The Starlight & Pals Magical Half Hour

by Cold in Gardez

S5E3: Thanksgiving Reprise

Applejack hefted the basket onto the cart with a grunt. The squash inside – not apples, for the Apple clan was diverse in their habits and grew many things on their land – bounced with hollow thumps that rattled the hitch and traces, windchimes to their drums. She spent a moment panting, staring at the half-filled cart, calculating how much more of the morning it would take to load it with produce. Harvest season was the best time of year, but also the busiest, and hardest, and hurting-est, and every other tired adjective she never bothered to use because she was an Apple, and Apples never felt any of those things. Or, at least, they never let on that they did.

Rarity would have called it their ‘brand.’ And she wouldn’t have been wrong.

Applejack let herself dilly dally for another few breaths, fogging the crisp autumn air like a dragon, until her heart returned to its nice, slow measure, and then she turned to deal with the changeling.

“Okay, now you can talk,” she said.

“Oh, merciful pony!” the little bug wailed. It fell to its knees and grasped at her fetlocks with its sharp obsidian hooves. “My starving sisters and I were wandering, lost and abandoned, through the fearsome woods over yon, when we felt a well of bounteous love pouring out from this noble farm. We stumbled toward it, desperate for nourishment but knowing how fearful ponies are of our kind, and so my starving sisters – did I mention we were starving? So very, very starving – sent me here to beg for your indulgence—”

“And stop.” Applejack gently pried the changeling’s hooves off her legs and walked around the wagon to strap herself in. The changeling hovered along beside her as she pulled the harvest load toward the barn.

“Are you reading a script?” she said. “Because ponies don’t talk like that. Except maybe those fancy ponies Rarity hangs out with, but you ain’t never gonna see one of them in a field like this.”

“What? No. Script?” The changeling rubbed her front legs together, producing a sound like a cricket’s chirp. “We, uh, we came to beg your indulgence, and, um, ask for for a mere scrap of love to satiate—”

“See? That’s not even a real word. How do you expect a pony to trust you when you’re lyin’ like that?”

“What? Satiate?” The changeling’s wings flapped unevenly, and she bobbled in the air before finally dropping down into the dirt. She tromped around the front of the wagon and scowled up at Applejack. “It is so a real word! It means to be satisfied or full!”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Applejack brushed the changeling aside and pressed on toward the barn. For a moment she thought it might have left, but then the loud buzz of stained-glass wings returned, and the wagon’s springs let out a little sigh. She turned to see the changeling perched on the boxboard, glaring down at her as best it could with lidless eyes.

“Are you going to let me finish?” the changeling asked.

Applejack tried to shrug. She couldn’t really, with the yoke around her shoulders, but if changelings could taste emotions it could probably sense her indifference. “Go for it.”

“Great. Thank you.” The changeling cleared her throat. “So, as I was saying, we were very hungry and starving and we found your farm and we were wondering if maybe we could have a little bit of that sweet sweet love you’ve got for your family, you know, just to tide us over? There. Were those words small enough for you?”

“S’better.” Applejack let herself smile. The wagon was back on the path, out of the field, and the pulling was easier now. She could make it back to the barn without breaking a sweat. They rode together in silence for the rest of the way, until they pulled into the barn and Applejack undid all the hitchings and lowered the tailgate. She was about to grab the first basket when the changeling spoke.

“Okay, that was, uh, a little harsh of me,” she said. She hopped down into the wagon and pushed at the basket of squash with all her little bug might, helping scoot it toward the wagon’s rear. “I didn’t mean to insult you, but I worked really hard on that script, and my sisters really are hungry. That’s all true!”

“Right. One sec.” Applejack pulled the basket onto her back and trotted over to the big bin by the back door, where they were storing all the pumpkins and acorn and kobacha squash the farm had yielded in time for winter. She emptied the basket into the pile, set it down, and trotted out the barn, down the path to the farmhouse, up the patio and into the kitchen. The little changeling followed the whole way, her eyes darting to and fro with nervous energy.

