• Published 18th Jan 2013
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Sweet Apple Anthology - Bad_Seed_72



First sequel to Tangled Roots. After Babs Seed moves to Sweet Apple Acres, seven years of lessons about friendship, love, and family shape her into the mare she ultimately becomes.

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Year Six: A Moment In Time

Year Six: A Moment In Time

Ponyville fillies and colts received twelve years of compulsory education. From the very beginning as tiny, bumbling foals, to the end of their journey, they sprouted and flourished, mighty saplings springing forth from the garden of their minds. Their journeys were never easy. Some fell by the wayside, choosing truancy and delinquency over the stability and regiment of education. Such foals were rebels indeed, but Ponyville had no room for rebels.

Not if Cheerilee had any say in the matter.

Cheerilee stood at the empty podium, peering down at rows of unoccupied stools below. Wind teased her mane, a gentle contrast to the blazing June sun. Cheerilee cleared her throat and smiled before her audience of none. She ruminated over the speech in her mind, treating each rehearsed word with careful consideration.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would see her lovely blooms burst from the soil and stretch their stems towards the heavens. Tomorrow, twelve years of dark nights and sunny days would come to a hilt. She would know, then, if she had fulfilled her cutiemark and her destiny once more, ushering a new generation of fillies and colts into adulthood.

Tomorrow was Graduation Day.

The schoolteacher let her thoughts wander to those who’d left her in their dust. Her tiny class was not immune from teenage foalishness. Several she’d slaved over dropped out over the years, against all her protests. Whether it was due to family troubles, poor grades, or despair, some simply chose the easy way out. She sighed. She couldn’t save everypony, after all.

Others, though, showed great promise. Her class of twenty would shine in the afternoon sunlight, casting a shadow borne of sleepless nights and engrossed studying, relentless determination and a steady spirit. Cheerilee hadn’t spared anypony in her class. All received the same education. All were weighed and graded against the others.

Two towered above the rest: the Apple Family cousins. Apple Bloom and Babs Seed proved to be (despite the latter’s bad behavior at times) highly intelligent, capable, hardworking fillies. Whatever they decided—though Cheerilee wagered it would probably involve apples—they would excel at. The educator had no doubt.

Fighting the sunset, Cheerilee rehearsed her speech once more, her voice trembling with excitement. Tomorrow. A moment in time to pass.

A moment nopony would forget.

~

Luna and Celestia battled in the atmosphere, dueling stars in their duality. A new day dawned over the horizon once they could fight no more. Throughout Ponyville, twenty fillies and colts battled their Graduation Day jitters and the sunrise. Some indulged in their finest, favorite breakfasts, swallowing their anxiety. Others didn’t trust their stomachs enough to wager the risk.

Babs Seed shook her muzzle at a plate of buckwheat pancakes and hopped from her stool. Trotting away from the breakfast table, she mumbled, “I’m not hungry anyhow. I think I’ll go take a walk o’ summat.”

“Are ya sure?” Applejack asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ya know Graduation ain’t until ‘round one o’ clock today, right?”

Heading towards the front door, Babs said, “I know. I ain’t hungry.”

Apple Bloom grabbed her cousin’s plate and giggled. “Mo’ fer me! Thanks, Babsy!”

“Sure. Whateva.”

SLAM!

Big Macintosh strode into the kitchen from the living room. Concern on his muzzle, he turned to Applejack and asked, “What was that all ‘bout, AJ? Babs jus’ galloped on outta here.”

With a slight, uneasy smile, Applejack answered, “Ah think she’s jus’ nervous ‘bout today. Graduatin’ an’ all. Ah’m sure Ah was back then. You remember, don’t ya, Mac?”

Big Mac chuckled, “Heh, how could Ah forget? Ah had ta drag ya down ta the schoolhouse! Granny couldn’t even convince ya ta go, ya were so nervous.”

Apple Bloom eagerly wolfed down an entire platter of buckwheat pancakes, foregoing syrup and utensils. The filly greedily ate both portions, oblivious to the wide eyes of the two grown ponies in the kitchen staring at her spectacle. She leaned back in her stool and patted her stomach. “Ahhhh…”

Catching their gaze at last, Apple Bloom looked to her siblings and forced a grin. “What? Ah was jus’ hungry! An’ Ah ain’t gonna let a good breakfast like that go ta waste! Babs said she wasn’t hungry anyway…”

“Sugarcube, are you sure ya ain’t nervous ‘bout today?”

“O’ course Ah’m not!” Apple Bloom snapped, crossing her forehooves and rolling her eyes. “Why would Ah be? It’s not like today everythin’s gonna change on me. It’s not like today Ah’m gonna be left ta maself o’ somethin’. Ah mean, it’s not like Ah’ve been goin’ ta school fer the past twelve years an’ now Ah ain’t—“

“Ah thought so,” Applejack said with a smirk. Scooping up the empty plates, she gently assured, “Don’t worry, Bloom. Today will go jus’ great. Everypony’s gonna be there—me, Mac, Granny. An’ Ah think Citrus, Libra, an’ Brae are comin’ too.”

Apple Bloom sat upright on her haunches, beaming. “Really?! They’re comin’ up here?”

“Eeyup!” Big Macintosh affirmed.

Applejack nodded. “They kinda wanna keep it a surprise, though, so don’t say nothin’ ta yer cousin ‘bout it. Babs’ll be so happy ta see ‘em.” She winked and threw the dishes in the sink, setting to work. Applejack planned to invite the Appleloosians back to Sweet Apple Acres after the big event for a family dinner. She had her own preparations to make in the meantime.

Big Macintosh peered out the kitchen window. Tapping his chin with a forehoof, he mused, “Ah think Ah’ll go see what’s wrong wit’ Babs.” Shooting a glance at his younger sibling, he asked, “Do ya know what’s botherin’ her, Bloom?”

