From the Big Apple: A Tale of Misadventure and Affection

by Nurse Bedpan

Pink noir

“And I know for absolute certain... that everything is gonna be...!”

A high-pitched mare's singing is the first thing you wake up to. It's filled with vibrance and joy and all sorts of emotion you really don't want to feel right now.

“Fine!” you bark out, rolling your way off the guest bed. The covers get tangled in your hooves, causing you to flop down on the blue hardwood floors with the grace of a boulder.

The dull static is coming back again. The familiar burn of old tears stings your eyes. This day is going to be awful.

“Hey, that's pretty good! I was gonna say 'great,' but what you said fits better into the rhyming scheme! Thanks, Patch!”

Your erstwhile room-mate seems to have regained her insatiable need to talk your ear off since last night. She's hopping giddily in place, as if just waiting for something exciting to suddenly happen.

“Oh, right – forgot to introduce myself! I'm Pinkie Pie and this is my room and I hope you got that cupcake I left for you in the closet since I wasn't around to throw you a proper party that last time cuz me and the girls has to deal with an old curse involving dragons!” She finishes the statement breathlessly, a huge grin adorning her muzzle.

You grumble back in response, tearing off the medicated bandage over your left eye. Striking up conversation with this goof isn't appealing in the least, you think to yourself. You'd rather just wait until the next day when you could get away from here and back to your city.

Back to the way things were?

Not likely.

In the span of just one night, all your love had gone from the thought of ever resuming your daily grind. Memories once held fondly lost their shimmer, dulled by the idea that your closest friend had been nothing but a monster as well.

“Not my friend...” you say under your breath. Picking yourself up from the floor, you mechanically trot downstairs to eat breakfast. While you can feel your stomach rumble, you don't feel hungry.

Aside from frustration and the slow in and out of your own breathing, you don't feel much of anything.

You hardly notice the pink mare skip after you, giggling and humming some made-up tune playing in her skull.

“Stupid Pinkie. Stupid Sugarcube Corner. Stupid relatives. Stupid crusading. Stupid Ponyville.” you think to yourself in silence. Everything you'd accomplished in the last few days is now completely wasted. The steps creak under the weight of your hooves (though oddly enough, they do no such thing in response to the full grown mare behind you), propelling you towards the kitchen space behind the counter.

“Hello, dear! Did you rest well? Carrot and I let you sleep in after yesterday – you looked so tired after...” Your aunt cuts herself short after looking at the stoic expression on your face. “Dearie, is everything all right?” Her voice is laced with concern and motherly love.

You'd have felt guilty if it weren't for yesterday.

“I'm fine, Auntie Cee. I think I'll take breakfast to go. Do we have anything?”

“Oh, um... of course, dear. There are some bagels in the refrigerator there, next to...”

You don't let her finish. You grab the paper bag of baked goods in your mouth and storm off. Before making it out the back door, you are blocked by a pink hoof.

Looking up with an icy glare, you are met with two blue orbs, sporting a similar look. Pinkie meets your gaze with an equally cold reception.

“Apologize.”

Her voice is stern, absolutely free from all the glee it used to have. Her eyebrows have knit together in a rather impressive scowl.

Your lips part slightly, before you drop the bag of food on the floor and barrel your way past her outstretched hoof.

You aren't hungry anyway.

All you are right now is angry.

---

Everything around you seems to be poking fun at your current outlook on life. The sun is shining, birds are singing, ponies are waving at each other and saying their “how-do-you-do's.” It makes you sick inside.

With all of its old-timey charm and provincial appeal, Ponyville was no different from Manehattan after all.

Still dog-eat-dog. Nopony really cared. Every favor was meant to be cashed in later on.

Even miles away from the Big Apple, ponies never really changed.

Part of your brain is now racing with thoughts of your last few days here. Was Spike expecting you to put a good word in for him? Did Miss Rarity expect you to wear whatever it is she was making for free advertisement? Did Applejack introduce you to the Crusaders just to get them off her back? Were Apple Bloom, Sweetie, and Scootaloo just using you as another body to test their cutie mark schemes on?

You don't have answers for any of those questions; you're too ashamed that you fell for it completely. “Stupid Ponyville.”

Walking the streets of the little village does little to soothe your mood. Seeing other ponies be happy isn't as innocent as it was when you arrived; they were either oblivious to them being used or brown-nosing with practiced conduct. Their smiling faces look earnest enough, but... something feels wrong. Ponyville has shown you an ugliness you can't look away from and dang it, it must be hiding something ugly in turn.

