Year Seven: Love Is Thicker Than Blood
Year Seven: Love Is Thicker Than Blood
Skagway patrolled the perimeter of his camp, fighting the urge to hang his muzzle in shame. Four months. For four months he'd worked his crew to their bones, tearing their sinews, breaking them until they could be broken no more. And for what? Not a speckle more of gold dust was found here in the lands surrounding Yukon, much less a nugget. They’d covered almost an entire five-mile radius around the settlement, all for naught.
He sighed. At the very least, the scoundrel and brute known as Babs Seed hadn’t caused him much more trouble. In fact, other than occasional drunkenness and minor squabbles over rounds of poker, there was very little trouble within the camp. Allspice cooked the finest for him and his crew, his prospectors dug until their tools dulled, his carpenters and sluicers dug through the ore and the Earth until their forehooves were black, and his hauler completed her duties without the slightest complaint.
For nothing.
Skagway sighed and continued his rounds, his revolver securely holstered. Mid-way through June already, the hooves of time would soon rotate their hourglass to July and the hottest heat of the year. He looked around his desert plains. Most of the cacti here had long been harvested, their water and fruit drained for his miners. Their last oasis had been drained by the sluice. Tomorrow, they would need to hike out into the frontier again, searching for an oasis and accompanying cacti. Without water to filter the heavy sediment, their work—especially Dyea’s—would be that much more difficult.
And though the prospector was a weathered, grizzled old brute, his Stetson caked in dirt and clay from years of mining, the last thing he wanted to do was break up his crew.
Satisfied that all was quiet and secure, Skagway began to turn his hooves towards the fire-pit and his most recent boulder-pillow when he heard a low growl.
He spun around, finding a pair of glowing green eyes staring at him through the blackness. The stallion quickly drew his revolver and aimed it between those eyes. Within the few seconds that trickled by between reaction and action, a second and third pair of eyes joined the first, and then a fourth, a fifth…
“Horseapples. Coyotes,” he whispered, words chilled with the night air. The waning moon above provided insufficient light. He saw no paws, no fur, no swishing, bristled tails, but the terrible tenor of their voices and the piercing light of their eyes identified them with all the precision of a biologist.
The stallion braced his hooves as the pack of canines inched towards him, coming into view at last as the flames of his campfire flickered in his peripherals. Coyotes they were—the size of small mares, hackles raised and claws brandished.
Skagway squeezed the trigger, pointing at the nearest coyote.
Nothing happened.
He darted his weapon towards another beast and pulled again.
Nothing.
~
“A bar?! Ah thought ya didn’t like bars,” Apple Bloom teased, poking Babs in the chest.
“Long as nopony comes an’ shoots it up, I’m fine with it,” Babs Seed countered, laughing a little. “I think it’d help AJ, an’ I wanna repay her fo’ all she’s done fo’ me. Fo’ youze. Fo’ all o’ us. She deserves betta than strugglin’.”
Apple Bloom leaned in close and kissed her on the snout. “Yer so sweet,” she whispered, wrapping her forehooves around her mare’s neck. “Aren’t Ah the lucky one…”
~
Skagway held his revolver steady in his shaking forehoof. He quickly checked his rounds, spinning his revolver’s chamber-wheel. Seven were ready to fire, hot lead seeking freedom at a burst of gunpowder and flame. A chill ran down his spine. He ran a forehoof over the barrel, finding the eighth trapped at the end.
“Horseapples! ‘Volver ain’t s’pposed ta jam!”
The coyotes were approaching, inch by tormented inch. Their muzzles dripped with yellowed incisors and revealed fangs. Their fetid breath was close enough for the stallion to taste it on his nauseated tongue. He secured the weapon with both forehooves and squeezed the trigger, a third time, a fourth, a fifth.
All useless.
Skagway was the boss of his crew for two reasons: one rattled in a Mason jar tucked within his saddlebags, and the other laid useless in his grasp, reduced to a club in the face of its malfunction.
The stallion opened and closed his mouth, mustering a scream. It was silent. His old heart began to quicken in time, beating faster and faster, threatening cardiac. If the beasts didn’t consume him, he feared his adrenaline would, rocketing through his muscles and setting his mind and heart afire, demanding action, turn and flee, or stand and fight.
“Grrrrrrrrrr.”
The first beast, slightly larger than the others, spoke a second time. No translation was needed. Skagway spat on the ground and hissed back, “Try an’ take me.” Brandishing the revolver by its grip with one forehoof and tensing the other, he awaited the strike, the pounce, the gnashing that was soon to come.
~
Babs Seed peeked her head out from under the blanket and pricked her ears towards the night. Growlin’. I heard growlin’.
Apple Bloom slept beside her, dead to Equestria, eyelids twitching in the haze of R.E.M. sleep. She did not stir or wake as her mare slowly squirmed out from the cover, listening close. I coulda swear, I heard—
“Grrrrrrrrrr.” There it was again.
Babs Seed burst to all four of her hooves, smacking her head against the top draw-rope strung between their cacti. Groaning and slightly dazed, she stumbled out of their shelter. Apple Bloom stayed asleep, her forehooves curled up around a pony who was no longer there.
Silently, Babs vowed, I’ll be back in jus’ a sec, Bloom, and kicked up a cloud of dust off her hindhooves. She caught sight of five glowing pairs of demonic orbs in the night and one stallion trembling before them.
~
Skagway brought down the barrel of his revolver as the first coyote lunged for his neck. Steel connected with skull and crashed, eliciting a howl from his attacker and a responding spring of four others. Together, the four remaining beasts launched towards the stallion, grabbing onto his neck, flanks, and stomach. They bore down, down, down with teeth as hypodermic needles injecting the deepest poison into his bloodstream.
Skagway howled and smashed the one on his neck first, revolver kissing it across the muzzle. This coyote, like his counterpart, crumbled on the sand. The other three doubled their efforts. Cursing, the stallion swung his useless gun again towards a beast, raising his forehoof back.
“AAAAHHH!”