Sighing, Apple Bloom replied, “Ah think it’s the same thing that’s been botherin’ everypony at school lately, big brother. She an’ Ah haven’t talked much ‘bout it yet.”

The stallion smiled. “Well, then, Ah’ll go an’ be the first.”

~

Seeking refuge under the shade of a mighty apple tree, its branches thick with fruit, promising a bountiful harvest to come, Babs Seed watched the sun cross the horizon. The clock ticked away her last remaining hours as a filly. Her birthday would not be for a few months. She could avoid the big 1-8 for a little while longer. Nevertheless, despite only being seventeen, Graduation Day would take a filly and make her a mare.

The continents of foalhood and adulthood would meet at last, connected by the bridge of a podium, a diploma, and a hoof-shake from Cheerilee.

It was something to both fear and anticipate, abhor and rejoice. Both revelry and mourning seemed appropriate responses. Six years in Ponyville and six in Manehatten drove her to this hilt, this final moment. Babs Seed passed her tests, completed her assignments, and, for the most part, keep her snout out of trouble. Unlike some, she stuck through it all, even when she hated it. Especially when she hated it.

Resting her head on her forehooves, stretching out on the grass, Babs Seed's mind turned to the horizon and what laid beyond it. We’re gonna be done. We’re gonna be done wit’ everythin’ everypony’s been tellin’ us ta do since we were foals. We stayed in school. We did our homework. We stayed outta trouble. Well, I tried ta, at least. An’ now… now what?

Behind her came the familiar slow, steady rhythm of mighty hoof-steps. A flash of crimson from the corner of her eye confirmed her suspicions. Keeping her eyes towards the morning star, Babs greeted, “’Ey, Big Mac.”

Big Macintosh trotted over and sat on his haunches next to her. He followed her line of sight, finding nothing of much note. Ponyville laid in the distance. Surely, by now, Cheerilee and a few community volunteers were setting up for the grand ceremony, arranging stools and printing up flyers.

The stallion fondly recalled his own school graduation. His headmaster—a stern, no-nonsense stallion—spoke little and hoof-shaked less. The whole ordeal had been terrifying, but it had been over within an hour. He’d returned to Sweet Apple Acres with Granny and AJ afterwards, never looking back.

He was home. He would always be home.

Maybe, Babs would be, too.

Finally, one of them spoke.

“Don’t worry. I’m jus’ thinkin’.”

“Ah know.”

“Good. Glad youze came out heeya an’ not Applejack. She woulda been talkin’ ma hooves off.”

Big Macintosh chortled. “Heh, eeyup. Ya know how AJ is.”

Babs laughed in agreement. “Heh, heh. Eeyup.”

“There is one thing Ah’ll say ta ya, Babs.”

Babs looked up at the stallion and urged him to continue with a nod.

Slowly, Big Macintosh explained, “Ah know yer scared. Ah was, too. But maybe it’s mo' fer ya than it was fer me. Because Ah knew where Ah wanted ta be, what Ah wanted ta do. Ah never had ta think ‘bout it too much.”

A gentle smile on his face, the stallion continued, “Ah jus’ know what Ah’m born ta do. An’ that’s run the farm wit’ Granny an’ AJ. Ah think when ya know what ya want ta do, ya’ll know too, Babs.”

What I wanna do. The Apple Family had yet to have this impending conversation with its youngest members. Tradition dictated that they would stay and uphold the family mantle, proud and young and strong, into the future. Sweet Apple Acres hired no outside help. Even if they had the bits to do so, they wouldn’t have, anyway. Theirs was a labor of love.

Babs Seed never failed to disappoint her elders. She possessed endurance and strength that no filly her age should know. Yet, she knew it, and knew it well. Whether it was plowing the fields, assisting with cider sales, taking care of daily chores, or playing a (small) part in the fall harvest, Babs refused to back down. She accomplished everything with a haste and determination that awed the strong stallion sitting beside her. Sweet Apple Acres welcomed her with open hooves from the first day of her arrival and failed to close them hence.

What I wanna do. What do I wanna do? Where do I wanna go?

An’, who do I wanna be? I’m an Apple, ain’t I? Isn’t dis ma home?

Big Mac embraced her with a forehoof over her shoulders, pulling her close for a hug. “Ah know you'll know what ya wanna do, Babs, in time. Take yer time. Yer always welcome here. Ya know that, right?”

Smiling, hugging him back, Babs said, “I know, Mac. An’ I thank youze now, jus’ as I did then. It’s good ta always have someplace I can call home.” It’s good ta be loved.

~

“Fillies and gentlecolts! May I please present to you, a wonderful schoolteacher and the instructor of this year’s graduating class, Miss Cheerilee!”

Mayor Mare stepped off the podium and ushered the schoolteacher forward. Dressed to her nines, Cheerilee accepted the mayor’s gesture and took her place at the podium, standing on her hindhooves. Rows and rows of proud parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, friends, and towns-ponies smiled back at her.

The air was cool and crisp, the sun burning just bright enough on this wondrous day. Her class of twenty fillies and colts fidgeted in their stools behind her, muzzles slammed shut, sweat trickling down their necks. Clad in the traditional graduation garb—a simple black cloak and square hat and tassel—they prayed for Cheerilee’s speech to be a quick one. A mixture of fear and excitement drove their minds wild, their hooves aching to canter and gallop.

Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Babs Seed sat on one side of the stage. On the opposite side, Silver Spoon sat next to Featherweight, Twist, Snips, and Snails. Between Snails and the last stool sat the remainder of the class. Except for one filly, of course.

In the very last stool, next to the edge, Diamond Tiara sat, scowling, alone.