Right?

“Stupid Ponyville.”

Eventually, your legs drop you off in a small lot containing a welcome sight: arcade machines. You smile despite yourself, thinking the nostalgia can help you hide from the world a little longer.

You dig your hoof into your right saddlebag... until you remember walking out of your temporary lodgings with nothing but the fur on your back. “Ah, ponyfeathers...”

You settle for just watching the other fillies and colts already engaged in front of the magical boxes. A pair of unicorn colts, shouting at each other while playing a single-player campaign of Smash-It Stallion (“You jump, I fix! That was the plan, dude!” screamed the chubbier of the two to his seemingly absent-minded partner), a red-maned earth pony filly (giggling madly while mowing down pixelated aliens), the Cutie Mark Crusaders trying to open a machine...

It takes about two seconds before your brain registers that last scenario.

You run as fast as you can to the three enterprising fillies, each with a different tool in their respective mouths (Sweetie Belle with a bizarrely ornate saw being the most terrifying). “What in the name of all things good are you three DOING?!” you bawl out, worried about the safety of the machine they had decided to violate.

“Hey, it's Slick! You looked a little down yesterday. You feelin' alright there, partner?” Apple Bloom is the first to acknowledge your wild-eyed and breathless intrusion. She drops the wrench from her mouth to talk to you before approaching and placing a hoof on your shoulder.

“Never mind me – what are you trying to achieve by destroying this piece of art?!” you ask, your voice starting to get a little shrill.

“Don't have a cow, Slick.” Scootaloo, now free of the hammer in her mouth, speaks up. “Mr. 2600 out front said we could do whatever we wanted to this thing. Said it was time for it to 'be put out to pasture,' whatever that means.”

Sweetie spits out the saw, narrowly missing her own front hooves, chirping in “Yeah. No harm done. It's for our cutie marks in arcading!”

“I'm pretty sure that's not a word, Sweets.”

“What are you – a dictionary?”

“We're not talking about this again!”

“Girls, please. Well, Slick?” Apple Bloom turns the group's attention back to you. After your little heated outburst, you can feel the frown starting to creep into you face again.

“I'm... fine.” you reply in a somber tone. “Just a little... stuck on something.” Your reply does not cause the three to drop their studying gaze on you in the slightest. Their eyes betray concern for you but they don't have any words to give.

You decide to break the silence with a question. One you must be out of your mind asking out of the blue again.

“Why did you forgive her?”

“Beg yer pardon?” Apple Bloom replied, her attention no longer on the project at hand.

“Babs... Bad Seed.” The nickname feels gross on your tongue, but you can't rightly feel any reason why she shouldn't be called that. “After the all she put you through... why? You make her sound like a monster...”

Sweetie walks closer to you, her head bowed down. “Well, she was...” You scoff, causing Sweetie to double back “But! But then we learned she was having the same troubles back at home.”

Scootaloo is the next to pitch in. “Yeah, I remember being really mad at her too. I really wanted to get back at her for everything and all, but... well, in the end, it wouldn't have fixed anything. She was just scared.”

“An' besides, she's family. Family needs to stick together, Slick.”

For the second time that day, you grumble in response. “So, you just let her get away with it? You LET her win?”

“Win?” the yellow filly asks, tilting her head quizzically, making her bow follow suit. “Ah ain't sure Ah follow.”

“She USED you!” you scream out, all of the anger you've had pent up since the night before finally being put into words. “You aren't friends! Not to her! You don't matter! You...!” Your voice catches in your throat, a thick lump forming when you try to swallow.

Blinking hard, you feel the sting of your left eye again after three days since you were clocked by Lemon Drops. The aches and pains of yesterday's crusading came back full force, slowly bleeding their way into your chest.

“I... never mattered...!” you choke out before turning tail and leaving three very confused fillies in your wake.

---

The next few hours are spent in total silence, both from the little voice in your head and from any or all ponies who you met along the away. It seems the old adage is true: even strangers can tell when something is wrong. Everypony chooses to simply walk past or at least just offer a cursory glance before going there merry way. Sometimes, you'd spot a lone Crusader walking along the dirt paths; you dutifully hide in corners and behind buildings until they go away. After your last little breakdown, you'd rather not talk to any of them so soon. It would just dredge up more confusion on your end.