His first tormentor recovered from his daze and cleverly attacked his right forehoof, sending his revolver flying into the sand. The beast clenched his jaws down onto his prize and tore, dangling from his limb as the stallion flailed, flailed, flailed, crimson staining his coat and his vision beginning to blur.
This is it, Skagway thought. The end.
“Come an’ get me, Ol’ Scratch…” He gave up his ghost in defeat as the fifth coyote jumped up alongside his brothers, aiming for the throat.
~
Babs Seed reached Skagway, turned her back, and bucked her hindhooves into two coyotes attached to his left flank. The beasts howled and hit the sand. Blood gushed from their jaws, ribs shattering on impact.
She jumped over to the other side and grabbed the other beast making a meal of the stallion’s side, wrestling it to the ground. The coyote raked its claws across her side and stomach, staining his nails red with her blood.
Thoughtless, mindless, driven only by instincts of long, long past, channeled by strength from muscle and sinew and adrenaline and calorie and Earth, Babs Seed pummeled the coyote, throat and muzzle and chest, until it ceased, death rattling in its trachea and its tongue flopping uselessly out of its murderous maw.
Skagway, now freed of three beasts, dodged the fifth aiming for his throat and flicked the fourth to the ground. He raised his forehooves and stomped down on one, bone and flesh crumpling beneath his thunder. The final beast, spurred by revenge and bloodlust unimaginable, leapt again.
This time, Babs Seed caught it in the air, springing her entire body into the coyote. She overpowered it, pinning it to the sand, and, with a quick twist of her forehooves, snapped its neck.
Panting, dripping blood from several slashes on her sides and stomach, Babs Seed looked over and asked, “Youze alright?”
Skagway, breathing so quickly that his vision began to blur and dot, couldn’t nod, or reply, or close his eyes. He stood there, frozen, all four of his hooves trembling, oblivious to the mare trotting over and examining his wounds.
“Wowza, looks like dey got youze good, too. C’mon, Bloom an’ I got some—“
“Why did ya do that?”
Skagway stared straight ahead, transfixed on some unknown object in the distance. His gray irises darkened and deepened into pure, haunting blackness. Still the Reaper tangoed before him, taunting him, sickle raised high and ready to separate his soul from his body, his Earth from his Heaven.
So close, it had been.
Babs Seed steadied him with a forehoof and gently tugged him towards the camp. “Because it’s the right thing ta do. Now, c’mon, youze is bleedin’. We need ta get youze clea—“
“After all Ah did ta ya?” Finally facing her, his voice quivered, hovering somewhere between sorrow and gratitude.
“’Ey, youze jus’ doin’ youze job,” she said, forcing a grin. Don’t have ta be such a prick ‘bout it, but ‘ey, the desert ain’t no easy mistress. She got ta youze a while ‘go, fo’ good reason. “Now, c’mon, Skagway—“
He shook his head and smiled, urging her, ”Please, Babs, call me Soapy.”
~
Two weeks later, both of their wounds had healed completely. Both made a full recovery and buried their hatchets in the sand, striking up a newfound friendship. At night, Skagway would share tales of his youth with Babs Seed, Apple Bloom, Dyea, and Allspice, huddled around the fire-pit while the remainder of his crew played poker or blackjack or wrestled each other for the last bowl of stew.
Through his whisperings, the two Ponyville mares learned that the frontier remained vastly unsettled or unexplored. “Yukon’s the minin’ town fer gold, but nothin’ fer silver’s popped up yet. Oil’s a bit ta the south o’ Appleloosa, actually. Shame ain’t mo’ towns ‘round here. Seen far too many settler-ponies push themselves too hard, no place ta stop in between.”
“Where’s the nearest town?” asked Apple Bloom. “Babs an’ Ah were kinda thinkin’ o’ buildin’ a bar o’ somethin’.”
“A bar?” Allspice snickered and glanced towards Babs Seed. “Youze be careful wit’ dat stuff, alright? Youze o’ all ponies should know what can come o’ dat.”
Babs dismissed her with a forehoof and said, “I know what youze mean, but I ain’t worried. What I really wanna do is help ma family. Our family,” she clarified, smiling at her mare. “Things ain’t goin’ too good fo’ ‘em. Figured iffa I open up a bar an’ sell our products, it should help out.”
Skagway took a drink from a silver flask, chasing whiskey down his throat. Wiping his muzzle with a forehoof, he said, “Ya know, Ah can tell ya fer a fact tons o’ ponies out here would do damn near anythin’ fer Applejack Daniel’s an’ such. That there flask has the last o’ mine that Ah bought in Appleloosa. But Ah ain’t willin’ ta hike twenty miles ta go find it.
"Ah’ll tell ya what, though… y’all wanna pull up stakes an’ go settle someplace, Ah won’t stop ya. Although, might take me a bit ta find a hauler good as ol’ Babs, here,” he joked, nudging her in the ribs.
Their laughter echoed throughout the desert night, five friends—some new, some old—around the campfire, no gold to be had but treasure just as supreme and priceless shared amongst them.
~
On the first Friday of July, Skagway’s prospecting team struck gold at last within the desert sands. The coordinates were about ten miles away from Yukon, about twenty-four feet below the surface and hidden deep within the chasms. The haul, in total, amounted to about 1200 bits worth of unrefined treasure.
Skagway, true to his word, provided each and every member of his team with ten percent of the haul: 120 bits a muzzle. Months and months of back-breaking labor and relentless digging, hauling, and sluicing came to a hilt with the discovery of hoof-fulls of gold nuggets, prime for the hammer and anvil and the marketplace.
However, he made one exception to his rule, and kept a nugget intended for his own coffers for another purpose.
~
Rolling up the blankets, cutting a section of rope down from its taut stringing between the catcti (reasoning that it wasn’t worth trying to untie the ends from all the needles tangled with them), and uprooting the four stakes from the final time, Apple Bloom broke their camp, tucking everything into their saddlebags.
Almost five months of mining beneath the desert blaze, communicating to friends and family through sweat-stained parchment, and ensuring that her mare did not break her spine running herself into the ground (the hardest job of all!) finally paid off.