Cheerilee cleared her throat and set a stack of notecards on the podium. The entire graduating class exchanged worried glances, face-hoofs, and silent curses. The notecards were stacked tightly, several inches high.

This would take a while.

Cheerilee began her speech. “Welcome, everypony! Family, fellow faculty, friends, community members, welcome, all of you. Welcome to this year’s Graduation Day for this year’s class of Ponyville schoolfoals. I have behind me twenty fillies and colts who have endured through twelve years of compulsory public education to reach this momentous day…”

Babs nudged Scootaloo in the ribs and hissed under her breath, “How much youze wanna bet everypony falls asleep in the audience befo’ she’s done?”

Sweetie Belle shushed Babs, shaking her head disapprovingly. Babs and Scoots rolled their eyes. Apple Bloom stifled a giggle.

Babs Seed slumped back in her stool and blew a strand of mane from her eyes. She fumbled with her graduation cap, moving the tassel aimlessly from one side to the next, until a forehoof knocked hers away. “’Ey! What was dat fo’?!”

Again, Sweetie glared in response. “You don’t move that until we’re done!”

“What’s the matta? I’m jus’ playin’ ‘round!”

“… Biology... geology… psychology… sociology… geometry… linguistics. Yes, rest assured, your tax dollars have been spent well here in Ponyville, my friends! This group behind me is composed of the most intelligent students I’ve seen in all my years as an educator,” Cheerilee proudly continued.

Snails jabbed his forehoof towards his nose in search of a booger. Babs Seed caught sight of the dim-witted colt and bit her forehoof, suppressing a well-timed laugh. Oh, iffa it weren’t fo’ the sympathy o’ Cheerilee, dat fool an’ the one beside him wouldn’t be heeya…

Apple Bloom nudged her in the shoulder.

“What?” Babs asked.

“… I will admit, there were some setbacks. It appears not everypony quite understands the value of ‘fancy book learning,’ as some have said. However, once the alternatives were considered, I’m proud to report most of our students acquired a zest for literature and learning. I’m proud to say that the vast majority of them bloomed quite well over the years, finding their cutiemarks, learning their special talents, memorizing Shakespony…”

Grabbing her fillyfriend’s forehoof, Apple Bloom pointed towards the audience. “Look, Babsy,” she whispered, unable to contain the surprise any longer.

Among the crowd of thoroughly disinterested ceremony attendees (most of them barely registering Cheerilee’s droning), three Earth ponies meandered through, scanning for empty stools. Their manes were wild and windswept, caressed by dust and sunlight. A stallion trotted ahead of two mares, mumbling apologies as they snaked through the crowd. He wore a proud Stetson and vest, a silver star pinned to his garment.

The mares following behind him clearly brushed their manes to their best ability, how futile it was. Strands of fiery-orange and tangerine mane flowed behind them in the breeze. They wore no fine silks, velvets, or any garments at all. Their beauty, however, remained, rough and wild in the face of so many coiffed manes and pressed suits within the crowd.

Applejack spotted them and waved them forward. She, Big Macintosh, and Granny Smith occupied a middle row, saving three stools between them. The three picked up their pace and trotted eagerly towards her.

Behind the podium, Babs Seed saw them before they could locate her, the Appleloosians lost in the crowd. It took every last minute morsel of her self-control to keep her haunches planted in her seat. Within the confines of her mind, she chanted their names over and over again. Ma! Citrus! Braeburn! Ma! Citrus! Braeburn!

They’d never responded to her latest letter, never confirmed that they would be able to catch a train into town and show their muzzles here. She’d buried her disappointment, reasoning that Appleloosa was far beyond Ponyville and bits were even farther between. All last vestiges of her sadness were forgotten.

Babs tapped her hindhooves excitedly. Scoots and Sweetie stared at her, but with a quick nudge and a pointed forehoof towards the visitors, they understood. Sweetie and Scoots, too, had spotted their folks within the audience, first unable to contain their joy. Rarity had cut short a business trip to make it back to Ponyville, and Scootaloo’s normally absent parents found it within their workaholic hearts to take just one day off.

Past Cheerilee’s poetic lecture, Citrus, Libra, and Braeburn took their seats, waving excitedly at Babs Seed and Apple Bloom.

A tear welled in Babs's eye, triggered by the polar opposite of sorrow. Dey came. Dey came all the way from Appleloosa ta see me. Ta see me… graduate. Ta see me become a mare.

A forehoof gently squeezed one of her own. In red-orange eyes, a single tear matched hers.

“… Fillies and gentlecolts. Please welcome me in congratulating this year’s graduating class.”

Cheerilee turned towards her students and urged them to stand. To their hooves they rose, a sea of fillies and colts, coats and cutiemarks of all colors and origins concealed beneath an ocean of black. Their schoolteacher nodded to an off-stage assistant, who quickly joined her at the podium, cradling a stack of scrolls. Diplomas.

Tickets to freedom. To the future. To tomorrow.

Beyond the horizon.

One by one, she called their names, foregoing the alphabet and all its chronological order. Each student trotted to the podium, clutching their scroll tightly once received, shaking forehooves with Cheerilee. Their faces said what their quivering vocal cords could not articulate. Twelve years came to a crescendo in a single moment of time. Before they crossed the stage and took the diploma, they were a mere schoolfoal, only a child, their destiny and fate held in hooves other than their own.

Once that piece of paper—that unlit, unburned torch—had been passed, crossing an unseen threshold, Equestria itself appeared in their forehooves.

Apple Bloom received her diploma first among the Crusaders. Big Macintosh bellowed and hollered and whooped, casting aside his nature. Applejack pumped her forehoof into the air. Even Granny Smith celebrated, forgetting her rusty old hip and dancing like the young, spry filly she once was. Braeburn, Citrus, and Libra held nothing back, joining their cheers.

