8 - Smoking Sentimental Cigarettes
Thunk.
Big Mac’s ears folded back. He glanced down the way he’d come. The board on the stairs creaked back into place, and he gave a mighty sigh of relief.
“Which room?” Reckless’ voice was as bold as ever.
“To the right,” Big Mac replied.
His nerves were on the fritz. As Reckless nudged muzzle-first into the rightmost room, Big Mac took a moment to breathe. He flexed his front fetlocks and closed his eyes. Again, he reassured himself; the wintry farmhouse was empty.
Granny was dozing on the porch, Applebloom was still at school, and Applejack—and Screw Loose—were hard at work by the coop.
Big Mac grit his teeth for a moment. Then, he relaxed, allowing his withers and jaw to loosen in one motion.
Tentatively, he followed the warhorse into his bedroom.
He was prideful of the place, no doubt. He kept his side of the Apple family home clean and organized to a degree that rivaled that of Applejack: it had been a long-running competition between the brother and sister, although the fire had dimmed slightly since their early Ponyville years. Regardless, everything was just as it should have been. There were no prying eyes or nosy sisters, just a cleanly pressed bed, an arranged display of family history, and a well-toned warhorse.
Big Mac snorted as he pulled the door shut. The door bounced off its broken latch, and he snorted again.
Reckless had pulled ahead to peer at the top of his dresser. Owing to Big Mac’s lack of clothes, he’d spent the years transforming it into a vessel for the Apple family’s history. Each drawer, starting from the top left to the bottom right, was its own chronological piece on an era of the family. A nice little project of his that he was more than happy to share.
It was a little disappointing to Big Mac, then, when Reckless quickly moved on.
The sorrel mare met the open window with full force. A breeze rumbled softly through the drawn curtains, and straight across his visitor’s visage. Big Mac’s own experience with short styled manes left him well-aware that Reckless wasn’t accustomed to her grown out mane. A majority of it pooled past her ears and down her neck, but just enough of the tan-orange spilled out as a sharp wedge. She snorted, gave her head a shake, and turned around to face Big Mac.
“You want the window shut?”
Reckless’ resting look slid up to a small smile, and her eyes brightened. “It okay. Fun when high up. Good air.” She glanced around the rest of his room, then shifted to him. “Also fun when inside place where should not.”
Big Mac swallowed. “That might be what I’m afraid of.”
“Afraid? You brave soldier, yes?”
“...Nope.”
“Ha.” Reckless raised a hoof and prodded at Big Mac’s neck. Without his yoke, her touch was tender. “You funny.” With that, she moved past him again.
Big Mac took a breath to clear his head, then returned with Reckless to his dresser. Much to his embarrassment—which was thankfully spared from Reckless’ awareness—he was happy to have her take proper interest in the converted wardrobe.
Reckless pulled at one drawer with her mouth, then peeked in. “You have many things! All yours?”
“Eeyup.” He paused, gave his dresser a stern look, then shook his head. “...Nope.”
“Huh?” Reckless tilted her head, but her newly formed squint stayed honed on the dresser. “What yours?”
“Bits and pieces,” Big Mac drawled. He came up alongside Reckless, and brushed past her to reach in with his own mouth. The small book came up easily. Stepping back, he held a hoof out, and put the book down. “I have a room in the cellar for developing photographs.”
Reckless blinked. “Developing... photographs?” The words were new to her tongue.
Big Mac settled himself on his haunches. “Making pictures.”
“Ah! Picture!” Reckless gave an eager nod. She nosed the drawer shut, and quickly sat on the floor with him.
“Eeyup.” After sparing a smile for her enthusiasm, Big Mac cracked open the photo album. “When we were little, Granny used to do it, but I took over those kinds of chores the day I pulled my first plow.”
This particular album was at the mid-point of the dresser. The lanky forms of both Big Mac and Applejack peered up at him. Sometimes, it felt like those teenage years had never ended. Time had pushed them on, but while the albums further down in the dresser captured more of that passage, the photos layered, here, never seemed to age. The glimpses of then—not so different from now—were still fond to Big Mac. The real heart of this album, however, came from the foalhood achievements of one precious little apple, a plethora of moments in time, forever captured on film...
“You are like war reporter, yes? Not war reporter...” In a rare display, Reckless appeared to genuinely search for the Equestrian word. “Family historian! Historian. Yes.”
Big Mac found the analogy pleasantly apt; he’d never thought of it that way. He smiled. “Eeyup.”