After the camp’s minor mining success, she and Babs Seed agreed: it was time. Their hooves itched again and cried out for some sort of rest. Construction of a bar and handling of a business would not be easy work, but it beat sorting through dirt or hauling it.
Saddlebag packed, she trotted over to Babs Seed, who was scarfing down the last camp breakfast of their near-Yukon adventure. “Ya ready ta go? Maybe Allspice can give us a doggie bag,” she joked, giggling. The chef-pony rolled her eyes and giggled with her.
“Mmff, I’m almost, mmph, done,” grunted Babs Seed between bites of muesli. Uncouth as always, she lapped up the last bits of the mixture before offering a wary Allspice the empty bowl. “Uh, youze might wanta wash dat one real good. Sorry.”
“No problem, kiddo,” Allspice said with a wink. She smacked herself in the forehead, laughing. “Oh, how could I forget? Youze ain’t no lil’ foal anymo’. Neitha are youze, Apple Bloom. Both o’ youze is all grown up. An’ now youze gonna go an’ have mo’ adventures!”
“Dat’s right." Babs trotted over and hoisted her own saddlebags—weighed down with, among other things, 310 extra bits and enough harvested fig cactus and water to last them both through weeks of trekking—onto her back.
From almost five months of agonizing work, each hoof-step and heartbeat an exercise reducing all others to mere play, she had grown even stronger, and did not flinch under the weight. She joined the two other mares and teased her own, “Alright, Cap’n Apple Bloom, get out the map an’ tell us where we wanna go next.”
From behind her came a baritone, “Hey, before y’all go—“
She spun around. “Oh, hey, Soapy.”
The stallion grinned. “Hey. Ah got somethin’ fer ya, Babs, if ya want it.”
She glanced curiously to Allspice and Apple Bloom, who shrugged. “Um… what youze got, Soapy? Oh, by the way, why does everypony call youze ‘Soapy,’ anyhow?”
Tipping his grime-coated Stetson, the stallion chortled and said, “Well, Ah think it’s kinda a lil’ jab at ma, shall we say, down-ta-Earth manner! Haha!”
He whooped and slapped his flanks, the other three soon joining him. Once calmed, he said, “Anyway, Ah had somethin’ made from our haul. It’s fer you, Babs, if ya want it. Hold on.”
Soapy reached back towards his saddlebags and fumbled blindly through it, passing over a flask, a pickaxe, a map, a compass, and, finally, locating his prize. “Oh! Here we are.”
He grasped a small box between his forehooves and passed it to Babs Seed, who looked down at it suspiciously. “It’s not what ya think,” he assured, chuckling out of the side of his muzzle. “Ah ain’t that type o’ stallion, anyway. It's jus' a thanks, fer... well, you know. Anyhow, go ‘head, open it.”
“Alright…”
Babs Seed lifted the top half of the box, revealing a single, golden hoop earring inside.
Allspice and Apple Bloom exhaled in awe.
“S-Soapy, dis is real nice, but…” Babs flicked both her ears and chuckled nervously. “I don’t have any piercin’s. Youze didn’t have ta make dis.”
“Oh, it weren’t no problem. Ah need somethin’ ta do on nights that Ah patrol ‘round these parts. Needed ta practice wit' hammer an' anvil anyway. Ah figured Ah could help ya wit’ the no-piercin’ part, too, considerin’ it looks like somepony already tried ta pierce ya befo’ an’ didn’t do it right,” he explained, pointing at her left ear.
Allspice, Apple Bloom, and Babs Seed shared a silence, pondering a response.
Babs Seed broke it with, “Neva get a piercer who’s red-an’-black.”
~
“Ya ready?” Soapy asked, balancing a sharp needle (which had been sterilized with both a flame and a few shots of whiskey) in his forehooves.
Digging her haunches into the sand, Babs Seed pricked her left ear up and dug her forehooves into the ground. Apple Bloom and Allspice maintained a tight grip on both of her forelimbs—just in case. Sighing, she closed her eyes and mumbled, “Ready.”
Soapy leaned forward and squinted one of his eyes shut, correcting his vision. “Alright, this’ll only hurt a bit. Ya might feel a slight pinch, an’—“
“How would youze know?!” she snapped, peeking one eye open and glaring back at him. “I don’t see any piercin’s in youze ears!”
“Not anymo’, ya don’t,” Soapy corrected. “Now, ready?”
Sighing, she relented, “As I’ll eva be,” and closed her eyes again.
“Alright…
“One…
“Two…
“Three!”
~
One hour later, two mares departed Soapy’s mining camp, pointing their hooves towards the south this time. The twenty-five miles between their current location and Appleloosa were barren, lifeless, untouched by any pony civilization. Whispers of a fledgling new settlement in the southwest spurred their hooves. Soapy even tossed in rumors of a hotel there, and the prospect of a real bed and pillows were almost enough to send them galloping through the overwhelming heat.
They pressed on, following their compasses, ready to begin again.
~
“An’ then, ya said it didn’t hurt, an’ then me an’ Allspice started ta—“
“Yes, Bloom, I know, I was there.”
“No, no. That’s not even the best part. Then, ya started ta stand up, an’—“
“Apple Bloom!”
“What? Ah’m jus’ havin’ a lil’ fun. Ya look cute wit’ a piercin’.”
“… Thanks, I guess?”
“Ya know what ya look even cuter doin’?”
“… What?”
“Tryin’ ta act all tough, then passin’ out. Ma Babs, ma big ol’ hero, passin’ out from a hole in her ear! Hehehe!”
“… Dat’s it. Youze sleepin’ alone tonight.”
“Aww! C’mon, Babsy, Ah was jus’ jokin’!”
“Usin’ dat nickname don’t get youze no points dis time.”
“… Fiddle-fangle.”
~
Three hours later, chasing the sun as it began to dip below the horizon, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom encountered an Equestrian flag stuck in the middle of the sand—an epicenter in a small circle of buildings. There, in that stretch of plain, numerous species of cacti (including the “W” variety) stretched their limbs towards the desert sky. Tumbleweeds rushed by in the gentle wind. It the only sound heard here in this dot of civilization found outside of the map.
