Slice of Strife

by helmet of salvation

2. Help me fix this mess

Searing light and remorseless heat flooded from the great yellow orb as it made its steady journey across the immaculate blue dome. Not far above the horizon, it scanned the landscape like an eye, glaring, taunting. You think this is tough? I'm just getting warmed up. Get it?

Still, there was no sense complaining about the weather.

She had specifically requested it, after all.

Grunting through her clenched teeth, Applejack arched her neck back to ease her aching muscles, then drew her foreleg across her poll to wipe away the glaze of sweat and dust. After a sufficient stretch, she let out a hearty snort and bent down to clasp her teeth around the handle of her pickaxe.

Squinting her eyes against stray grit, the orange-coated earth pony hacked at the barren, rocky ground, her plaited blonde mane whipping from side to side as she swung her powerful neck. Seeing only more rock beneath, she persisted in her methodical action, falling into a rhythm. Applejack always found rhythms helped her work. She could keep her pace and power consistent, maintaining her effort without tiring or losing focus. Sometimes she even caught herself humming to her beat, giving herself even more motivation.

Finally her diligence was rewarded. A flash of yellow-orange heralded the presence of amber. She chiseled at the surrounding rock, trading power for precision, until she had fully uncovered the glittering stones. She released the pickaxe from her mouth and, with practised movement, tossed the amber specimens into the wagon behind her.

Applejack scanned the sky, taking care to keep the broad brim of her Stetson hat in front of the sun until the first glint appeared. That time already? She glanced at the assortment of gemstones in her wagon. Not her best haul but it would have to do. She hitched the wagon to herself and set off. Her arsenal of tools jostled against her flanks as she trotted towards Ponyville, trying to keep her spirits out of the dirt.

It wasn't the early starts or arduous labour she minded. It was what she had to show for it.

* * *

Her caregiver, Granny Smith, had cautioned the brash young foal to be patient. Yet as the last in her school class still without her cutie mark, Applejack could barely contain her curiosity. Any time she had a break from her chores at Sweet Apple Acres, she would investigate new and exciting activities that might lead to her discovering her destiny.

One such experiment was in the field of prospecting. She read up as best she could on the subject, then set off one afternoon to the outskirts of town, where she explored and dug while her imposing older brother kept watch for would-be thieves. She came away with her hindquarters still unadorned but a decent if unspectacular haul of jewels. She was proud enough of her day's work that that she kept her booty in a special box in her bedroom.

There it stayed until one fateful day when she offered to help her grandmother prepare outfits for a barn dance with some of their extended family. The frocks were sturdy, and fluid enough to allow even the most rambunctious fillies to kick up their hooves. Yet their colours were a little homely, in need of a special touch. With a flash of inspiration, Applejack raided her jewel box and attached the gems to the frocks, patterning them by size, shape and colour.

The frocks were a hit. The visiting fillies adored them and the grown-ups spoke admiringly of them; pretty but not gaudy was the general view. One well-to-do mare from a rather large property even gave the jewel decorations a fancy name: appliqués. Applejack was tickled to learn she had employed a proper fashion technique without even realising it. More importantly, she had used the fruits of her labours to make the family event special. With this realisation came, on each side of her hindquarters, an emblem of three blue diamonds, signalling her destiny at last.

Well, fancying up frocks for a barn dance was one thing but the customer base of Ponyville demanded a little more sophistication for those occasions that called for formal dress. They were also considerably less forgiving than Applejack's kinfolk of any drab designs or shoddy craftsponyship. Going to the trouble and expense of having an outfit made so that they would look their best, they were entitled to a certain professional standard.

And Applejack found to her mounting frustration that her own imagination and flair for design were not up to that standard. Furthermore her forehooves, broadened and cracked from her formative years of farm chores and rough-and-tumble outdoor play, lacked the delicate touch that a seamstress needed. There were times when she wondered whether she was truly cut out for the fashion business at all.

Still, there was no arguing with destiny. So she persisted, offering bargain-basement prices and extra services for her dwindling customer base to try and dissuade them from venturing farther afield—Manehattan, Canterlot, Marelan—for their couture.

One such service was free delivery. So it was that she trotted off from Carousel Boutique, towing a clothing rack holding a dozen filly-sized party frocks. Each outfit sat in an envelope of transparent sheeting. This covering protected the dresses from particles wafting up from Ponyville's dirt roads.

Finishing the outfits had taken longer than Applejack had expected—just as she had expected—yet she dared not rush in case the wobbling castors hit a snag on the uneven roads and toppled the rack over, slowing her down even more. Instead, she concentrated on keeping a brisk yet steady pace.

So intently did she focus on her gait that she failed to register the shadow looming overhead.

"LOOK OUT!"

Applejack's blood froze. She knew that cry. All of Ponyville knew it. She didn't bother looking up to see what kind of element—sleet, hail, lightning—was about to descend on her. She tensed her powerful limbs and bounded off.

Alas, her clothing rack was not designed for such sudden, rapid movements. It rocked, tipped and lurched, a capsize imminent. Applejack slowed, tried to reposition herself to steady her load...

