Thunderstruck

by Kamaete

Pies, They Solve Everything

[ Starstruck ]

by Kamaete

[Note]: Time's really fluid, but, because of certain events, I have to say that this is before Rainbow saves the Wonderbolts. And obviously before the Galla.

Prime hostage material.

--Odd Thomas, pg 20

---

Braeburn helps him into his small house, offering a shoulder to lean on when his headache gets a bit too much. Soarin' thanks him, a bit embarrassed but genuinely grateful for the help. He really can't imagine why the small knock to his head has him so disorientated. He's a stunt pegasus, injuries are part of the job. He really should be used to these kind of things. But he's not, so he leans against Braeburn and lets himself be led inside the stallion's home.

It's a nice home, Soarin' thinks as he enters it. The colors are earthy and there are a few books laying around but he doesn't notice anymore because his head is clouded by that smell. So delicious, he can feel the light crust crumble in his mouth and release an explosion of fresh apple confection spill onto his tongue.

“Uh, Soarin'?”

“That pie.”

Braeburn looks at him funny, and he's sure he makes a funny picture. He doesn't have to look in a mirror to know his wings are stiff and spread out and he's nearly in a hunting dog point position, facing the direction he knows that pie is hiding. The delicious aroma is enough to make him forget his headache.

“Uh. Would you like a sample? Of the pie?”

“Yes.”

“All righty then,” Braeburn walks forward and disappears through a doorway. Soarin' can hear him moving around. “Well, are you gonna get some?”

He nearly busts down things not even in his way at the invitation. He thinks he might be drooling in anticipation.

Despite how much he wants to dive into the pie Braeburn expertly handles—and how is it that earth ponies can carry things like that with their hooves?—he remembers his manners and manages to find a seat. He can't, however, stop staring at the pie and he's fairly positive it's wierding Braeburn out.

He watches Braeburn bustle over at a cabinet, retrieving two plates—that means he's going to have to share doesn't it?—and again with that hoof thing—before asking a vague question about milk that he hmms to. He swears that pie is laughing evilly at him. The only reason it hasn't been totally massacred is because Braeburn is toting it around. The pie is smart. It knows that the cowpony is prime hostage material.

Finally his host sets the pie and tin onto the table accompanied by two plates and using a pie cutter—with his hoof, he's never spent much time around earth ponies, do they do everything like that, he'll Spitfire later—to slice two fairly large pieces for them both. Politely, Braeburn serves him and he waits, barely, for Braeburn to seat himself before asking a question.

“Can I have seconds?”

Braeburn looks askance at him, but he has fairly complicated ways of eating pies. There's a tried and proved technique for every pie-related situation, though the actually eating is, in itself simple. Braeburn's answer affects the way he will show this pie who exactly is boss.

“Uh, sure, Ah don't see why—”

Before the he can even get the words out, Soarin' is halfway through his pie, licking around the plate and lapping up the amber syrup like he's been poisoned and its the antidote. When he finishes the last drop on his plate and looks up expectantly at his host, he finds Braeburn wearing the most confused expression ever. It's almost as though his face can't decide whether to be bemused, awed or disgusted and instead settled for a combination of all three.

“Ah don't think Ah've ever seen something disappear that fast,” he says and smiles and seves Soarin' another slice.

“Sorry, I can't seem to help it,” he says, a little more bashful now that he's slated the pie demon nestled in his stomach. This time, however, he goes about eating his pie a bit more reverently.

He takes a bite and lets himself savor the flavor considerably happy at the decidedly fabulous taste. He finds himself asking, after a good thirty seconds of just savoring that bite, “Which kind of apples? They taste homegrown,”

Braeburn smiles enthusiastically, “You can tell that just by eatin' 'em?” Soarin' nods. “It's not 'xactly homegrown unless yer of the mind that orchard is muh backyard. But Ah'm the one ta take care of 'em so Ah guess it's'all the same. As ta the kind of apples: it's truly a blend. Pink Lady an' Braeburn,” The admission seems to embarrass him.