Here laid the most glorious of treasures, far more wondrous than the sparkling gold in Babs Seed's ear: a hotel. And a post office. And a general store.
There was, however, no bar. Nor no declaration of the settlement’s name, no sign decreeing one pony’s power over the others. There was, perhaps, no need for one—it was merely an outpost, an oasis, a refuge in the wasteland, a heap of images, but none of them broken.
“Wowza…”
Apple Bloom placed a forehoof on her shoulder, in awe herself. “Jus’ look at it. All these are new, these buildin’s. Everythin’s new. But… where is everypony?”
“Probably at the hotel. C’mon.”
~
The innkeeper charged the two mares ten bits for a week’s stay in her humbly crafted hotel. The design was simplistic—no arched ceilings, wall sconces, famous paintings (even replicas) or fine sculptures could be found here. What Apple Bloom and Babs Seed found instead was a real bed—their first in almost five months—complete with pillows, blankets, and, most of all, a roof. A writing desk, a small table, two chairs and a complementary wind-up alarm clock completed the room.
On that first night, Babs Seed put quill to parchment:
“Ma—
Hope everypony is doing good in Appleloosa. Bloom and I have left the mining crew and find ourselves in some nameless settlement. Even the innkeeper says it doesn’t have a name. Instead, it has a hotel, with a REAL BED. Real sheets, blankets, pillows. I can’t explain to you how amazing those are after five months of sleeping beneath some blankets and starlight. Though, I do miss that. We’ll have to do that sometime again…
Anyway. We struck gold, and—you might not like this part—part of it is in my ear. The left one. I guess it’s easier to explain this way now. Not that it’s anypony’s business anyway. But yeah, we’re here, and we’ve been thinking…
I really do feel indebted to Applejack for all she’s done for me, for us, for everypony. And I know how hard she’s working, only to fall so short. Our team leader pointed out that many ponies would do just about anything to get some Applejack Daniel’s out here.
Bloom and I were thinking… Maybe we could open a bar out here, be stable for a bit, make some bits, sell Apple Family cider and whiskey. Split the profits with AJ, so she’s staying afloat, and we are, too. I don’t know. Part of me wants to try oil next, but after five months of hauling ore, I think I just want to rest a bit…
I’m not going to ask for help, because you, Citrus, and Brae have your hooves full. Between Apple Bloom and myself, we have almost seven hundred bits—more than enough to get the materials for the bar. Problem is, we don’t know how to get anything out this far. Guess we haven’t been out in the “real world” long enough, heh…
Hope to hear from you soon…
Love,
Babs Seed”
Rolling up the parchment into a tight scroll, Babs Seed secured it with twine, jotted down the address, and left it on the small table within the room. She made a mental note to send it first thing in the morning.
For now, two vagabonds turned out the light, sleeping under a roof for the first (but not last) time. Their mining adventure reached its conclusion, but it would always be a part of the long arc of their shared history, their seven years of valleys and mountains, plains and clearings.
In Babs Seed’s left ear, below the mark that defined them—that bound them—a piece of gold glimmered in the moonlight, a gift from an eternally grateful stallion.
“Ah thought ya said Ah was sleepin’ alone tonight,” Apple Bloom whispered before closing her eyes, nuzzling her mare.
Summoned by the presence of the Sandmare, Babs Seed closed her eyes and pulled her mare close, shaking her muzzle. “I don’t want youze to, though,” she mused, yawning, beginning her descent into dreams.
Apple Bloom returned the yawn, beckoned by the same deity. “Hmm. Will ya ever?”
“No,” Babs Seed said, the most honest denial she’d ever mutter.
Builder and destroyer rested that night, entwined in each other’s hooves, nearly nineteen, no burden on their backs or in their hearts.
~
Mail-pegasi, if properly trained and scheduled, typically take only a few hours to reach their marked destination from their original post. The next day, Babs Seed found this to be an welcome truth.
Around high noon, as she perused the shelves of the local general store to stock up on a few supplies, a forehoof tapped her on the shoulder. When she spun around, a gray, cross-eyed pegasus mumbled around a letter in her mouth, “It’s for you!”
“Er, thanks, Derpy,” she muttered, reluctantly accepting the saliva-soaked letter. She eyed the mare with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Derpy, of course, paid Babs no mind and went about on her merry way, almost crashing into a display of canned beans on her exit. With a few quick flaps of her wings (burdened slightly by a large bag of mail and muffins), she rocketed out of the settlement and up into the sky, Babs Seed watching as she became a dot against the horizon.
Would be nice ta have wings some days. Huh. She made her purchases and pulled up a stool on the store’s porch. Wiping the rest of the mailmare’s spittle off the envelope, she tore open the letter and began to read:
“Babs—
Say no more. Braeburn says he and Silverstar have some leftover materials from the latest addition to the Sheriff’s office you can use. I think it’s a wonderful idea. I do wish to help Applejack, and have offered to do so, but that stubborn mare (both an Orange and an Apple thing, BELIEVE me) won’t accept my bits. Maybe she will accept yours. After all, it would just be business. Never saw you as the type to sling suds, but just promise me you be careful with that, alright? More drinking than selling cuts into your profits, too.
Things here are alright. Work is steady for me. Citrus still hasn’t jumped the gun on this store, saying she’s only a thousand bits or so away from feeling comfortable enough to build it. When she does, I’m sure she’ll do great here. The town is growing exponentially. It’s crazy.
Not all of it is for the good, though. We had to hire a third deputy. Things are just getting out of hoof. We had another shooting, again at the saloon. This time, the bastard fired only at the bar-pony’s liquor shelf. He managed to clear out about all the Daniel’s and local cider before Silverstar shot him. Strange things are happening in this town. And I think Braeburn said this one had the same tattoo as the one before him.
Sorry, going off on a tangent again. It’s an Orange thing. Anyway, please, give us some coordinates to where you’re staying so we can meet up. It's been far too long, and we can't wait to see you two.
Tell Apple Bloom I said hi and I love her.
I love you.
I’m proud of you both.
Sincerely,
—Mother
P.S. Good on you for getting a piercing without asking my opinion, because the answer would've been NO.”