The sun is still fairly high up in the sky when you decide to just spend the day back with the Cakes. Pinkie Pie may still be mad at you, but it's not like she can change anything. Maybe you can hide under the covers until it's time to go home.

Pushing open the doors at the front of the establishment, you catch the eye of Uncle Carrot who is manning the register. Instead of giving you his usual smile, he's looking at you questioningly. He's no doubt been told by Aunt Cupcake and Pinkie about earlier this morning. “Hey, champ – you hungry? I heard you didn't get a bite to eat before your trip...”

You pay him no mind, tilting your head down to avoid eye contact. After what happened earlier today, you know talking to anypony would just turn out badly.

“Champ?”

“I'm going upstairs.”

You don't wait for a reply. You take the small staircase upstairs back into Pinkie's room. At least this time, she'd be working, letting you have the whole room to yourse-

*BLAM*

Your internal monologue is cut short by the wooden door to your room refusing to open, causing you to plant your face firmly against its smooth grain. Rubbing the top of your head, you look up to see something completely unexpected.

The door leading to Pinkie's room is no longer the vibrant pink with a heart motif – it now looks like a gray office door. The heart-shaped peephole is gone, replaced by a non-descript glass window. The glass is smokey, barring anypony from seeing the goings-on inside; its face bearing the title “PDA” on it in chunky, black letters. On the knob (which didn't used to be there) hangs your thinking hat with a little note sticking to it. Picking up the article of clothing, you place it on your head and read the note scribbled on... gray paper?

“Play along.”

Seeing as you have no place else to go and a least eight more hours before you can call it a day, you take a deep breath and turn the handle.

---

You rub your eyes in shock.

The entire space has been transformed. The cream walls, the blue floors, the confetti and streamers – all of it is gone. In its place is a much smaller office space, stacks of papers and folders strewn all over the carpeted floor. Three imposing file cabinets, full to bursting with even more paper, hug the far wall behind a black desk. At the desk are two chairs: a small wooden one in front and a tall leather seat at the rear, the latter's back turned towards you, hiding its currently seated client. Blinded windows are the only means of seeing the outside from where you now stand. Another door, this one without a glass plane, stands to your left.

Aside from the sudden shift in volume, you can't help being taken aback by the sudden lack of color. Gone is the vivacious wallpaper and gaily painted floors. Everything... everything is now cast in a muted sepia tone. Even the light streaming in through the tiny slits of the windows appears oddly muffled.

“Sit.”

You hear a mare's voice from behind the chair; the sound is soon followed by a trail of smoke coming from the owner of the command. She sounds familiar.

“What're ya, deaf or somethin'? I said sit down.”

You extend a hoof to grab the wooden seat in front of you. Much to your surprise, even your coat appears to have taken on the hushed tones of the room. Instead of dwelling on this strange development, you comply with your only associate and take you spot.

The tall leather chair swivels with an audible squeak to face you. It reveals your room-mate Pinkie Pie, also rendered brown, mane and all, with a thin white stick protruding from her frowning lips. The smoking mare is clad in a while polo short and brown pants with black suspenders. On top of her head rests a brown bowler hat. The most peculiar thing about her outfit is a small necktie loosely affixed to her collar – unlike everything else, this piece of clothing is an eye-catching pink, seemingly the only thing in the immediate area to have any sort of life in it.

Pinkie's eyes travel up and down your body, giving you a silent inspection from head to hoof. She sneers at you, tilting her cigarette up, before cracking a wry smile. “Well, well, if it isn't Private Eye.”

Your confusion reaches a new peak at the new moniker. “Pinkie, I don't know what your game is, but...”

Before you can admonish her, Pinkie is already leaning over the table, her left hoof pressing deeply into your chest. Her message is deliberate; restrained, but still burgeoning with rage: “The name's Pinkerton, scum. Talk to me out of turn again and I'll make sure you eat out of a straw for the rest of your natural life. Capisce?”

You nod slowly. This mare is officially off her rocker.

“This'll be a heck of a lot more pleasant if you just play along, so you'd better.” Pinkerton sinks back into her seat. “Play along, that is.” She eyes you for a response, one you provide in the form of a much faster nod and sitting straight up on your own chair.

“Good. Now let's start off easy: what brings a lowlife like you to these parts? Windy City's my gig.”