The few droplets of mud that splashed up from the drenched path did no harm, spattering against the frocks' plastic coverings. Yet the flimsy sheets, open at the top to allow for the hangers, were not enough to protect their contents from the mass of rainwater that dropped from the cloud in a single, sudden deluge.

Applejack might have screamed, had another pony not beaten her to it. The same prim, ladylike voice that had alerted her to the oncoming downpour was now unleashing a howl of anguished self-reproach. The cry drew nearer as a white-coated unicorn pony mare, with purple mane and tail styled into helixes, galloped towards her.

A cloud of telekinetic energy enveloped the frocks one by one, lifting them closer to the whimpering unicorn's muzzle so she could inspect the damage. Applejack watched in wonder. Rarity's efforts at controlling Ponyville's weather caused setbacks for everypony, yet she usually just got a little flustered. For some reason, spoiling clothes made the unicorn particularly upset.

"Ohh, how simply dreadful. Your poor frocks." If she were honest with herself, Rarity believed the dresses would have looked rather poor in any case, but she could hardly let one of her few friends know that, especially not at a time like this. Besides, what did a bungling weather pony like her know about fashion?

Applejack slumped. She was done. She couldn't even summon the energy to get mad. "Rarity, yew promised me clear skies this mornin'."

"I know, I know!" Rarity winced, her voice wracked with regret and frustration. "But Pinkie Pie desperately needs some rain at Sweet Apple Acres——"

"Oh, no." Applejack's troubles flicked from her mind in an instant. It had been several years since she left her fillyhood home, yet she still felt attached to it. The thought of the family farm being at risk alarmed her.

"And this was the only suitable cloud for miles around and-and technically it is afternoon."

"Afternoon?" Applejack squinted up at the sun. "Heavens to Betsy, ah'm later than ah thought."

"Late?" Rarity snapped out of her funk. "Then why are we standing around nattering? We need to fix this at once."

"It's no use, Rarity. They'll never dry out in time."

"Uh-uh-uh." Rarity held up her dainty forehoof. "None of that. Your clients are counting on you. We mustn't let them down." She thought for a second. "Does this fabric dry in sunlight or shade?"

"Uhhh..."

"We'll use shade to be on the safe side." Rarity cast her eye around until spotting a broad, densely foliaged tree with a long, thin yet strong-looking branch jutting out horizontally. "Aha." She generated another telekinetic field, this one enveloping all twelve frocks as a whole. She lifted the frocks off the metallic horizontal bar of the rack and adjusted her magic to strip them of their coverings. The unicorn draped the sheets over the top of the rack, then trotted towards the tree, bearing the frocks mid-air in front of herself. She guided the frocks to the long horizontal branch and hung them on it, positioned herself with the deliberate care and focus of a dressage horse, and closed her eyes.

"Rarity, ah ain't got all day."

"Hush, darling. I need to concentrate." Vast surges of energy flowed from her spiral horn, spreading and pressing against the mass of air above her. Air was even more difficult than condensing vapour to control by magic, its billions of teeming molecules widespread and disordered. Yet she sensed the pressure and countered it with her own ephemeral power. As she pushed, more air rushed in to fill the void left by the displaced molecules. This led to a hot, dry wind gusting from the southeast.

The localised, concentrated wind billowed the hanging frocks, which thankfully were dampened rather than wringing wet. Steadily, the patches of water soaking the fabric warmed, and evaporated. In a matter of minutes they would be dry enough to wear.

Unfortunately, that was not soon enough for the townsponies. Rarity could not prevent the wind from blowing clouds of dust from the surface of the town's roads. Shielding their eyes and spluttering dust, several of Ponyville's residents converged on her to register their displeasure, none too gently.

"Dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, mares and gentlestallions," said Rarity, her eyes still closed. "I'm afraid we have something of a wardrobe emergency."

A plummy-voiced unicorn mare spoke up. "With Applejack's outfits? What else is new?" A chorus of derisive laughter rippled through the crowd as Applejack averted her eyes from them.

"Those frocks don't need wind, sweetie, they need fire," added a sassy young pegasus, to more chuckles.

Rarity's rising tension, coupled with her concentration on the wind spell, hardened her voice to a near-growl. "This matter is not Applejack's fault. Kindly leave her alone."

"Oh, we'll leave her alone all right," sneered a light pink-coated earth pony filly sporting a diamond-studded tiara. "Her and her tacky boutique." The laughter had mostly subsided, replaced with annoyed murmurs of assent.

"Rest assured I shall end this squall as soon as I feasibly can. Thank you all so much for your patience." Realised there would be no arguing with her the townsponies dispersed, mocking and grumbling.

Rarity opened one eye to her mortified friend. "Pay no attention to them, Applejack."

"They're potential customers, Rarity. Ah kinda have to pay attention to 'em."

"You're an artist, darling. You cannot expect your creative vision to please everypony every time."

"Shur would be nice to please somepony sometime, though."