She read the letter again and again, its words piercing her haze upon the fourth (or was it the fifth?) read. She’s gonna help us! There was a shootin’! Anotha one! A new Deputy? Silverstar’s still ‘round? How can he be, wit’ Appleloosa how it is? Oh, can't wait ta see everypony soon!
Babs Seed crossed the boundless road to the hotel, stomping up the stairs and reaching their room within a minute or so. Key turned strike and tumbler, allowing her inside. Apple Bloom sat at the writing desk, hunched over a letter of her own.
“’Ey, Bloom! Guess what?” Babs practically hopped over to her. “I got a letta back from Ma!”
“Already?” Apple Bloom spun around. “Wow! Ah guess Auntie really liked what ya had ta say! What did she say? What does she think o’ this?”
“She thinks it’s a great idea! Said dat Brae has some spare materials we can use! Bet he'd let us get 'em real cheap.”
Apple Bloom rose from her chair and threw her forehooves around Babs Seed. “Oh, sugarcube, that’s wonderful! Ah’m so glad ta hear! Oh, we’re gonna make her so proud, an’ Applejack, too! In fact...” She glanced towards the parchment on the desk. “Ah was jus’ ‘bout ta write her an’ offer up the idea. Ah think she’ll say yes. Ain’t charity, after all, an’ she needs it. We’ll need it, too.”
“O’ course. Need somethin’ fo’ all these crazy sourdoughs,” Babs joked, hugging her back. “Only Apple Family whiskey an’ cider will be fit fo’ ‘em.”
“Exactly!”
“Hehe, eeyup. Say, uh, do youze think youze can get ‘coordinates’ fo’ where we are? I, uh, ain’t the best wit’ directions,” Babs admitted, blushing slightly. An’ I would hate ta face Ma’s wrath iffa I get her lost in the desert… Celestia help us all when she gets angry. Ohhhh, yes.
“’Course, silly filly. Gotta be one o’ us who knows where we are.” Apple Bloom trotted over to her saddlebags and whipped out the map, studying it carefully. “Hmm… alright, so we were twenty-five o’ so west o’ Appleloosa, then we went south ‘bout… ten o’ so… Alright. Ah got it.
"Write this down: thirty-three degrees, fifteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds north by ‘hundred-fifty-five degrees, twenty-seven minutes, an’ fifty-nine seconds west.”
Babs Seed scribbled out the coordinates on a piece of parchment, then paused. “Wait… what does dat even mean?”
“Don’t worry. They’ll be able ta find it. Not everypony fell asleep during geography, ya know.”
“… Dat was one time!”
~
They spent their days hiking in the plains, cracking cactus open with their hindhooves and noshing on the sweet fruit within (once repulsive, now addictive), exchanging letters between Cloudsdale and Canterlot, and drawing up blueprints for the bar. A long, boring week later, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom awoke to the thud of a set of hooves on their oak.
Stumbling to her hooves, Babs meandered over to the door and looked through the peephole. Two mares and a stallion waited in front of them, all with wide grins on their muzzles.
She ran a forehoof through her disheveled, wild mane, glanced over at half-asleep Apple Bloom (her mane in a similar state), and debated feigning slumber. Dammit, didn’t think dey would be heeya soon! Shoulda—
“Babs? You in there? Apple Bloom?”
Babs sighed, muttering, “Aw, fo’ Celestia’s sake,” and opened the door.
Braeburn attacked her first, squeezing her so tight that she felt her back pop. “N-Nice ta s-see youze, Brae!”
“Well, howdy, ‘cuz! Sure is nice ta see y’all too! Oh, how was minin’? An’ the hike out here? Whoo-ee! Boy, it sure is hot out there! Why, it’s almost August! An’ Ah can’t believe yer gonna build out here, why, it’s jus’ the perfect—“
“Braeburn… ma… ribs…”
“Oh!” Braeburn released her. Babs almost fell to the floorboards, catching her breath somewhere there. With an awkward chuckle, he mumbled, “Heh, sorry, Babs,” and galloped over to Apple Bloom, who was fully awake now. “Howdy, Bloom! Good mornin’, sunshine! Why, it’s so nice ta see—“
“Um, Brae, uh, can ya give me a minute? Ah’m jus’—“ She muffled a yawn. “Gittin’ up. Mmmph. Good ta see y’all doin’ good,” she said, brushing her mane back into place with her forehooves. She shook out the remnants of her sleep and put all four on the floor, giving the deputy a quick hug before trotting over to Citrus and Libra. “Hey, Auntie, Citrus…”
“Good morning, Apple Bloom!” Citrus chipped, smiling. She leaned in to whisper into her ear, “We weren’t interrupting anything, were we?”
“Uh!” Yellow morphing into crimson, Apple Bloom tapped her forehooves on the floor and snickered. “Heh, heh, ‘course not! Yer so silly, Citrus, uh—“
Libra chuckled and strode to her daughter, shaking her muzzle. “Oh, you two. Remind me of how I was at that age—“
“Ma! Please!” Babs groaned, rolling her eyes. “Can we change the subject o’ summat? It’s too early fo’ me ta feel dis nauseous.”
“Only this one time. Next time we visit, I’m busting out all of my embarrassing stories from my twenties. No, they aren’t embarrassing to me. They’re embarrassing to you. All of you,” Libra corrected, smirking at her wards. “Auntie Orange wasn’t exactly the refined mare she is now. When I was your age, Babs, Bloom, I was—“
“Mother, um, the carriages are waiting outside,” Citrus said, blushing with hot embarrassment. “We don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Carriages?” Babs asked, confused. “Dey have carriages way out heeya in nopony’s land?”
“Well, we paid some o’ our townsfolk ta drive ‘em out from Appleloosa,” Braeburn explained, adjusting his Stetson. “No train lines out here yet, an’ we couldn’t exactly carry all them supplies an’ tools fer yer bar out here ourselves, heh.”
Apple Bloom stammered, “F-Fer our b-bar? Y’all brought all that stuff… now?!”