And then came her moment. “Babs Seed!”

Hooves trembling, a sensation that no timberwolf or schoolyard bully had been able to bring forth from her, Babs Seed crossed the greatest distance in Ponyville and met Cheerilee at the podium.

With a sincere smile, Cheerilee passed her the tightly bound scroll, its contents secured by a golden ribbon. “Congratulations, Babs. Good luck,” she whispered.

“Thank youze.” Babs exhaled, her voice caught somewhere between dimensions.

Heeya it is. Dat moment.

From the crowd came a rush of hooves stomping the Earth, a chorus of whoops and wolf-whistles and cheers. She looked over and below, and found beside her Ponyville family, her Appleloosa family, their grins threatening to split their faces in two, eyes shining with happy tears.

The moment when I make youze proud.

~

At Cheerilee’s direction, twenty tassels traversed an immeasurable trek, crossing from the right to the left side of twenty graduation caps. This moment instigated the most thunderous applause of all. The fillies and colts of Cheerilee’s graduating class beamed with pride, bowing, not a dry eye among anypony. Not even the most macho of the colts could hold back his liquid pride.

Twelve years, and it was all over. Some of them would call Ponyville home forever. Others would leave for greener pastures, to concrete and cobblestone, Trottingham and Manehatten. The newspapers spoke of promise and opportunity in both cities, economies booming with no bust in sight. Others would take to Appleloosa and the badlands beyond. The same papers whispered possibility there, too, gold, silver, oil and more.

For now, Cheerilee’s graduating class filed off the stage and rushed towards their guardians and friends, forehooves wide open and displaying their sacred parchment.

Together, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom galloped through the crowd, rocketing past their classmates. Two stallions and four mares galloped towards them in turn. They met in the middle, both fillies crushed into a hug by a wild-eyed Appleloosian Deputy.

“Cousin Apple Bloom! Cousin Babs Seed! Why, Ah’m so proud o’ y’all!” Braeburn exclaimed, lifting them off their hindhooves. The stallion laughed and laughed, holding them tight, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Yer all grown up now! Yer mares now! Why, Ah’m so proud, Ah can’t—“

“Braeburn,” Applejack said.

Braeburn continued, still squeezing them close, “Ah jus’ can’t believe it! Why, it’s jus’ gone by so fast! Ah still remember when Ah met ya fer the first time, Babs, at the train station—“

“Braeburn,” Applejack repeated.

“An’ now look at y’all! Yer all grown up! Ah can’t, Ah jus’ refuse ta—“

“BRAEBURN!!!”

Confused, the stallion spun around and asked, “Uh, yes, cuz?”

Applejack yelled, “Yer squishin’ ‘em!”

Babs Seed and Apple Bloom groaned.

“Oh! Shoot! Sorry!”

Landing with a THUD! on their hindhooves, the two fillies stumbled, dizzy. “It’s alright,” they mumbled in unison, stars dancing before their eyes. Yeesh, Braeburn, it was nice ta see youze too, but… horseapples… is dat Luna?

Braeburn rubbed the back of his neck with a forehoof. “Uh… sorry, gals. Ah jus’ got a lil’ carried away,” he muttered, blushing.

Citrus Blossom chuckled and assisted her sister to her hooves. “Oh, it’s alright, Brae. No harm done. Right, Babs?”

“… Yea… Right…”

Libra Scales steadied her niece, preventing her from full-on crashing into Babs. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Apple Bloom mumbled, “Yea, Ah’m fine…”

Granny Smith smacked Braeburn on the back. “Whoa there, young feller! Ya best be playin’ gentle wit’—errr, wait a minute. What’s that now on yer vest?”

“Oh, this?” The stallion pointed to the silver star pinned to his garment.

Applejack leaned forward and examined the badge. “’Appleloosa Deputy Sheriff’? Braeburn, since when were ya gonna be a law-pony?”

Laughing, he replied, “Well, it wasn’t entirely ma decision—“

“What do youze mean?” Babs asked.

Braeburn cleared his throat. “Well, actually, Ah was wantin’ ta save that story fer later, Babs. But fer now… Ah dunno ‘bout y’all, but Ah’m hankerin’ fer some famous Apple Family pie." He winked at Applejack.

Stomach growling in annoyance, Babs agreed, “Yea, dat sounds good ta me! I’m starved!”

“Ya wouldn’t have been if ya would’ve ate yer breakfast,” Apple Bloom teased, grinning.

“Maybe I woulda had summat ta eat iffa somepony didn’t steal ma plate!”

“Awww, silly filly, ya gave it ta me, don’t ya remember?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes ya did!”

“Noooo, I didn’t!”

Citrus turned to Applejack and whispered, “Do they argue like this all the time?”

Applejack rolled her eyes, muttering from the corner of her muzzle, “Like ya wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh… so, the wedding should be soon then, right?”

Applejack snorted and covered her mouth with a forehoof.

“What’s that, Citrus?” Libra Scales eyed them suspiciously.

“Er, nothing, Mother,” Citrus stuttered, shaking her head.

~

Applejack failed to disappoint. Her famous apple pie exceeded her own expectations, proving to be the finest any of the Appleloosians had ever tasted. Braeburn reasoned that it must be due to the climate. The desert apples, however hardy, could never surpass the finest fruit from Sweet Apple Acres.

The eight of them shared a fantastic dinner and patched the time lost between them. Libra, Braeburn, and Citrus hadn’t seen the elder Apples that much, holidays the only bridge between them at times. Nevertheless, here they were, three branches of the family under one roof, and they didn’t spare a moment.

