From the Big Apple: A Tale of Misadventure and Affection

by Nurse Bedpan

Handling things

Fillies are strange. A lot of them, you noticed, either shrank away at a moment’s notice or giggled in that odd, shrill way that fillies are known for. Must be the cooties squeezing up against their brains; not that you were any better – your consistently short attention span never merited you many friends. The few ones you did have have similar interests, so much so that hanging out with them was starting to get a little… boring.

Tedious.

Repetitive.

Redundant, even.

Then you met Babs.

Babs “not Barbara!” Seed was an earth filly who had transferred to your class back in first grade. Her long, streaked mane and eyes were certainly striking and her demeanor was by no means unpleasant. No, the one thing that was stopping you from acknowledging her existence was that she, unlike yourself… was a girl.

Yes, you admit inwardly – that was dumb. Looking back, you didn’t know whether to laugh or to smack yourself upside the head.

You and her made acquaintances a few years ago due to some school project or another requiring unfortunate students to… ugh… “pair up.” It wasn’t a terrible experience; there’s just something unshakably atrocious about working with the opposite sex. Despite your mom’s assurance that it’s just a phase and that you should just roll with it, you found being essentially bound against your will TO A FILLY (WHY CELESTIA?!? WHYYYYYYY?!?!) to be fairly… less than droll. You went home that afternoon kicking many wayward cans and stomping at the ground, all to show the uncaring city the injustice that had befallen one of its loyal sons.

The following morning was no better. Your best friends apparently ate an entire refinery full of four-leaf clovers: not only were they paired up, they were also assigned to report on technology and its many gifts to ponykind. Fuming, you had declined their invitation to watch Star Wrek “in favor” of discussing your report with Babs. You remember your line of thought going somewhere along “…and I hope you burn that popcorn of yours and then get allergies and then…” until you saw something far more serious.

It was Babs, sitting all alone at the cafeteria; she was slumped over, shivering, and had papers stuck to her mane. Walking closer, you found out that she was actually whimpering; the papers were sticking on wads of gum and had been scrawled on with an assortment of demeaning messages. One message repeated over and over: “crybaby.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to do what you did. You sat silently next to her, waited around two minutes (at the time, it felt like hours), and then introduced yourself. Babs didn’t look or make a sound; she balled up even further, swinging her tail (also covered in papers and… lemon wedges?) to hide her cutie mark from you. You said your name again and told her that you were her assigned partner for upcoming school project.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Just tell me how much of a loser I am and leave already!,” she shouted, her voice shaking with rage and gloom.

It looked so familiar and alien to you at the same time.

She looked just like you did when Top Brass, D-Cell, and Lemon Drops first showed you how big city ponies “displayed their counter-arguments.”

“You’re not a loser, Babs. Go home and rest. I’ll handle this.”

Babs looked up at you, her eyes filled with uncertainty and something you couldn’t quite put a hoof on. Her face is red and her lip is sporting a large cut, probably from a blow or from getting shoved into the ground too roughly. You put a hoof on her shoulder and make your first honest promise to a stranger.

“Trust me. I. Will. Handle this.”

==================================================================

The look on Bab’s face was priceless. Here she was standing next to you in front of Mister Chickenscratch’s class, being congratulated for a job well done despite not doing anything.

“That was simply lovely, children! Jolly good! Wherever did you find such an inspired topic?”

“We brainstormed, sir! It’s what partners are supposed to do, right?” you recite in exactly the way you had practiced. It was forty percent cheek, thirty percent humor, and another thirty percent confidence.

It was quite the show, you had to admit. While you weren’t able to get back at Top Brass, you did get D-Cell to promise to back off from now on. A quick snapshot of the former’s restructuring of your face yesterday proved to be an all too easy deterrent; a single press and Officer Gaslight would have all the evidence he needed to haul off his “perfectly innocent, law-abiding” hippogryph of a son to juvenile hall. Ah, the wonders of technology, no?

You were in some pain, you were sleepy from staying up all night doing that report on “The Practical Applications of Digitalization," and you felt pretty bad about making your mother feel worried sick (“I fell down the stairs, Mom! Honest! Now please leave me alone so I can finish this report!”) but seeing Bab’s face morph from a look of utter surprise to that of gratitude made it all worth it.

“Hey, uh… thanks. For everything, I mean.”

“It’s what a decent pony would do. You can probably tell, but I’ve known D-Cell since way back. He used to call me his ‘punch buddy’."

Babs insisted that she take you out for ice cream after class that day. On the way there, you traded stories: you found out about her exclusively Earth pony heritage (part of the Apple family, if you remember right), that she had yet to receive her cutie mark (which made her wince a bit), and that she was somewhat short on friends right now. On your side of things, you spoke of the same: your eclectic family tree (“It’s more like a big forest, honestly” you kid) and the trouble with your possible cutie mark and that of your friends. It was strange. She was just so easy to talk to. No giggling, no squeaking, and she paid attention to everything you said.

“I like your shorter hair. It suits you,” you say as you place a popsicle over your shiner.

You didn’t know her coat was red around the snout.

Huh.

Must be a filly thing.

==================================================================

Babs was a little bit taller than you now, but she had kept her mane and tail short. Her freckles had come in a few months before too. She looked so…

“Helloooo? Babs to Super Spy? Ya there or what?”

You shake your head and quickly flash her a winning smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking about… uh… stuff… SohowareyoudoinghowwasponyvilleImissedyou!,” you blurt out. Man, this has got to stop.

“I… uh, didn’t catch most of that. Say again?,” your filly friend says (What? No brain! It’s just “friend!”) as she scrunches her face in an effort to comprehend your words.

“N-never mind. I meant… h-how was your vacation?,” you stutter out. The knot in your stomach was returning in full force now.

“It was great! I met my cousin and her friends and I got to ride in a float and now I’m part of their club!,” she finishes, turning her side to you so you get a full view of the emblem on her crimson cape.

“Oh, cool. What is it?”

It’s hard to understand what happens next. Babs Seed, the shy little filly whom you had befriended all those years ago was quiet and reserved. She was never one to be loud or pushy or boastful, and yet here she was sucking in a lungful of air to proclaim at the top of her voice what you would soon find out was her “new calling in life.”

“THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS! YEEEEEAAAAAAHHH!”

Author's Note:

And here's a new chapter for you guys! We'll be hopping back to the past a couple of times so we can solidify some "history" for "you" and Babs.

Mister Chickenscratch sounds like Pops from Regular Show - "jolly good" and all that.
If Babs seems out of character, please let me know so I can address it in future chapters.

As usual - rate, comment, and criticize!

Comments

[Nurse Bedpan]

Thanks, Doomhoof! Much obliged.

[Doomhoof]

hey no problem.... I have to say this story makes me think back to my own days in Elementary when I got bullied so I can relate to the Mane Character (pun intended) and Babs I however took the bus so the bullying was only at school this was before Cyber-bullying was a big thing I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have it fallow you home poor Babs

Top Brass and D-Cell sound like your average ass-hat bullies and Lemon Drops just sounds like a really tough mean filly which is actualy a whole level higher of scary

[BenRG]

This could possibly be very interesting; Babs doesn't have much back-story at the moment so you've got a lot of leeway to create with regards to her.