“Why not?” Braeburn shrugged and smiled. “We weren’t doin’ anythin’ wit’ it. It’s yer early birthday gift, both o’ y’all. Ah know yer doin’ it fer yer own reasons, too, but the fact that y’all wanna help AJ is mighty touchin’. She deserves all the help she can git, an’ Ah’m proud o’ you both fer wantin’ ta help her.”
Babs Seed and Apple Bloom exchanged grins and murmurs of gratitude. Together, they followed their visitors out their room, down the stairs, and through the saloon doors of the hotel. There, five carriages full of plywood, beams, drywall, plumbing equipment, and various tools, all pulled by strong, seasoned Appleloosians, waited.
“Braeburn… youze gotta let me pay youze fo’ dis,” Babs Seed said once she could lift her jaw from the ground. She shook her head, refusing his ready response. “I know youze said it’s a gift fo’ us, but—“
“Then accept it.” Libra pulled her daughter into a sideways-hug, saying, “It is more blessed to give than to receive, but this is something we want to give to you. You are doing a great thing by wanting to help Applejack, and we are doing a great thing by helping you. Some call it 'paying it forward' or 'karma'. I call it the way things should be. Families should help each other. Families should love each other. And we should love and support each other, even if we don’t always understand each other,” she added, pulling Apple Bloom into her free forehoof.
A blush forming on her cheeks, unanswered question tackled at last, Apple Bloom deflected, “Aw, shucks, Auntie, ya don’t have ta—“
“No." Libra Scales shook her head. “I want to, Apple Bloom. And I do. I love you both. I’m happy for you two, I’m proud of you two, and I want to see you both succeed at this.
“So, let’s go ahead, and raise this bar.”
~
Hands of the clock raced the sun from high noon, to mid-day scorcher, to daylight’s dying embers in the fire of the sunset. Red, orange, and yellow accompanied the dusk and the rhythm of their hammers, their saws, their sweat, blood, and tears. Braeburn and Apple Bloom led the charge, following their blueprints, scampering up on a hastily made scaffold and applying shingles to the roof. Babs Seed, Citrus Blossom, and Libra Scales did their part, raising the foundations, painting the sides, checking to ensure not one nail was out of place.
Apples the five were, tall and mighty and strong trees in the sand, their roots unwithered, unwavering, powerful. Together, with their tools and their toil, through that momentous July day, they built the bar in nopony’s land, from the foundations up.
Once they’d finished, their hooves and muscles aching, five Apples looked upon their creation—their labor of love—and smiled. It was only a shell for now—stools, decorations, and, of course, the all-important beverages would need to be ordered or crafted as well—but it was a start. A new start. Tabula rasa in a strange city, southwest of Appleloosa but not impossibly beyond.
“Wowza…” Babs muttered, her exhalation stolen away by the sudden dip of desert mercury.
She spoke what everypony’s mind could not articulate. There they were: five Apples, brought together by a myriad of Fate and choice, cards and chips falling or dealt or pushed by careful hooves. Through seven years of trial, tribulation, life and love and everything in between, they stood now, Appleloosa, Manehatten, and Ponyville.
Forever changed, they had evolved into something beyond themselves, or what they had dreamed they could have been.
“Ah hope we hear from Applejack soon….” Apple Bloom said, her eyes misting at both her masterpiece and a twinge of guilt. “Ah know she needs our help.”
“Don’t worry,” Libra assured, “I know you will. Sometimes, we have to wait on things that we love—on ponies we love. Sometimes, we’re afraid to tell them how we really feel, or what’s really on our mind, or what’s really happening. Maybe Applejack just needs some time. But I know that when she is ready to reply, she’s will be overjoyed by this, and incredibly grateful for what you two are willing to do to help her.”
“Auntie’s right,” Braeburn said. “Jus’ give it some time. AJ will come ‘round. She always does.”
Citrus added, “And if she doesn’t, just send us her way. We’ll straighten her out.”
The five of them shared a laugh. Then, they stood close beside each other, examining the minute, skillfully crafted details of the bar: its shades of beige and black, plain, yet beautiful in the rapidly-fading light of dusk’s magic; its welcoming saloon doors; and its compact structure, large enough for about twenty or so patrons without losing itself in needless empty space.
It was, like most things they had come to appreciate, not too much, not too little, but enough: a true haven for wanderers, nomads, travelers, vagabonds, and settlers alike. An oasis in the sands, serving only the finest draughts.
To one, a legacy of The Watering Hole.
As the moon begin to rise, Libra Scales broke the silence, whispering a revelation. “You know what?”
“What?” Babs asked.
“I’ve learned that life is made of echoes. What you put into it will ultimately come back to you, for better or for worse. No choice is without significance; no word without meaning. I still regret things in Manehatten, but…”
She smiled, embracing all four of them at once. “I couldn’t be more blessed because of it.”
An’ neitha could we.
Not a dry eye was found among the five, time of no essence to them as they stood, breeze teasing their manes, night’s chill driving them closer.
Despite the challenges that awaited them all, and the foreboding dark haunting the corners of two of their minds, on that night, there were no worries. There were no concerns. The hard work had been completed, and, soon, the rest would follow.
And, though it wouldn’t be forever, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom would eventually embark on their next adventure, pulling up stakes and taking to their hooves again. In due time. For now, they sought rest, and refuge, and enterprise, and restoration, healing what damage the changing times had wrought against those they loved the most.
On this night, southwest of Appleloosa, those whose bounds were thick—by love and by blood—knew, then, that everything would be alright in the end.
~
The five soon parted ways, but found no distance between them beyond meager geography. Mother, sister, and cousin would be there, waiting, for when Babs Seed’s hooves itched no more, and when her heart yearned to settle in the sands alongside her better half.
Seven years past the hardest decision of her young, tumultuous life, Babs Seed knew with utmost certainty that she had made the right choice. It was that choice, after all, that ultimately led her to create the second kind of family.
Lifting the foal’s head by the chin, staring into her eyes, Greyhoof whispered, “Do you know what is thicker than blood, Babs Seed?”
“What?”
“Love,” he answered.