Babs Seed and Apple Bloom sat next to each other at the table as they always did, tails entwined. Nopony seemed to mind. Well, most of them, anyway.

“Auntie Orange” to all but two of them, “Mother” to the rest, shifted her gaze, noting the subtle intricacies between the graduates. The elder Apples didn’t mind it, to her confusion. Nevertheless, Libra Scales kept her muzzle shut, jotting down a mental note to speak to Babs Seed about it some other point in time. Her daughter would soon be a mare, after all, and she would still keep her promise if things went well. And they appeared to be well.

Time would tell if that would come to pass. Libra wasn’t betting too much on it. Not that she was a gambling mare, anyway.

Babs noticed her mother’s wary gaze but drew no attention to it. Jus’ youze see, Ma. Someday, youze’ll be happy fer me. Fer us both. Someday…

Somewhere between her fourth and fifth slice of apple pie, Applejack asked the new graduates, “So, what are you gals gonna do tonight fer graduation? Any… parties yer plannin’ on attendin’?”

“’Parties?’ Applejack, they are too young!” protested Libra. “They aren’t even eighteen yet. They can’t drink. And even if they could, they shouldn’t.”

“Ah didn’t mean it like that, Auntie,” Applejack said. “Ah meant Pinkie Pie sorta party.”

Confused, Braeburn, Libra, and Citrus blinked.

Apple Bloom laughed. “Aww, don’t tell me y’all haven’t heard o’ Pinkie Pie! Why, she’s the biggest party animal in all o’ Equestria! She throws great parties! An’ all without drinkin’!”

“Wait a minute… isn’t she a pink Earth pony mare who likes… singin’?” Braeburn asked. Within his mind’s eye, he recalled a rambunctious pink mare dressed in an elaborate outfit (imitating a “mare of the night,” truth be told) dancing on top of a piano. The mare's antics sent both Sheriff Silverstar and Chief Thunderhooves into a murderous rampage.

Suddenly, Braeburn’s slice of apple pie didn’t taste quite as good.

“That’s right!” answered Apple Bloom. “An’ Ah hear she’s got a great party planned fer all the graduates tonight! We’re goin’, aren’t we, Babsy?”

Ignoring her mother’s narrowed gaze, Babs stumbled, “Heh… Ah… Uh, o’ course, Bloom. Sweetie an’ Scoots’ll be there, too.”

Citrus asked, “’Sweetie and Scoots’?”

“Two o’ our best friends,” Babs explained.

“Oh.” Citrus beamed. “Yes, you should go. Go and have fun with your friends, Babs, Bloom. We can talk more tomorrow morning. We were thinking of staying the night here… if you don’t mind, of course, Applejack.”

Applejack mused, “What was that ya told me, all them years ‘go, Citrus? Ya wouldn’t allow me an’ Bloom ta stay in some seedy hotel in Manehatten? Well, Ah won’t let y’all stay in no seedy Ponyville one, neither.”

Braeburn removed his Stetson and bowed his head low. “Thank ya kindly, Applejack. Ah will try an’ make this up ta ya, yer fine hospitality.”

Dismissing him with a forehoof, Applejack said, “Aw, shucks, Braeburn. It ain’t nothin’. Now, befo’ ya two leave an’ go celebrate—“ she turned to both graduates—“Ah wanted ta jus’ say somethin’ ta ya both. Ah’m sure we’ll talk more ‘bout this later, but fer right now, Ah jus’ wanted ta clear the air.”

Nopony tossed their own words into the atmosphere. Applejack seized her opportunity and continued. She reached over to the kitchen counter and plucked the latest edition of the Ponyville Express. “In this here paper, it talks ‘bout lotsa things happenin’ throughout Equestria right now. Economically. Ya know what that means, right, Babs, Bloom?”

Both of them nodded.

Applejack sighed, glancing at their three visitors. “Ah’m sure y’all know how things are in Appleloosa better than Ah do. But things here in Ponyville have been rough, also. Stagnant. Lots o’ businesses goin’ out fer good.”

Mr. Breezy’s Fan Emporium, Quills an’ Sofas… shoot, even Roseluck is startin’ ta trim down her inventory, poor mare.

“Ah imagine the settled lands ain’t much better. There’s talk o’ new developments way out—“

“How far out?” Apple Bloom asked.

Applejack shook her head. “Ah dunno. Point is, things are tough. But if ya look in this paper here, it says quite differently fer the big cities. They’re doin’ good, an’ crime’s even goin’ down. Trottingham, Canterlot, an’ even Manehatten.

By some stroke of synchronized Nature or Fate or coincidence, four chills shot down four spines. Libra, Citrus, and Braeburn shot each other uneasy glances, swallowing their objection. Babs Seed felt the icy grip of concrete beneath her hooves, though the floorboards were warm with light and love and radiance. Manehatten… so long ago…

“Do ya ever think ‘bout goin’ there, Citrus, Libra?”

Cast in the shadow of Bernie Madhoof’s darkest dream, Applejack assumed that Citrus and Libra simply saw the light and left that wretched city in their dust. She’d never been one to pry, and had never brought the issue into conversation. Now, she hoped that the only answer she would hear would be a firm—

“Absolutely not,” Libra Scales said, striking the table with a forehoof. “Appleloosa is my home. Our home.” Pulling both Braeburn and Citrus Blossom close to her, the mare added, “And I have no intention of going back.”

Relieved, Applejack asked Babs Seed the same question.

Shaking her muzzle, Babs said, “There’s nothin’ fo’ me there. I’m not scared o’ it—“ sure youze ain’t, youze perfect liar—“but I don’t wanna go back. Though I know a lot o’ ponies are headed out there ta try. Good riddance ta 'em.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed, sending the entire table into a spiral of laughter. Dumbfounded, he spread his forehooves and asked, “What? Did Ah say somethin’ wrong?”