You wrack your brains for the proper answer, though it never comes. If you say something she doesn't like, you'll probably lose all of your teeth, baby AND permanent.

“I... came to learn about somepony...” you say shakily. Beads of sweat are beginning to form on your brow. Miraculously, your answer is satisfactory to the hostile pony, who cracks a small, sinister grin.

“Oh, doing homework for a client, huh?” she asks, though you suspect she already knows the answer, judging from the glint in her eye. “Must be some dame if you're risking your neck for her like this.”

“B-but I never...!” you sputter. How did she know? Can this mare read minds or something?

“Oh, you just did. Right now.” She punctuates her devious trick by chewing on her frail cigarette and puffing out a ring of smoke towards the roof. “'Sides, I sure as spittoon didn't give you that wicked shiner.”

“Tch.” you say outwardly. Just another dirty trick. Another way for a pony to use somepony else.

“Well, come on, then. Spill, kid.” Pinkerton leans back into her seat and pushes her hat onto her face to let the brim cover her eyes.

Deciding to follow the unhinged mare's direction, you start. “I came here to learn about an old friend... a great friend, actually. Well, at least that's what I thought. Until this place made me see how dumb I was.”

Your breathing gets more shallow as you add to your story. “Here I was, all excited to finally spend my time with her after so long, but then she comes back all weird and happy and wonderful... and having no time for me. After all we'd been through, she just brushes me aside for some new club she's joined.”

A lump forms in your throat. “At first, I got used to it, y'know? All that running around, being a saint to other colts and fillies. It felt nice. And it was amazing to see her smile so much.” Pinkerton pushes the brim of her hat up to eye you intently, shifting her cigarette to one side, as if what you're saying is unbelievable.

This frustrates you, causing you to lean your head back and talk to the light brown roof instead. “I guess that's not what you want to hear, is it, Pinkerton? Well, then how about me getting my butt kicked in by two jerks who can't ever seem to leave us alone? It's how I got THIS by the way!” you shout, shifting positions again so you can glare at her with your discolored eye. “Then I get mad and she runs off! So I lie to my parents that I need a break and come here to this backwater place so I can make heads or tails of what the feather is going on!”

You're practically shouting every word now, growing angrier with the mare who won't even make full eye contact with you. “Nice place, by the way – really had me going with all the chumminess! Ponies making all nice just to cash in later on. I got turned into a janitor, a ponyquin, a babysitter, AND a living missile thanks to everypony here! And all for what?!”

You notice that your already standing up on your seat, body shaking from the outburst of emotion. You lower your voice again, angry sobs mixing themselves into your last words: “All for somepony I thought was better.”

Sitting down, you take off your hat and throw it behind you. Everything happening up until now is something you'd left to older ponies. Grown-up stuff. But now? Everything felt heavy. Your eyes and mouth feel raw from the outpouring of all that emotion, but you don't feel any relief.

“Finished?”

“Like you actually care.” you spit back in anger. “You're a sick pony and I don't like you.”

Righting herself, the tough mare spun her chair in a full circle before facing you completely, her hat no longer obscuring her eyes. She's not sneering or frowning anymore. As a matter of fact, she looks... sad.

“So this friend of yours... you close?”

“Not close enough for her to tell me the truth about herself.”

“She never tried to tell you? Not even once?”

Your thoughts go back to your last day in Manehattan – Babs was trying to tell you something but was cut off by Top Brass and Lemon Drops.

The Crusaders weren't the only ponies I hung out with...

You feel your body tense up a little with the small revelation. “So she really was going to tell me...”

“How'd you two wind up together anyway? Bust a smuggling ring together or something?” Pinkerton's voice sounds more whimsical than it did just some minutes ago, but you could feel that she still had ulterior motives.

“N-no... I helped her with something for school.”
“Is that it? Come on, kid. Now's the time to 'fess up.” A hoof on your shoulder. It seems Pinkerton is no longer seated behind her desk.

“I helped her after she got bullied here for the first time.”

“She must've been scared.”

“Terrified, I think. They gave it to her really bad.” you muse. Flashes of a tormented Babs fill your mind, her mane long but heavily ruffled and stuck with lemon wedges and small pieces of paper. Come to think of it, the first thing she ever said to you was to leave her alone.

“Imagine that. She must've really appreciated what you did for her back then.”

You don't answer; however, a small smile makes its way to your muzzle.