Applejack stopped at the wall by the wide picture window. Beside it hung a calendar, open to the month of November, with the grid of weeks below and a full-page, glossy image of a muscular creme stallion with an ochre mane reclining provocatively on a bed of pillows above. She pointed her hoof at one of the latter Thursdays. “Okay, so, Thanksgiving is in just a few weeks, and—”

“Why do you have a pin-up calendar of hunky stallions hanging in your kitchen?”

“Never you mind that. Now, Thanksgiving is in just a few weeks, right? All the family get together, lots of cryin’ and hugs and stuff. So much love in the air you can cut it with a knife. And you know what happened two years ago at literally this exact same date?”

“Uh, no. No.” The changeling tried to laugh, but it came out forced. “Why… why would I know that?”

“Because exactly two years ago I was out in my field, loading up the harvest, when a little changeling much like yourself showed up, and she gave me a sob story much like yours about how she and her sisters were starving and they just needed a little bit of love to tide them over and surely we had enough to spare. And you know what happened next?”

“I mean, uh, I couldn’t possibly guess.” The changeling peered back at the door leading out into the yard. “But you’re so kind, friendly… merciful! So merciful, I assume you helped them like they asked?”

“A-yup. We did. And you know how it went?”

“A good Thanksgiving was had by all?”

“Sort of. A horde of changelings showed up, spat up that icky goo all over us, used it to seal us into pods, and shoved us all down the cellar. We were down there for weeks before my friends got us out.”

“That’s terrible.” The changeling managed to sound somber and grave. “But you can be assured that my sisters and I would never do such a thing to gracious ponies willing to share with us—”

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” Applejack said. “Because exactly one year ago I was out in the field, loading up my harvest, when another changeling much like yourself showed up, and she gave us that same sad story, and I told her ‘Nope, not gonna fall for it again, not after last year,’ and then she said what you just said about how terrible that was and how she would never do such a thing, and I figured ‘Well, this changeling seems sincere!’ So I said I’d help her too, and could you possibly guess what happened next?”

Silence. The little bug squirmed and stared down at her hooves. Finally: “Did they—”

“Yup. Goo all over. And two more weeks in the cellar.”

“Right. So, I know how this looks,” the changeling said. “You’ve had some bad previous experiences helping ponies, and you don’t want to get hurt again. It’s normal to be reluctant to offer a hoof to those in need when you’ve been burned before. But let me tell you, the true measure of a pony’s heart, of her essential goodness, isn’t in the charity she shows when times are good and giving is easy. Rather, their true virtue is revealed only when circumstances are tough, and the gift is not an indulgence but rather an act of sacrifice. Imagine, Applejack, if we lived in a world where all ponies were as open with their homes and their hearts as your family, what a wonderful world that would be! And that world is within our grasp; it only waits for us to take that small step of faith, and extend our trust even to those who have wronged us before.”

“Well, that sounds nice and all,” Applejack said. She trotted over to the counter, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a letter. “Reminds me of something my friend Twilight Sparkle wrote me after last year’s Thanksgiving. She said very much the same things.”

“This Twilight Sparkle sounds like a very wise and noble friend,” the changeling agreed.

“Let me read some of it for you.” Applejack opened the letter. “Dear Applejack, hope you are well, blah blah blah… Okay, here we are. Applejack, this is two years in a row now that your whole family has been tricked by changelings and stuffed into pods in your cellar. And I want you to know that next year they’re going to try the exact same thing, because they’ve somehow concluded that you’re a bunch of gullible rubes. They’ll probably give you a speech about charity and how the true virtue of a pony is only revealed when circumstances are tough, and ask you to trust them one more time. Please do not do this because I do not want to have to pry you out of a changeling pod again. Your friend forever, Twilight Sparkle.”