“A blend?” Soarin' repeats after swallowing another savored bite, “I've never thought of that,”

“Do you bake?” Braeburn asks half-way through his slice with his moderate eating pace. He eyes Soarin's curiously, half-expecting it to pull a disappearing act as well.

“No, no. I can't bake or even make a hay sandwich right.” He's never had much time to learn, really. He got accepted into the Wonderbolts at quite a young age, he'd barely moved out of his parent's home. And with the Wonderbolts they don't really cook their own food. They go out as a group a lot, and often times he crashes at Spitfire's or Thunder Rush's place and bum their food. “But I think I've always been a pie connoisseur. Really, my cutie mark should be a pie,”

At the mention of cutie marks Braeburn twists his head to get a peek at it, and Soarin' shifts so he can. It's a lightning bolt, streaking out of a cloud with outspread wings. He supposes it's rather large, and kind of showy, actually.

“That looks familiar,” Braeburn mumbles, “Mahn's an apple,” He turns so Soarin' can see it fully, Soarin' raises a brow. He's not quite sure how a pony goes about getting an apple cutie mark.

“It's a braeburn, right?” he asks, just to be obvious. Braeburn smirks.

“Yup. It's a sign of family, really. Most anyone you see with an apple cutie mark is part of the Apple family. We're spread all over Equestria, makin' apple products and confectioneries,”

“The apple family? That's why you make such a perfect apple pie, isn't it? It's in your genes,” Soarin' takes another bite of his pie.

“Ahaheh. Well, if yer impressed by muh pies you need ta try muh cousin Applejack's. She's the best baker in the Apple family. Course, if you're at Ponyville at all—that's where she lives by the way, or at least near 'nough in Sweet Apple Acres—you might as well try the pies and Sugar Cube Corner, too. Muh cousin grows the apples they use in their pies and the ponies there are very skilled bakers, at least that's what AJ told me,”

Ponyville, Soarin' thinks that name is familiar but he doesn't really remember it. It conjures flashes of rainbows when he thinks of it, but nothing more. He'll ask Spitfire later, she's better with remembering these things.

“I can't believe that a pie can be much better then yours. Anything more and you're going beyond the divine,” he punctuates with another bite, his fourth so far. He's done with flavor and now focuses on the texture of the pie, thick, almost creamy with the crust being just the right kind of sturdiness that it didn't just fold but almost flaked. And the apples. They were hot but he could still crunch into them.

“Uh, well, thanks,”

Braeburn serves himself another slice and they eat in a comfortable silence and finish at about the same time as each other. Braeburn stands and gathers his plate and reaches for Soarin's.

“I can take care of it,” He says, standing.

“No way, Ah'm the host. 'Sides it's nearly spotless already,” Braeburn's lips twitch up in a smirk.

It's true, after Soarin' had finished his sliced he'd gone and licked the plate clean, catching every crumb and wiping the apple syrup away. Soarin' shrugs and mutters thanks, still standing because he'll feel awkward if he sits while Braeburn cleans his—considerably less than most times he eats pies because even he can't really and truly finish an entire pie tin—mess.

“Thanks,” He says when Braeburn finishes and the pony just shrugs and gives him a short welcome back. “So,” He feels awkward still, “I've got friends coming into town today. They're probably almost here, and I said I'd be there to meet them...” He trails off.

Braeburn looks at him with an interest, “Ah'm meetin' some folks down there anyways. We've got some guests coming. We can walk together,” Soarin' nods amiably, feeling less awkward now. He really hates eating and flying unless it's at a restaurant, where that's expected. Besides, now that the scent of pie isn't leading him, he doubts he can make it back to the town on his own even flying.

He follows Braeburn out of the kitchen and watches him shrug on a vest like he does it every day, and with his hat he strikes the very picture of a western pony straight out of a classic film, and he figures that Braeburn will fit into the rustic vision he has of Appleoosa without a seam. They leave the house and Soarin' trots to keep up with the golden pony's brisk pace. He wonders about Braeburn's ability to scale the canyon walls without wings but he's surprised at the deftness he shows while picking his way down the steep, near vertical wall on a narrow winding path. Soarin' tries following but gives up and flaps his way down, keeping pace with Braeburn out of a courtesy.