Once three Appleoosians became dots against the horizon, galloping into the horizon and back into the wild, two Apples leaned against each other, pondering the silence. Apple Bloom and Babs Seed spared a moment to count the stars, sharing reminiscence and hushed wishes.
The bar would still be there in the morning, more work to be done. Applejack’s letter would (hopefully) arrive with the dawn. Their newest adventure had just begun. They couldn’t predict what the future held, but knew that, at the very least, they would face it together.
Youze were wise, Greyhoof. I hope youze died happy. An’ I hope youze found what youze was lookin’ fo’.
“Ah love you, Babsy.”
I know I did.
“I love youze too, Bloom.”
Like the constellations watching the mares from above, everything was connected.
~
“Do you understand your orders, little worm?”
Card Slinger bowed before his King, muzzle to the carpet. He kept his eyes low, his movements calculated. Three years now. Three years, he had served under this wreck of a pony, this demon in fur and keratin. Three years, he had swallowed his pride, obeying the carousel mantra on endless loop within his mind.
Wait and bide. Wait and bide. Wait. And bide.
Familiar sight of two armed guards posted by the office doors reaffirmed his convictions. Even as King Orange rose from his throne, dressed in fine silks and velvet, his eyes shining with unrestrained glee, Card Slinger merely nodded. His pistol had been confiscated at the entryway. There was no possibility on all Manehatten cobblestone that his revenge could be had on his Master’s own turf and terms.
Three years. Card Slinger could wait a little longer. Maybe a few more. Maybe. His family gravestones cried out for redemption, and he proved to be an unworthy savior. Perhaps—with his fellows galloping alongside him, cast in the fire and the fury—he could send Bernie Madhoof into the dark alongside his fallen guardians.
Or, maybe, he reasoned, he would find only the dark awaiting him.
The smack of a forehoof across his muzzle ripped Card Slinger’s contemplation out from under him. He flinched and gritted his teeth but stayed silent. He could taste the citric, bitter acid on King Orange’s breath as he leaned in close, hissing into one of his flattened ears, “Have you gone deaf on me already, little Knight? Answer me! Do you understand your orders?!”
“Sir, yes sir!” Card Slinger exclaimed, boring holes through the white shag carpeting beneath him. A shameful bead of sweat rolled down his thick, weathered nape—scarred from more than one scuffle on the streets—and followed his spine. Several chills joined it. His nerves were afire not from fear or apprehension. His whole body was poised to tremble from the burden of an ancient righteous rage. The stallion chuckling above him was in perfect position for a buck to the balls, hindhooves to the stomach, or forehooves to the jaw. Or the throat.
So close.
Bernie Madhoof squeezed his forehooves tightly around Card Slinger’s neck and jerked his muzzle upwards. “Repeat them to me. Recite them as if they were the most beautiful poetry you write to that speckled coltfriend of yours, you little faggot. Oh, you don’t like being called that, do you?” He snorted. “Forgive my lack of empathy. Kings have no need for it.”
Slinger swallowed a ready retort. He was a King. Someday, he would be the only one.
For now, his antagonist released his neck, eliciting several pained coughs from Card Slinger. This only amplified King Orange’s glee, his laughter echoing through his dim office. He strode over to his bay window and smiled at his streets below.
“So beautiful, the Manehatten streets at night. Under the cover of night, black makes all its moves, capturing white with ease…”
He spun around and pointed towards his cowering Knight, changing his mind. He had no time for his pitiful wailing, so he reiterated the orders himself instead.
“Your little gang shall be my eyes and ears amongst the Manehatten underground. Any establishment caught serving beverages other than my own shall be burnt to the ground, and the purveyors of such filth shall be dispatched appropriately. Use as many little worms of your own to obtain the necessary information and carry out the aforementioned tasks. Failure of these duties, or failure to report violations of such guidelines, shall result in immediate payment of King’s Ransom.
“Do you understand, scumbag?” Bernie Madhoof pounded his forehooves into his mahogany, leaning forward, his perfectly-maintained molars glistening in the dark.
Card Slinger croaked, his throat aching, “Y-yes s-sir.”
“Good. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”
Turning his back on his Knight, King Orange beamed, the sounds of rough forehooves dragging the filth off his carpet delightful music to his ears. The Manehatten moon glowed bright and radiant, a perfect beacon and guiding light for his pieces below on their chessboard.
And what a chessboard it was: twisting alleyways, ramshackle buildings, abandoned storefronts. A newspaper that printed only lies. A Police Department that arrested and housed only those deemed useless by their Master. Bars and restaurants that served only Orange Enterprises beverages.
Any establishment that dared to defy him would make fine kindling, fire underneath an empty sky. And those who’d dared to supply it with unsuitable swill would pay.
Especially those in the West.
Appleloosa scraped by, his wretch of a pawn easily captured on his chessboard, but another instrument of his destruction would not. He had dispatched another, but he, too, did not return, succumbing to fantasies, of gold, oil, and silver. Good riddance, reasoned the King. Those pawns were weak and useless. More would be sent that way, seeking to capture and control the budding trades there, converting the land of apples into the den of oranges—in due time, of course.
There were bigger concerns at hoof, and another mission, one that would not fail. Not this time. Not this Knight. He would not fail. Though he’d never admit it, King Orange sensed Card Slinger's power, his might, his expertise with steel and lead. And he would not disappoint his King on this mission.
Good.
Bernie Madhoof watched the moon rise by the hooves of the night alicorn. Hours were lost there beside the bay window, visions of glory—an expanding chessboard, Equestria itself bowing at his hindhooves—holding him hostage. His pride thundered in his heart, a steady, strong rhythm. The orange on his flank glistened in the moonlight.
Though nopony could hear him, he offered a prayer of atheistic gratitude—not to the Most High, but to the Most Low, the dark god of his own creation.
Sipping his final glass of orange juice, he mused, “Perhaps it is time to expand my game.”
~
The next morning, Derpy Hooves arrived again, with a letter from Ponyville.