~

Ponyville’s premier party pony spared no expense for this year’s Graduation Day celebration. The Cakes quietly packed their bags the day prior for a surprise “vacation to Trottingham.” They were getting, as Greyhoof the butler would've said, far too old for this. Pinkie Pie swore on her own ritual that Sugarcube Corner would be cleaned up by the time they returned.

Colorful streamers and balloons of every shade adorned the walls and ceiling. The shop’s entire inventory of flour, sugar, and butter was dissolved and distributed between towers of cookies, cakes, pies, and, of course, Pinkie's famous cupcakes. Music blared to unbearable decibels, shaking the walls of the tiny shop. Party games invited everypony to play—“Pin The Tail On The Pony,” “Ponopoly,” “Charades,” and even a few raunchier games were scattered throughout the bakery.

Pinkie Pie greeted each graduate with a party hat and a chipper, “Don’t forget your party hat! Forgetty Forgetterson! It’s time to party, Pinkie Pie style!”

Soon, Sugarcube Corner filled to the brim with many of the graduates and more than a few out-of-town friends, laughing, dancing to the eardrum-shattering vinyl beats, gulping down unspiked punch (to more than a few ponies’ disappointment) and gobbling themselves into sugar comas.

Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Babs Seed, and Apple Bloom partied as a group. The four friends all knew that, soon enough, the dreaded time would come. No longer bound to Ponyville by the demands of education, they were free to choose their own destinies. With Sweetie Belle’s blooming singing career and Scootaloo’s need for pegasus speed, both hinted that their fates may lay far beyond the Ponyville horizon. For now, they swept such subjects under the rug, choosing to cut it instead.

Hours into the party, Featherweight arrived at last. “Where have you been?!” Scootaloo exclaimed, tugging on her coltfriend’s forehoof.

“Sorry, I was just having dinner with my folks and—Scoots! What are you doing?”

With a sly grin, she said, “Let’s dance, Featherweight!”

“To this music?” Featherweight asked with a tilt of his head. Indeed, the loud bass and heavy tempo filling the bakery suited head-banging far more than couple dancing. The daredevil flier, however, could not be persuaded, and pulled the colt into the corner, demanding his tango.

Babs snickered. “What a mook!”

“Actually, that’s a good idea…” Apple Bloom grabbed her fillyfriend’s forehooves in her own. “C’mon, Babsy,” she whispered coyly. “Let’s dance.”

In fronta everypony?! “Ah… heh… heh…” Blushing, Babs looked away from her fillyfriend, a herd of colorful balloons proving an insufficient distraction. “Ah, youze know, Apple Bloom, I’ve neva danced befo’ an—“

“Then it’s jus’ the right time ta learn. Right, Sweetie Belle?” Apple Bloom said with a giggle.

Sweetie giggled back. “I think so! But you know what? I think I’ll go and find something more… fun to do than dancing with myself. Will you two excuse me for a second?”

Babs opened her mouth to object. With a quick flick of a curly tail, the unicorn departed, joining a group of fillies and colts in the corner of the room. Dat does look kinda fun, not dat dis isn’t…

Sugarcube Corner’s temperature soared high above melting point, threatening to send frosting running in glorious rivers of pink and white. Buying herself a little time (dreadfully ashamed of all four of her left hooves), Babs Seed released her partner and blurted, “I’m gonna go get some punch real quick, Bloom, alright?”

Apple Bloom answered with a knowing, teasing grin, “Alright, Babsy. Ah’ll be waitin’ here ta teach ya.”

Oh, c’mon. Dat’s jus’ not fair! Not ma fault I’m not fancy on ma hooves, Babs silently complained, trotting over to the punch table.

Babs Seed took the ladle of the punchbowl and poured herself another generous cup. She tilted it back and drank it all in one gulp, finding it sweet, saccharine, fitting. Pinkie’s outdone herself wit’ dis recipe. Much betta than was at the cute-cenearas.

She was just about to make her way back into the epicenter of the celebration and face the nerve-wracking music when a strange, muffled sound caught her attention. Babs pricked her ears over the music and laughter of the party guests. It seemed pitiful, perhaps a whimper or a whine. It continued, steady and concealed, hidden to everypony but one observant filly.

She looked about the scene, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Shrugging, Babs took one mere hoof-step forward when it started up again. Louder this time. Unmistakable.

Somepony’s cryin’.

Babs quickly darted her gaze to the punchbowl and, consequently, the drink table. A quick flick of a thick purple-and-white tail underneath the table betrayed all doubt. She leaned down on her hooves and whispered under the table, “Diamond Tiara?”

Huddled near the wall, forehooves wrapped around herself, Metal Crown did not reply. Instead, she faced away from Babs and stifled her cries, resorting to ineffective sniffling. Crown swallowed her sorrow and mentally scolded herself. There was no way this despicable filly would have the joy of seeing her cry. There was no way she would allow a fillyfooler to make this night far worse than it already was.

“Diamond Tiara? Youze alright?”

Babs Seed quietly ducked under the table and scooted closer towards her. Despite their disagreements—despite their mutual hatred of another—she was compelled to act. Perhaps it was pity; perhaps it was empathy. Perhaps it was something more substantial.

During Graduation, it seemed everypony had at least one family member beaming in the audience, standing on their hindhooves in ovation once their pride and joy crossed the stage and officially joined the ranks of adulthood. Many surprises sat among those rows. Scootaloo’s absentee guardians found the means to make it. So did Sweetie Belle’s busy fashionista sister, interrupting a stay in Canterlot to share this powerful memory. Citrus, Libra, and Braeburn had journeyed the eight hours from Appleloosa to Ponyville, braving the desert sun and a cramped train cab meant for two.

