skies she is 23 so she is likely either the same or at 24 now. Jade/Whisper is 21 last I checked. Storm is around 22-23 by now by my best guess. Dash was 18 in Risks so she is around 20-21 now. You will likely have to defer to Cerulean for the rest.
I'm impressed. Breaburn managed to derail everything within minutes of meeting Rumble, and he hasn't even seen Thunderlane, Cloudchaser, and Flitter yet. Dinner is going to be one hell of a ride
. Also, Rumble and Applebloom contain potentially lethal levels of adorable, especially when glitter glue is applied.
Woo!
I don't first. I did once, but that is all I do.
But... Because this isn't banned...
7th!!
I always pictured Rumble's parents as huge nerds. They only named Thunderlane, Thunderlane because everyone told the young couple that naming a foal after Thunder-cracker of the deceipticons was stupid and they named Rumble after one of Soundwave's minicons. I even wrote a fic about it (How Rumble Got His Name)
Sweet Celestia, Braeburn...
Woot new chapter!~
Braeburn. I love you, but... Y U SO IGNORANT
I died...twice.
Can I hire The Interdimensional Guitarist to beat some sense into Braeburn with a solid-body Dean?
Once again I have been highly entertained by this story. Loving it as always.
Pipsqueak is best colt.
There are no words...
Can't wait for the Apple family dinner with Rumble, Thunderlane, Cloudchaser, and Flitter.
Many lols were had. Well done again.
I was already a rather big fan of Braeburn prior to reading this, but now I freaking love and adore him! Blissfully unaware and Socially awkward Braeburn is best Braeburn!
I swear, you guys were watching my progress until I had finished catching up on all the other fics before posting this. The timing is really close to when I finished Fluttershy/Whisper's story.
That said, this chapter was hilarious and awesome! I'm really liking Applebloom and Rumble. Can't wait for supper with the Apple Family (Silver Moonshine and Crimson Glitter included), Thunderlane, Cloudchaser, and Flitter.
Silent Gale (who still sounds like Brynjolf) and Cloudburn, hurry up and buy your soon-to-be-adopted-son some boots! Captain Pipsqueak needs to swagger without fear of being mocked for his lack of haughty hoofwear! He's got a surefire-potential fillyfriend to impress!
May the Grace of the Valar Protect You
Shire Folk
lol at Braeburn. xD
And as always, lots of lulz!
Eagerly awaiting the next chapter~~~
Can someone break Braeburn's nose? Pleeeeeeeease?
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I normally pick a random Pirates of the Carribean character for him.
I think it is agreed. Pipsqueak is best colt. Especially because he reminds me of Klinger with how he so skillfully wears dresses. Klinger (and apparently Pip), you silly dress-wearer(s), you.
Braeburn's face when he asked that question:
images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120630033918/mlp/images/3/3d/Braeburn_grinning_S01E21.png
Big Mac's reaction:
images.wikia.com/creepypasta/images/5/56/Disgusted-oh-god-why-text.png
VIP Wonderbolts tickets? Storm is best big brother so far. But still, Scoots is going to kill Storm when
she gets to Carousel Boutique, isn't she? Surprised Dash isn't a bit peeved off that she's not taking
part in the Wonderbolts Derby, but then again, she is pregnant! And Pipsqueak?
i.chzbgr.com/completestore/12/9/27/tTAt5DnsJ0q9OaKD0ub69w2.jpg
Good to see Rumble has passed AJ's test at last, and still can't wait to see her meet Thunderlane
and co.
Sweetie Belle is obviously taking after Rarity when there's something she wants!!! And it's good to see
Spike has got a brain after all!!
24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8tu3kQTEZ1rst7wqo2_500.png
1351933 Just plain Vodka, comrade? Nyet, it must be these, which Silver should make (hint, hint!!!):
s1.postimage.org/d0xf22vtb/drinks.jpg
i.qkme.me/35lej4.jpg
Before you ask, no I'm not Russian!!! This is more me:
4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFx_rXLmlU8/TalczxKw_bI/AAAAAAAADec/uJETmsVij7U/s1600/jolly_good_show_old_derp_by_johnjoseco-d3e0pv5.jpg
Credit to John Joscoe (His art is amazing!) In fact:
deviantart.com/download/252865970/i__m_so_british_by_nabbiekitty-d46jsmq.png
I really need to stop spamming my comments with pictures, somepony help me please!!!!!
There's a line you don't cross when talking to ponies especially mares and. breburn just took that line and made it his BITCH anyway great chapter keep up the good work
1367443 Aye, I be hiding in all the fics, snatchin' your comment space up dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Discord.png
This will be my first time commenting on this story,
I actually started around the Whisper story and then I decided to read the other stories and all of a sudden I was hooked
kinda reminds me of the episode with Dash not wanting to read then then ends up reading and liking it.
images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120715144761/mlp/images/3/36/Braeburn_S1E21_thumb.png \
actioncoachspokane.com/core/files//uploads/images/equal%20sign.png
t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcROh3SpBCo1lV5DG3w3XZzBqnXcAmWy79GWgXmOhm6kfzI93MxsDw
1536484 Well said in a numerous amount of ways!
1347044 Comparing Brynjolf and silent gale, hmm... weighing the facts they have more in common than not! (The reasons they are not: mostly cause of the horse-nord thing!)
Also, I really want to show this to someone out of context to see the faces i get for some reason.
1347297 Here, have a free nose-and-everything-else breaker. img217.imageshack.us/img217/1278/shogunexecutioner3ks2.jpg
Or maybe Braeburn should just be bitch slapped...
Have you hit estrus yet? Holy shit! Please pair him with Rarity the lulz will be endless!
Why do I feel my BraeburnxPinkiePie sense going off?
Pipsqueak makes everything better