Applejack accepted their offer, and soon sent the back stock of their liquor to the coordinates in the southwest. A few weeks later (with some more material assistance from the Oranges), Apple Bloom and Babs Seed whittled barstools and decorated the inside of their establishment. Within a month, their doors opened, accepting all who came to find the finest draughts in the sands.
Six months past their bar's opening, Babs Seed would find the shadowy figure of her dreamland. She would know then the ultimate truth, the final root of her own origins. She would know then that she was not the daughter of a devil, no seed of evil itself. She would know then, at last, her own heritage, her own blood, her own soul.
For, in finding him, she would see herself, a reflection made flesh.
Miles and miles away in Manehatten, King Orange would smile, and not know why.
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Give us the sequel NOW!!!!
So, I'll post my full and final review on the credits chapter. This is just what I thought of these two.
AWESOME.
They are so amazing. Sure, they weren't as action-packed or thrilling as some of the other chapters, but the fact remains that once again you delivered good writing.
Oh, and when Libra said "raise this bar," my mind immediately pictured them singing "Raise This Barn," substituting bar for barn. I then spent a few minutes laughing before I could continue.
So, I will write and post the full review later tonight. I'm not even going to post the whole thing on this site, I'll have to post a link to a google document.
Yeah, it's going to be that long.
Bravo...bravo bravo!
Another success of the story. Too bad it has too few views, but hopefully, it shouldn't let you down!
Oh and by the way...more awsome lyrics that fit nearly at the end:
"Before there was a lotto, his people took your numbers
Odds on the game; the point spreads over-under
Went to private school, educated by nuns
But like a pagan lost his faith through the gods of the guns
A heist like the Brinks
Iced ladies like rinks
From pocket books to minks
Thought they'd never see the clink
Slapped on the wrist, his case was dismissed
You see, money talks, yo, it pays if you're rich, pops
Grease the bulls, just to bribe the judge
Should have scared 'em straight, should of gave 'em tough love
But that's when they hauled him from the jury to the warden
Everybody had a price, but this time they can't afford 'em"
Dude...I so wish you could see my smile now...
Sabatoge..... That orange bastard.
I knew he's the orchestrator behind the financial hardships at Sweet Apple Acres, I just knew it.
He sickens me, how someone can be so malevolent as to batter his own family.... That son of a bitch... He knows but one love and that is his love for hate.
I think I shall begin this by saying that this was an awesome ride from chapter one till the conclusion. I'm loving the way the interactions went in the last two chapters and the way that Babs and Apple Bloom developed as the chapters went on and it was nice to see an honest foreman in Soapy... that's a huge departure from the norm of bosses that want to just cheat and swindle.
Likewise, I can see that Bernie is back on his high hoofs again and that just means when he finally falls it's going to be that much harder... and it would seem that I was at least partially right in my determining of AJ's financial troubles
As for the way he is getting everything set up and the threat of burning out his competition (literally) and his desire to destroy those whom he thinks are beneath him (IE, pretty much everybody) I shall reference the love and loyalty of the Apple family and of Babs and Apple Bloom in particular with the following quote (which is sadly not one of mine, but seems appropriate):
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.
-Sarah's final voice over from The Crow
FUCKING AMAZING THIS STORY IS FUCKING AMAZING!!!! GREAT FUCKING JOB DUDE!!!!!
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Another amazing story come and gone! I await patiently for the coming sequel!
its awesome bad, when babs said he was gonna geld him, i let out a big DAYUM!
tracking, stay on target
... please?
RACIST BAR!
RACIST BAR!
One, Two, Three, Four!
Okay, I needed to get that outta my system. But on a serious note, I've always admired how balanced your writing is. As you read it, one can always sense the darkness in the horizon, but it's never implicitly shown. I've always admired that.
And that makes it all the more sad that the end of the second portion of the trilogy has finally come. Though I will miss the light-hearted, innocent adventures of young Bab Seed on the streets of Manehattan, or the slightly darker tale of the now adolescent Bloom and Babs, I'm grateful to have come across this little story of yours.
The best of hopes to you on your future ventures!
Excellent ending my lord
This is pretty deep for a whisky commercial 24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcpnx0F0TQ1r54qfqo1_500.jpg
Just finished reading the first story and this one. I had a feeling this 'set' wouldn't end all happy based on the lyrics for the chapter.
One thought; the Princesses must not as involved in matters of their kingdom in this universe. Cause I have a hard time believing that they'd let such a kingpin (and an unbalanced one at that) or I guess cartel get away with so much power.
Btw, is Manehatten supposed to be resembling Gotham City, or was that just luck.
Man what an amazing story... nope, an experience is what it was. I must say I really enjoyed seeing what happened after the end events of the first one and it's epilogue although, I found Babs to be a right bitch sometimes lol, but she was still amazing in the end and it was great she got to find out her father. Also, poor Greyhoof but we all have our time sadly. Well as I said for the first one: thank you for writing this, I'm glad I got to read it and I suppose for a moment become a part of it. Now to the final one. I can't wait.
Once again, you have failed to disappoint. Feels are your strongest, followed by description, then figurative language, then pacing, not to mention the amazing plot. Or at least that's my opinion. I will continue to read on to severed roots now, praying Bernie gets what the hay is coming to him.
DERPY!
Raise this bar, raise this bar
One, two, three, four
Together, we can raise this bar
One, two, three, four
And here concludes the latest installment of The N's My Little Pony: The Next Generation. I really like stories about the CMC growing up!
This was a great coming of age story with hints of the darkness and adventure that is to come for Babs and Bloom. I really liked how all the Mane 6 characters that showed up how they were presented. I really liked Big Mac's relationship with Babs. That was nice. 
I like Braeburn here as well. He was just drizzled with the awesome sauce that DiveBomb drenched him with in the Riflepony series. I liked finding out the fates of the ancillary characters of "Tangled Roots", like Card Slinger and Madhoof. You've done a remarkable job with Babs Seed. This is probably the best Babs Seed story written (or at least that I've read). I very much look forward to getting to "Severed Roots" momentarily. Keep up the good work. 
This is wonderfully amazing, I can't even put it into words. On to the next story, I'm happy I waited forever to read these because they're all done. :3
So beautiful.