• Published 26th Jan 2020
  • 822 Views, 52 Comments

The Apples On The Hill - redandready45

Arlen's top propane salesman ends up in Equestria. He does not approve.

  • ...

This Farm Ain't Right

"Howdy Hank," Applejack said to Hank as the human-turned stallion approached the road that lead to Sweet Apple Acres.

"Howdy Applejack," Hank said.

"So what did Twilight say?" Applejack asjked.

"Well, she said it might take a week or so before I could hear back from my son," Hank said uneasily.

"Well don't worry Hank," Applejack said with a small smile, "you're here to stay as long as you need." The honesty and the kindness in the orange mare's eyes moved Hank. He often wondered what ever became of such hospitality back in Texas.

"It vanished when the Californians invaded," Hank thought to himself.

"How can I ever thank you?" Hank said.

"Well if you want, you can help out around the farm," Applejack said. "We wouldn't mind having a few extra hooves at Sweet Apple Acres."

"Applejack one of the great passions of my life is my lawn," Hank said in a dreamy voice. "To help a farmer would be my greatest dream." Applejack gave him a grateful smile.

"Well, let's go," Applejack said.

"So what do you think of Ponyville?" Applejack asked Hank as they trotted to the farm.

"Well, it's...different," Hank said, still trying to make heads or tails of this magic world.

"Ah see, you think the ponies in this town are crazy," Applejack said, her eyes full of intuition, "and you're trying to be nice about it."

"Oh please," Hank said with the wave of his hoof, "a per-er-pony with my kind of friends has no right to call others...crazy. One of my friends, Dale, believes that his own son was the spawn of an alien."

"Really?" Applejack said with a small chuckle. "That's ridiculous." It was ridiculous, but then Hank realized he was technically on an alien world.

"Wait, does that make Dale...right?" Hank thought to himself. He shuddered internally over the idea that Dale's gobbledygook could make sense.

Applejack looked ahead and saw her farm.

"Anyways Hank, welcome to Sweet Apple Acres," she said, gesturing with her foreleg to the farm. Hank marveled at the sight. It seemed like the ideal of a farm: a beautiful red barn, a rustic but well-kept farmhouse, a chicken coop, and acres and acres of succulent apples growing.

"Granny, Apple Bloom, Big Mac," Applejack yelled. "We've got company!" Three ponies trotted out of the farmhouse. Hank was familiar with little Apple Bloom. The two other ponies were almost polar opposites in terms of physical fitness and demeanor.

There was a big red stallion with an orange mane and a large yolk around his neck, who Hank assumed was Big Mac. He looked at Hank without much emotion, silently staring at him while chewing on some hay. He also seemed taller and larger than Hank and most other ponies. On his flank was a tattoo of a large apple.

There was a green mare who looked well into her twilight years, who Hank deduced was Granny. She was quite old, with a greying mane. Despite her age, she looked at Hank with a considerably more welcoming look. On her neck was a bandana and on her flank was a tattoo of a pie.

"You must be Hank Hill," Granny Smith said cheerfully in a high, reedy voice. "I'm Malus Smith. But you can call me Granny."

"Well Granny, it is lovely to make your acquaintance," Hank said. He glanced over to Big Mac.

"You must be Big Mac," Hank said to the big red stallion.

"Eeeyup," Big Mac said simply.

"Anyways, let's enjoy some lunch and then we can get back to work," Granny said. The Apple family and Hank entered the farmhouse.

"I agree Mr. Hill," Granny Smith said at the dinner table. "All foals want to do nowadays is laze around."

"The problem is they've got too many distractions," Hank said. "Videa games, comic books-,"

"In mah day, our videa game was going outside and rustling the cay-ttle," the old mare drawled.

"What I wouldn't give to return to those days," Hank said.

"In those days, young'uns listened their parents and did what they was told," Granny Smith said. The Apple siblings rolled their eyes hearing the adults drone on about the "good ol' days."

"So what's yer trade Mr. Hill?" Granny Smith asked Hank. The Apples and Hank were eating in the farmhouse. Most of the dishes were a combination of apples and some flowers. Despite his initial trepidation, Hank found the cuisine as good as Peggy's.

"As I told Applejack, I'm a salesm-er-salespony," Hank said, "of propane and propane accessories."

"What's propane?" Apple Bloom asked.

"It is a gas," Hank said. "You can use for heating and cooking."

"Well here at Sweet Apple Acres," Applejack said. "We use fresh logs from the forest to do all the cooking we need."

"Well...logs are OK," Hank said dismissively,"but propane is a lot more clean and efficient than wood," Hank said, getting into his salesman voice.

"Mr. Hill, it isn't polite to sell stuff at a dinner table," Granny Smith admonished.

"I apologize ma'am," Hank said sheepishly. "I'm just...passionate about my craft."

"No worries," Granny said. "But Sweet Apple Acres will always remain a place that uses wood."

"Eeyup," Big Mac grunted. Hank suppressed a grimace, trying not argue with the ponies for unfairly dismissing propane.

"Hank don't start a fight", Hank thought to himself. "They're not evil. They're just...misguided and ignorant." Hank briefly imagined what would happen if he brought propane to this pony world.

"Well Mr. Hill," Applejack said happily, "I never had such excellently cooked meals before."

"You have shown us the path to salvation," Granny Smith said gratefully.

"Eeyup," Big Macintosh said.

"I'm gonna try and get my cutie mark in propane and propane accessories," Apple Bloom gushed while wearing a Strickland Propane hat.

"Hank," Buck Strickland said with a proud smile. "For sellin' propane to a new world you deserve the ultimate honor."

"I get to become assistant manager," Hank said.

"No Hank," Buck Strickland said. "You get to become...general manager." Hank was at first speechless. But then he shook Mr. Strickland's hand, a lone tear running down his cheek.

"And the Propane Salesman of Year award goes to...Hank Hill!"

In the audience, the top propane salesmen of the world, Hank's family and friends, and even Cotton applauded Hank for bringing propane to a new land.

"And here to present the award, Mr. Tom Landry," the announcer said.

The proud smile on Tom Landry's face made Hank feel greater joy than anything else in the world.

While Hank would love to do this, he remembered with frustration that this world was more technologically like the 1800s. They didn't have cars, trucks, or diesel locomotives, which meant they didn't have (or didn't use) oil.

"Anyways Mr. Hill," Granny said. "You can stay here as long as you need. In fact, today you can rest up before going to work tomorrow."

"You're too kind, ma'am," Hank said gratefully.

"And this is your room," Applejack said. Hank looked at the room. It was adequate with a decent-sized bed and a small dresser, which he found odd.

"Why wear a dresser when you hardly need any clothes?" Hank asked himself.

"Anyways, if you need anything else, don't hesitate to holler," Applejack said, before trotting to her own room.

Hank let out a small smile. He had shelter, food, and work. His basic needs were met. But he still needed to figure out a way home-he had long stopped believing this was just a dream-and wondered what he could do.

"Maybe that mare Twilight might have some insights," Hank thought to himself. But he'd worry about that tomorrow. He climbed into bed, took off his glasses, and rested his eyes.

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Comments ( 6 )

Awesome. Hank really needs to reign it in when it comes to others lifestyles otherwise he just offends others. And it was an amusing daydream he had about the idea of introducing propane to Equestria. Imagine if he actually tried creating the gas himself

I must see MORE. XD

I'm not trying to sound impatient, I'm just wondering how everything is going?

Hello, I just wanted to know how's it going?


Started my internship. Less time to write than I want to. Sorry.

That's ok and congratulations

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