Surely, Filthy Rich and Diamond's mother could’ve showed their muzzles.

They hadn’t. Everypony but the sobbing filly lying on the sticky floor of Sugarcube Corner had somepony to celebrate with on this momentous day, this moment in time. And, in spite of her venom and malice and irrationality, Metal Crown reminded the bully from the East of somepony far less reprehensive.

Apple Bloom once asked iffa youze was summat how I was. How I was a lifetime ago. An’ maybe I don’t wanna admit it, but maybe, youze are. I certainly recognize those tears.

One inch closer. Stretching out a forehoof. Gently, Babs said, “C’mon, I know we ain’t the best o’ friends, but—“

“That’s putting it lightly.” Crown growled, flipping over to face her. The sapphire-blue within her irises contrasted no more glaringly than they did right now, a slight drop of azure in a sea of red. Mascara ran down her face in twin trails of shameful tears. Rubbing her muzzle with a forehoof, the filly scowled, her tone failing her malevolence, “Don’t you have anything better to do than try and come onto me? Go mess around with your cousin or something.”

Ha. Mo’ like dance ‘round. O’ try ta. Babs Seed snickered. “Youze couldn’t insult a flea right now iffa youze tried, Tiara. An’ I’m much bigga than a flea.”

Metal Crown groaned and rolled her aching eyes. “Of course you are. You’re fat.”

Ignoring the jab—Dat’s muscle, youze idiot!—Babs snapped back, “So, how long youze been unda heeya, eh? I’m thinkin’ I’m the first ta find youze.” An’ youze be thankful I did, ‘cuz nopony else will.

“That’s none of your business. Go away.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t make me make you go away.”

“C’mon, Tiara, youze think I’m afraid o’ somepony like youze? Who kicked youze flank a few years ago? Who saved youze an’ Spoon from timberwolves? Huh?”

Unable to muster a counterargument, Metal Crown huffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Crown sniffed and bit her bottom lip, slowing the steady stream of tears. She stared straight ahead, seeking to escape Babs's gaze. It was useless. Those menacing emerald eyes wouldn’t stop watching her, transfixed on her every motion. “Why are you staring at me? Take a picture! It’ll last longer.”

Babs replied, sneering, “Youze flatta youzeself too much, Tiara. But, iffa youze ain’t gonna tell me what’s wrong, I’m gonna jus’ leave youze heeya. There’s a whole party goin’ on, an’ it’s a hell o’ a lot mo’ fun than mopin’ wit’ youze.” Even iffa I have ta dance.

Scooting carefully back on her hindhooves, ducking her head, Babs added, “Sorry fo’ carin’ ‘bout youze.” Foalish on ma part, anyhow.

She was a mere motion away from safely escaping the table when two forehooves clung to one of hers. Their owner tugged forcefully, pulling her back.

Oh, c’mon…

Sighing, Babs hesitantly asked, “… Yes?”

After a slight pause, Crown answered with a question of her own. “… Why?”

“Why what?”

“… Why… why do you…” Crown took a deep breath before asking, “Why do you care about me?”

“I don’t!” Babs Seed blurted. Shaking her muzzle, she clarified, “Well, not ‘bout youze in particular. But iffa somepony’s cryin’ under a punch table at a graduation party, Celestia knows somepony oughta step up an’ ask ‘em why. It’s the right thing ta do.”

Crown whispered back, “But… but… I hate you…”

“Do youze, Diamond Tiara?”

Crown paused. Looking down at the unshaven fetlock grasped tightly between two of her own, she found that question hopping on a carousel within her consciousness, spinning and taunting her. Did she really? Well, of course she did, offered one half of her mind.

Babs Seed was not only a fillyfooler—which was grounds for friendship termination by itself—but she was a haughty, arrogant brute. The bruises had long healed. Well, the physical ones had. The jab at the train station, however, still weighed heavily on Diamond’s mind. Her antagonist would never surmise how deeply her parting vow had cut to the core. How sharp her words could become.

Another side of her answered slightly differently. No. She did not hate Babs Seed. “Hate” missed the mark. “Loathing” was not a suitable verb either. No. There was something else.

Babs Seed had it all: a loving family, a special somepony, two great friends. Even if that family was composed of simpletons and working-class stooges, even if that special somepony was her own female cousin, and even if those two friends were equally as pathetic, it was still far more than Diamond Tiara possessed. She would never admit that envy, rather than wrath, was her deadly sin. Though not spiritual in any sense, Diamond Tiara was ashamed of this particular sin, this sickening weakness.

If it weren’t for the tears, her eyes would’ve been green.

“I… well, I…” Crown's sentence trailed off into the distance, interrupted by a loud burst of laughter nearby. She stared across the floor towards a group of fillies and colts engaged in a round of "Spin The Bottle".

Among the participants, Crown spotted a silver Earth pony filly, laughing and blushing as she nervously took her turn. A quick spin sealed her fate. Taking off her glasses, the silver filly gestured towards a white unicorn filly, brought her close, and kissed her.

“Oh, yea. Quite a show over there.” Babs nodded towards the raunchy party game. “Sweetie said she wanted ta do summat mo’ fun than dance. Wasn’t thinkin’ she’d pick dis, but, whateva makes her happy,” she explained, stretching out beside her antagonist. She smiled and added, “Apple Bloom’s tryin’ ta con me inta dancin’, hehe. Scoot’s wit’ Feathaweight, o’ course. She made him dance too, poor colt. Been… three years, now, fo’ dem? Damn. It’s been dat long. Crazy. We're all findin’ our special someponies, youze could say. Heh.

“’Ey, youze neva answered me.”