“It must have been awful though... having that happen again here, without anypony she knows.”

What?

“It's a small place, kid. Everypony hear treats each other like family. You'll be hard-pressed to not know what goes on around here.” Looking over your shoulder, you see that Pinkerton is no longer wearing her hat. Instead, she seems to be trying on yours (albeit in vain). Her voice holds an entertained lilt when she tells you about how things work in Ponyville; it doesn't last though – she looks you in the eyes and says something that makes everything click.

“One of the first things to happen to her here was getting bullied. Just like back then. She didn't know anypony. The only fillies with her at the time were getting bullied too.”

Your insides freeze up. “What?” you ask the mare telling you the story.

“There will always be bad ponies out there, kid. When you don't have that many friends... when you feel alone... Well, sometimes we do things we're not proud of.”

You slump down in your seat, defeat crawling into your skin. “So that's it then. My friend didn't come back the same after all.”

“No, she didn't. By what your story tells me though, she seemed a lot happier. Say, did you know that Babs is related to the Apples?”

“Yeah. I guess.” The dejection makes everything plain uninteresting to you now. What was the point of all this again?

“I hear she left here with pretty good advice. She wanted to talk things out with her sister. And that she promised her friends to be a different pony. Somepony who wouldn't back down even if she was different.”

Your ears perk up at the last part. Some things are clicking together: Babs talking to her sister, her wanting to help other ponies get their cutie marks, her fearlessness, her newfound zeal.

As it turns out, you were right: Ponyville did change your friend. She wasn't some helpless filly you had to protect anymore.

I wish they'd get what they deserve!

Oh no.

“...no... what have I done?” Your eyes are starting to sting again, only not because of hurt or betrayal. Now it was out of shame.

“I made her think I hate her...”

Before you can complete the statement, you are embraced warmly. Pinkie Pie, now sans hard-boiled detective outfit, had scooped you up in a tight hug. “Ponies can change. Especially if they have friends to help them do it.” Her grip loosens on you. “I think you of all ponies ought to know that by now. You sure look like she changed you.”

The tears are coming out full force when you hug back, burying your tear-streaked face into Pinkie's mane. “You can still fix this when you go back. Tell her what she means to you. What she really means to you. Sound good, punk?” she adds with a little giggle at the end. Her small laugh proves infectious, lightening your heart somewhat.

“How did you know what this was all about?”

“The Crusaders came to Sugarcube Corner first, looking for you. They told me about how you went a little loco at them over at the playing fields. I was still sore at you for being a grumpy gus towards Mrs. Cake so I asked them why they wanted to help somepony like you and they told me about how you and Babs were friends. So I put two and two and you together and that's why we're here now!”

It boggles your mind, but the pink one makes sense. Your emotional state makes you spill out details more willingly – what better way to do that than to make you feel that this was a life or death deal?

“I'm sorry I called you sick.” you say weakly. “And I'll apologize to Auntie when this is over too.”

“And?”

“I'll talk to the crusaders about what I did back there. They deserve to know.”

“One of my closest friends always says that friendship is magic. It's all about believing in them – that they are better, even if they look like they're just being big old meanie pantses. You have to trust them, okay?”

You finally loosen your grip on Pinkie and look her in the eye.

“You are one smart mare, you know that?”

“One of my friends says I can take over the world with my brain!” she answers without missing a beat.

The sheer ridiculousness of where you are now, a sepia-toned detective office, hugging it out like schoolponies, proves too much. Both of you double over in healthy guffaws. You even see Pinkie's cigarette is anything but: it's just a lollipop with the same pink as her coat.

“Okay. I think I can fix this now.” you state after regaining your breath.

“Well, don't let me stop you, kid! You have some 'splainin' to do!”

Dropping back down and going out into the brightly colored confines of Sugarcube Corner, you have a renewed purpose in your journey.

You know what changed Babs.

It was the friends she made here, who understood and forgave her. She was afraid and acted out – she's not a bully any more than the Crusaders are.

And when you get back, you'll tell her exactly what you think of her.

You forget one thing though:

You never do ask Pinkie Pie how she did... well, everything.

It's probably for the best though. Your young mind may not be able to understand.

Author's Note:

Since Season 4 gave us a more in-depth look at Manehattan, I was given a more powerful drive to finish up this latest chapter. Please enjoy what I've managed to put down so far.