Rarity was heartsick at the thought of her friend feeling so undervalued, especially in terms of fulfilling her destiny. There had to be some way to lift Applejack's spirits. Some way that didn't involve flattering her horrid outfits.

Yet for now the unicorn had to focus on the task at hoof. Just a few more minutes of unbroken concentration——

"RARITY!"

The unicorn shrieked, almost jumping out of her hide as her spell broke. Trembling, she turned to see a pink earth pony who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The newcomer's mane and tail, a darker shade of pink, hung straight down. Her breathing was heavy, her teeth bared, her expression irate.

"How much longer is this goshfalutin' gale gonna last?" Her voice was high-pitched, her accent a fair approximation of Applejack's twang. "Yer blowin' away mah frostin' soil."

"Your ... frosty soil? But I didn't make any frost this morning."

"No-o, mah frostING soil. Yew know, like the frostin' on a cake. That's what ah call the layer of soil that lies on top o' the land."

"On top? Y-yew mean yer topsoil?" Applejack grew pale and started pawing the ground. She didn't quite know why, but that sounded bad. "Forget the frocks, Rarity. We cain't mess up Pinkie Pie's topsoil."

"No need to panic." Rarity was already repositioning herself. "I wasn't expecting my breeze to be that strong, but a sliight realignment aaaand ... voilà! Crisis averted." She began regenerating her magic.

"That's more like it." Pinkie Pie turned to leave. "An' will ya hurry it up with that raincloud?"

Rarity failed to suppress her guilty start. "Ah."

Pinkie spun back to face the unicorn. "'Ah'?"

"Uhh," said Applejack.

"Huh?" Pinkie traced her eyes from Applejack's pointed forehoof to the mud puddle in the middle of the road, where Rarity had lost control of her nimbostratus.

The pink pony threw back her head in frustration. "AAAAAAGH!"

"Ahh——" Rarity tried to find the words to explain.

"Ugh!" Pinkie stomped off towards Sweet Apple Acres. After a few steps she paused as if in thought, then scurried backwards until she was standing alongside Rarity. "Are we still on for Sugar Shire tonight?"

"Oh." Rarity was taken aback by Pinkie's sudden change in both mood and subject. "Um, yes, absolutely, I-I wouldn't miss it."

Squealing with glee in anticipation of her favourite confectionery-themed board game, Pinkie Pie launched herself vertically into the air and set off again, pronking gaily. As her thoughts returned to her looming farm chores, her bouncy gait eased to a trot, to a walk, to a trudge.

Applejack watched Pinkie's departure for a few seconds, then turned with a sigh back to Rarity. She took a moment to choose her words. "Rarity, ah 'preciate yew tryna fix this but yer makin' too much trouble for other ponies. Maybe y'oughta call it quits."

Rarity hesitated. She detested leaving tasks unfinished; that the task in question was to fix her own mistake only made matters worse. Yet Applejack had a point. As Ponyville's weather steward, she had to consider the needs of the town as a whole, not just her friends.

Easing her wind speed, she walked over to the row of frocks, adjusted her magic to draw one of them closer to her, and lightly stroked the outfit near the withers with her pastern, taking care to keep the dirt and grass coating her hooves away from the fabric.

A smile broke out on the unicorn's muzzle. "Splendid. They're almost dry already. Just one more minute and they should be right as rain."

A strangled whinny of alarm emerged from Applejack.

"Sorry, darling. Poor choice of birds."

"Don'tcha mean, choice o' words?"

"Is that not what I said?"

"Nope, choice of——"

The two ponies exchanged a gape of consternation, then lifted their heads to the source of the melodious chorus that they had just noticed filling the air.

"BIRDS!"

Several of the birds scattered at Rarity's scream but dozens more remained on their perches, some directly above Applejack's frocks.

"Oh, no. Not above the dresses." Rarity guide the drying dresses back to Applejack's clothing rack and set about redirecting her stiff breeze towards the unwelcome visitors. She needed to push the surrounding gases even higher and harder, so that the inrushing air would blast through the treetops rather than below the spreading foliage. Sweat broke out on her poll as she intensified the speed and power of her magical output, aware that time was getting away from her.

Soon, the wind assailed the branches with enough force to drive the birds, twittering and squawking in protest, from their perches. Rarity ceased her spell, took a moment to regather her strength, then lifted the frocks from the rack and turned back to see that the birds had returned to the now becalmed tree.

With a groan of frustration and fatigue, Rarity replaced the frocks on their trolley. Unable to fly, she began leaping about the base of the tree trunk, flailing her forehooves in a shooing motion and yelping at the birds to begone. She was utterly ineffectual.

Applejack grimaced. It pained her to see her courtly friend lose her dignity like this. Also, her delivery was getting later and later. If only there were some way she could dislodge a large number of objects from a tree in one motion...

"Ohh, where is Rainbow Dash when we need her?"

Rainbow Dash. Of course. "Ah'll git her." Applejack galloped off at a remarkable speed towards Rainbow's cottage.

The cottage Rainbow had left for Sweet Apple Acres minutes ago.