Metal Crown’s temperature began to rise, a light blush streaking across her muzzle. She watched as Silver Spoon and her object of affection plunged forward for another kiss—this one voluntary, disregarding the bottle and its spin entirely. The sight was hypnotic, clutching her in its forehooves, unwilling to release her. In silence, she stared, counting the seconds, counting every move.

Retching or vomiting seemed more appropriate responses than her current fascination. The few times she’d been unfortunate enough to catch the bully and the then-blankflank in the act, mashing their fetid lips together, she’d been disgusted. Which she should’ve been. Right?

Her father was the wealthiest, most powerful stallion in Ponyville. He’d always warned his filly of such deviance, such madness, such flank-backwards insanity. Surely, he couldn’t be wrong. Could he?

Why then, Metal Crown wondered, was she feeling so jealous? Why then, did she think back to that awful Hearts and Hooves Day? Why did the memory keep her up in the night, every Hearts and Hooves Day since, giving way to over-analysis and contemplation?

Maybe, Crown thought, Silver Spoon—

Babs Seed clapped her forehooves in front of the filly’s face. “Aaah!”

“What the hay is wrong wit’ youze?!” Babs demanded, glaring.

“Oh! Sorry! To your question, I, um,” Crown stumbled, tearing away from the scene. Turning to an irritated filly, she said, “I, well… uh… I guess ‘hate’ is a strong word.”

Smirking, Babs replied, “I thought so. Youze talk too big o’ a game. Nothin’ ta back it up. Heh. By the way, youze had youze chance, youze know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Crown exclaimed.

“Oh, really? So youze weren’t starin’ at Silva an’ Sweetie, huh?” Babs teased, raising a knowing eyebrow. Nopony’s as good a liar as me. Not even youze.

Metal Crown drew her lips back in a snarl. “Why would I?! Good for her, that sick, twisted fillyfooler! Now they can be depraved together! And good for you and your—“

Babs Seed interrupted, “Oh, cut it out, will youze? Youze know, youze seem awfully fixated on dat kinda stuff fo’ a filly who allegedly only likes colts…”

Another poorly concealed blush brought a triumphant grin to Babs's muzzle. Oh, thought so. Saw youze first one, too. Idiot.

Noting that the tears had ceased, and feeling finished with this conversation in more ways than one, Babs Seed again began to crawl her way out from under the table. This time, a quick yank of her tail halted her. “What do youze want now?!”

“How did you know?” Crown asked, leaning close to whisper her question.

“Know what?”

“That you were… that you were…”

“C’mon, Diamond, quit wastin’ ma time.”

Crown hissed her reply before she could stop herself, regretting each word as it left her tongue. “That you were into fillies!”

There. There it was. She thanked every nonexistent god she could imagine that her father was not here. If he had been, she would pray silently to Most Low instead of Most High in hopes of a curse. Deafening the stallion would be her only chance then.

Oh, how her father would hate her for the mere possibility implied within her words.

Babs immediately chuckled, her grin wide and mocking. Metal Crown stared at the tile and growled under her breath, “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

“Then why did youze ask?” Lowering her voice, Babs Seed muttered, “Youze know, I won’t tell anypony dat youze asked. O’ anythin’ dat youze don’t want ‘em ta know.”

Crown raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to trust you?”

Good point. “Fair enough,” Babs said. “But… ta answer youze question, it’s because I fell fo’ somepony. Somepony very special. An’ youze know what, Tiara? I don’t like labels. Fillyfooler. What a nasty word. I ain’t foolin’ nopony. I jus’ fell in love. An’ I jus’ fell fo’ a filly. I jus’ followed ma heart.

“Maybe youze should, too.”

Before she could be captured once more, Babs Seed departed, squirming from under the table. She crouched down and muttered some final parting words once freed. She reasoned it was time for them at last.

Babs Seed bore no guilt, unburdened by any heavy yoke. What was fitting then had been uttered, without a speck or trace of regret. It was the same today and now. There was no regret. She was compelled by righteousness alone. That circle of long past had been drawn in the mud and the sand, incomplete. Now came the reckoning of completion, wholeness, things returning to where they began.

There was a time and place for everything. This Graduation Day demanded completion in all loose ends. Six years had taught her the value of repentance and the hope of redemption. Nopony was truly beyond salvation. Nopony was lost to the darkness. Nopony in Ponyville, anyway. Everypony deserved a second chance for truth and tomorrow.

Even somepony like youze.

Babs Seed said, “I’m sorry fo’ pushin’ youze in the mud, Diamond.”

She neglected to wait for a response, no will to argue further. She took to her hooves, navigating through the crowd, in search of her filly and her best friend, leaving Diamond Tiara in her dust.

Underneath the drink table, Diamond Tiara felt the hint of a smile at the corner of her muzzle, and to her departed antagonist, whispered, “And I’m sorry for hating you and Apple Bloom. I was wrong. I… I guess I’m happy for you.”

Sweetie Belle and Silver Spoon trotted out of Sugarcube Corner, tails entwined.

Sighing, Diamond Tiara relented, “I guess I have to be.”

~

“Now, see, ya jus’ put yer forehoof in mine, an’—“

“Like dis?”

“No… that’s close. Ya need ta hold it higher. An’ then ya take yer other one—see?—an’ then ya hold me wit’ the other one.”

“… C’mon, Bloom. Youze know I can’t dance.”

“Ya never told me that! You jus' said ya neva have befo'!”

“I did once in school, in Manehatten, an' failed. An' now, well, youze know.”

“Awww, c’mon. Please, jus' try? Fer me?”

“… Fine.”

A few minutes and one stumbling filly later, Pinkie Pie giggled, “Looks like somepony has four left horseshoes!”

Wearing the punch bowl as a fitting hat, Babs Seed grumbled to her fillyfriend, “I told youze so.”