Braeburn eyes his wings like it's the first time he's seen them.

“It's weird, getting so many pegasi at once,”

Soarin' raises his brow, “Not many pegasi here?”

Braeburn hops off a final rock and lands at the floor of the canyon. “Nope. Aaaaapppleooosa—” And here Soarin' raises an eyebrow as Braeburn raises his forelegs and happily shouts the name “—is a fairly new town, founded by earth ponies. We don't have many pegasi or unicorns. Ah suppose it's cause we're so far from Canterlot and Cloudsdayle,”

Soarin' shrugs, “Well, the weather here doesn't seem to need much controlling, either. Most of what pegasi do is keeping the weather on schedule for towns, or doing air deliveries, or other such stuff. It doesn't really look like there's a niche here for many pegasi,”

Braeburn also shrugs, “Maybe. But that just makes it a mite weirder for a group of pegasi arrivin' here all coincidentally,”

Soarin' flicks an ear, “So they're more pegasi in town then just me?”

“Well, not yet,” they enter the orchard and Braeburn switches the topic excitedly, “Ya know, all this might've not been here taday if'n t'weren't fer muh cousin' an' her friends,”

“Really?”

“Yup, ya see, this land ain't real friendly to towns livin', 'cause there's a surprisin' amount of obstacles that get in the way of farmin' and there jus' t'ain't enough growin' naturally ta feed a town. So the sheriff got in touch with the Apple Family an' Ah got sent here ta set up an orchard,”

“You're the one who set all this up?” Soarin' didn't really take Braeburn for such an industrialist at first.

“With a lot of help, yeah. 'Course, Ah'm the one who picked this here spot, which got all of Appleoosa in trouble,” Soarin' thinks Braeburn looks a bit embarrassed or shameful.

“How so?”

“Wull, this passage is part of the local Buffalo stampeding grounds, an' we—Ah—jus' planted an orchard without their permission,”

“But doesn't this lead to a dead end?”

“It forks off and levels out farther down,” Braeburn explains, “Anywho. The buffalo were right set to stampede our orchard down 'cause we earth ponies are a little stubborn. Muh cousin so happens to be comin' down fer a visit with her friends. They ended up helpin' settle things between the Appleoosans and the Buffalo, but not 'fore a huge fight. At first Applejack was on our side, o' course but her friend Rainbow Dash was with the Buffalo and I s'pose the two've got a natural rivalry goin' on—”

“Rainbow Dash?”

“Oh yeah, she's one o' AJ's friends. She's a pegasus pony, like you. Spunky filly, with a rainbow mane, know her?”

And now Soarin' remembers Ponyville, at least in name. It's the place that Rainbow Dash lives. Cash Box has been thinking about recruiting and briefly mentioned the filly. Now she's a saver of towns? He thinks he might have to put a good word in for her.

“I've heard of her. Go on,”

“Okay. Wull, we were almost at an agreement then Pinkie Pie starts singing and it wasn't that bad of a song, really, but it wasn't the right time and the Appleoosans and Buffalos ended up fighting it out. So many pies were lost that day,”

They both gave a silent moment for the forever gone pies.

“But then Chief Thunderhooves tasted one of our pies and a compromise was agreed upon,”

“And that agreement was?”

“When the buffalos came by for their annual stampede, instead of trampling the orchard, they'd settle for some pies instead,”

Soarin' laughs, “Of course, pies solve everything,” He says with an assured nod.

“Of course,” Braeburn shares the smile, then gestures at the town they've come upon. “Welcome to...” he sucks in a breath of air and rears up again, “Appleooosa!”

Comments

Pies do realu solve everything

[FlutteringShy]

Mooooore
fanxxx

[Honey Glow]

Lovely story.