“This Twilight Sparkle sounds like a very cynical and mean-spirited pony,” the changeling said. “I hope we can prove how wrong her understanding of ponykind is by—”

“Nope.” Applejack put her hoof down. “Not this time. Not three years in a row. I know you think we’re just a buncha country bumpkins who’ll believe any sob story and make an easy meal for you city slicker changelings, but we ain’t! The Apple Family is a proud, smart, savvy line of businessponies, and we are not gonna fall for your tricks again! So you just take your lies and fly back to your hive before ah git mah wallopin’ stick out and—”

What exactly Applejack intended to do with her walloping stick the changeling never learned, for at that moment the kitchen door burst open, and in charged Big Macintosh. He panted for breath, but an enormous grin stretched out across his face. Applejack and the changeling gawked at him in stunned silence.

“Applejack, look!” he cried. He turned to reveal a jet black changeling perched on his back, her little hooves wound through his cornsilk mane, hanging on for dear life. “Ah found a new friend! She and all her hungry friends are gonna join us for Thanksgiving dinner!”

“No, Big Mac!” Applejack cried. “It’s just like last year! And the year before! They’re gonna stick us in pods in the cellar and—”

Another crash announced the arrival of Apple Bloom. She caroomed into the kitchen, bouncing off the door frame with a heavy thud that shook the house. She held in her grasp a squirming, obsidian shape that buzzed with a sound like panic.

“Sis, look!” Apple Bloom shouted. “Ah found a new friend and she’s gonna join us for Thanksgiving this year and also a bunch of her friends is that okay because I already told them it was okay great thanks!”

“Apple Bloom, no!” Applejack tried without success to pry the changeling out of her little sister’s grasp. “It’s just like last year! How am I the smart one all of a sudden?!”

A creaking, age-rusted voice answered, the family matriarch speaking at last. “Well ah’ll be, it’s a Thanksgiving Miracle!” Granny Smith announced. She stepped down the stairs, a tiny changeling lending her its glossy shoulder for support.

“To the barn, everypony!” Granny Smith said. “Let’s start settin’ up for the best Thanksgiving ever, with our new friends!” She teetered out the door, assisted by her changeling. Apple Bloom and Big Macintosh followed.

Silence, again. Applejack stared out the door. The little changeling spun around in confusion and finally settled down, looking up at Applejack.

Applejack sighed. “I’m gonna go wait in the cellar.”

Comments

[Georg]

Some things in life are inevitable.

[Anar Isil]

Applejack sighed. “I’m gonna go wait in the cellar.”

"And I'm certainly not going to be sending a high-priority letter to Twilight, no sirree!"

[B_Munro]

Bunch of bespectacled MIT students, atop a balcony somewhere: "RUUUBES!"

[B_Munro]

10537197

Well, as they say, fool me twice, shame on me.

Third time? Applejack is probably too embarrassed to send a letter.

[Reese]

Heh. I already read it as a blog post, but nice to see it here too. :)

...I do wonder how next year will go... :D

[WanderingPony]

Well, it's that time of the year for canning podding Apples and putting them in the cellar. Natural cycle of the seasoning seasons and all.

[FanOfMostEverything]

My part of the family has hosted Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember. And back in the day, I was in charge of entertaining all the young cousins in the basement. Due to Covid, this will be the first year in decades where ravenous swarms don't descend on my house, so this story actually hits me oddly in a way I hadn't considered on the first read.

[howard035]

10540181
Sounds like this chapter needs a sequel where one year the changlings don't show up anymore, and the Apples realize they miss quality bonding time in the cellar.

[Eroraf86]

10709178
Wow, thanks. Really feeling the love here. The only thing here that "sucks fat chodes" is your toxic attitude.

[Eroraf86]

10710441
Maybe I didn't explain it clearly enough. I have nothing whatsoever against LGBT+ of any kind. I was raised a fairly conservative Catholic, but just because the Church doesn't condone a trans lifestyle, that doesn't give me or anyone the right to be a bigoted jerk. I can personally disapprove of a person's life choices and still love and respect them; the two are not mutually exclusive.

And again, I will reiterate, your attitude and word choice are unnecessarily toxic. If you want to call me out on some issue, feel free, but don't immediately start throwing insults and slurs. I'm perfectly willing and eager to have a civil discussion, even reevaluate my preconceptions and long-held beliefs if the evidence calls for it, but I do not take "your beliefs suck fat chodes" lightly.