Reckless gently placed a hoof against the album. “You sire? Father?”
“Nope. Applebloom is my sister.”
“No. Not Bloom. You.”
Warmth flushed around Big Mac’s face. “N-nope.”
“Why?”
His words wobbled out of him. “Well... I’ve been on this farm all my life. Applejack’s lived out east in Manehattan, and Granny lived on the roads until the Apples ‘fore us settled Ponyville. I guess I haven’t put together the time or place for it.”
Reckless seemed satisfied by that, but the questions came on. “Where your sire? Dam?”
And instantly, Big Mac’s colors drained away from him. “Uh...” He chewed over his lip, and glanced back to the door of his room.
In his weakening hoof, the book began to fall.
Reckless’ voice was soft. “Gone?”
“...Gone.”
Remarkably, the warhorse closed the book with the back of her fetlock. “I see.” She rested her hoof against his, and held it there all the way, even as he lowered it and the book to the floor. There, Reckless joined him in holding it to the boards. “Sorry.”
Big Mac nodded numbly. He met her eyes, opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come out. He didn’t have many to begin with.
But Reckless was a mare who spoke without words. She knew. “Mine too.”
Big Mac had come around to knowing a few strings of Reckless’ life—or rather, her life before Ponyville—but she’d hardly ever spoken to him about it directly. Most of his knowledge came from the pieces fed to him by Applebloom. His little sister was expressly fascinated by the warhorse. She’d never really been one for history, but it was clear Reckless’ existence was a good motivator. It’d never really come up as a factor, but now it was: her existence here was a lonely arrival. Nopony from her past had come with her, just the memories.
“It okay. This good.” She pat the book, then grazed his fetlock with her own. “You remember. Picture can remember, too.”
Big Mac just gave a silent, appreciative nod.
Reckless nodded back. “You show more?”
Looking up at the dresser, Big Mac’s mind roamed. What else could he show her right now? Something to take his mind off things, preferably.
Thinking better of himself, he shook his head. No, it was better that he show Reckless more of what he never showed ponies. She was exactly the mare he needed to express himself to. A mare just like Applejack: a pony who knew what it was like to hold all the pain inside.
Thankfully, Reckless was clearly on a similar chain of thought. “Dam and sire picture?”
He could, but those were downstairs. And as for other histories now past, the rest of their things were all about... Applejack had pa’s hat and ma’s guitar. What did that leave Big Mac? His pa’s yoke, which was down at the barn, and...
...There was one thing here right now.
“...Nope.”
He stood slowly, bringing the photo album with him. He pulled the drawer back out, and returned the album to its place. He hovered his hoof over the lower drawers one by one, passing, and passing. Not this one... or the next.
His hoof came to rest on the bottom left drawer.
“My pa left me something.” Something to take care of just as much as his sisters.
Big Mac opened the drawer, and slowly before the seated warhorse, retrieved his trinkets from the past.
It was all as he’d left it: the smoking pipe was smooth and bitter in scent; the thoroughly dried paper wad of tobacco that came with it moreso; and the matchbook and well-worn sandpaper beside them still missing three sticks.
“You smoke?”
Big Mac glanced at her. “You know what this is?”
“Most Marine smoke. Some have pipe.”
“Well.” Big Mac wished he had a piece of straw to hew over right about now. His mouth made the motion, and he shifted his imaginary grass tip to the other side. “I did. Once.” He looked back at the pipe. “A lot of ponies don’t know about these.”
Big Mac packed the goods together in the crook of his hoof and carried it over to the window-facing bedside. He settled down with his back to the edge of the mattress and frame, and Reckless joined him.
Big Mac lifted the pipe up, and offered it to her. “Here.”
Reckless managed to balance it; with her hoof perfectly still, it spun in a slow, graceful circle. “Most pony not smoke?”
“Not so much. I got this pipe from my pa. He got it from his pa before him. And his before him.” After watching for a moment, he held his hoof out again, and Reckless passed the pipe back. “It’s a family tradition. We grow a crop of tobacco together, and smoke it for good luck. Back when ponies smoked more, Apples used it as a blessing for good trade.”
“Marine give cigarette. Taste funny.”
“You smoked?”
“Ate. Never smoked.”
“...Would you like to?”
Reckless puffed through her nostrils. But it was an amiable sound. “Okay.”
As Big Mac set to work preparing the pipe, Reckless’ eyes were on him. He managed to stuff the pipe easily enough, and the well-aged tobacco smelled a lot better than he remembered. It was still bitter, but not quite as acrid as when he’d smoked it last. Beside him, reddish-brown ears wavered at every flickering motion. They came to a crest as he plied a sulfur-smelling match from its place. With the sandpaper in hoof, he slid up against the match. It burst quietly into light.
Big Mac glanced at the window. The breeze had eased up, now, but it was still there.
Carefully, he brought the lit match to the pipe clenched in his teeth.
One. Two. Three.
Puffing, the smoke came briskly. Big Mac didn’t cough or swelter. He moved to pass it to Reckless, but instead of the pose he’d expected, she had leaned forward: her forelegs were straightened out, and flush with the floor. She opened her mouth slightly, and looked right at him.
As Reckless placed her lips over the pipe, Big Mac held it for her.
One. Two. Three. Four... Five.
Reckless pulled back with a fit of coughs. Smoke pooled out from her nostrils and mouth. It clashed against the white blaze striping down the bridge of her muzzle. Big Mac, who had been in the same position many years ago, placed the pipe in his own mouth, and leaned over to make sure she was alright—just like pa had done for him.
Reckless smiled through the thin wisps of curling smoke, and then stomped lightly with a foreleg. “Again.”
Big Mac obliged, leaning in again. Her second toke went far more smoothly, and he pulled it away from her at the beck of a tail-flick against him.
They repeated this several times as the pipe continued to burn. The breeze was good against them while they leaned against the bed and shared in the aged pipe and smoke. As Big Mac relaxed, he became more aware of the closing distance between him and Reckless. He wasn’t sure who’d started moving first, but in the end, they were both responsible.
At a certain point, Reckless nodded him off, and he was left to finish the pipe. He wasn’t smoking it alone, though; the warmth of the pipe was joined by the hairs of Reckless’ coat. She burrowed into the crook of his neck, leaning over and across the side of his withers. Yet, there was no ache in his forelegs, or frozen anxiety. He simply smoked, shifting the pipe from one side of his mouth to the next, all while they shared a view of the clear sky beyond the window.
Reckless was thick in the neck like him. In a funny sort of way, it was a nice change of pace from the neck hugs he’d share with Applejack and Applebloom. He’d done well to protect them for this long, but with Reckless against him like this, well... he felt safe, too. While that thought would have embarrassed him ten minutes ago, right now, it was just the way things were. And Big Mac was more than happy to let it keep going.
“Granny!”
The frozen anxiety flared in a fiery instant. Reckless’ ears twitched against him, but the muscles in her neck showed no effort to move. With her against his withers, he felt locked in place.
The meager hoofsteps—the same ones he hadn’t heard coming—hurriedly trudged away. Big Mac really wished that was the end of the story. He really wished it was.
It was too good to hope that this was just about the smoking; his sister wouldn’t know a thing about it. But there was one thing that little sisters knew how to communicate well...
“Sergeant Reckless is Big Mac’s special somepony!”
The magnitude of horror that swelled into Big Mac at those words was rivaled by a single whispered word.
“Mine.”
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I thought Sea Swirl only want to Ponyville to visit her friend Lyra. Please respond to this comment.
Atch, Mac, that's a terrible thing to do to good tobacco! You've got to keep it sealed or it'll dry out completely and go all acrid. Canning jars are about ideal for the task.
Lovely scene all in all, a bit of quietly contemplative company.
so cute!!!
(p.s, sorry for your loss)
11664742
In this story, she’s in Ponyville for different reasons altogether. I will certainly put Lyra on the list of ponies she needs to talk to, though. Thanks!
11664758
I did actually want to have some fundamental flaws to Mac’s treatment of tobacco in order to demonstrate the knowledge gap Equestrians have on it. He really is letting it go to waste!
11664778
Glad it’s cute!
(Thank you)
Nice moment between these characters. For how... Economical, they both are with their words, it's really sweet to see them both have such a genuine heart to heart. I'm beginning to think our trio are having just as positive an influence on the Apple Family as the Apple Family is having on them.
Y'know? It works.
Congratulations, pal! I checked out a few of the blog entries you had written. To say how much I appreciate your writing and efforts would be an understatement. Please continue to share useful information like this.
11674680
I hate the Fimfiction bot crisis.
I wonder how Granny Smith is going to respond to this though she'll likely simply tease her grandson lightly.