> A Series of Right Rotten Events
>  by Quilled Inc
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter the First:  A Dreadful Dawn
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Dear Princess Celestia,
What has happened?



I am sure that, if you are reading this, you are familiar with the three Apple siblings, who live happily with their grandmother at Sweet Apple Acres in Ponyville.  However, though the lives of these young ponies are now happy and (for the most part) carefree, it was not always so.  As unlikely as it might seem, the early lives of these three could not have been more different in fortune.  As a result, I must warn you that this account is not a happy one; quite the opposite is true, in fact.  And so, if you have come to this story with the desire for a pleasant tale of happiness and wonder, I think that you would be better off reading some other story.  In their youth, just as they are now, Macintosh, Applejack, and Apple Bloom were the most charming fillies and colt that you could possibly hope to meet: kind-hearted, obedient, honest and steadfast.  Despite that, however, in their early lives they were incredibly unlucky, and almost everything that happened to them was rife with misery, misfortune, and sorrow.  It all began on one miserable day at the beach of Horseshoe Bay...

The Apple siblings lived with their parents in a large orchard-estate in the nearby city, one of the busiest cities in Equestria: Baltimare.  On occasion their parents would give them permission to take the short trip on the Friendship Express— the word “Friendship”, in this situation, here means “a closely confined space in which several often tired and grumbling ponies are crammed, creating a stressful and claustrophobic environment”— alone to the bay, where they would spend the day enjoying time with each other, away from the city, as long as they were back in time for evening victuals.

This specific morning was grey and overcast, which did not bother the Apple siblings in the slightest.  When the bay was bathed in Celestia’s light and heat fell upon the beach in waves like those coming in from the ocean, Horseshoe Bay could be found densely populated with tourists from all over Equestria, making it nearly impossible to find a clear place to lay one’s towel.  However, on dismal and cloudy days like this one, when the Weather Factory was working overtime to distribute the spring rains across the land, the Apples had the beach all to themselves.

Macintosh, the oldest of the three siblings, often spent calm and gloomy days such as these bucking rocks.  He would line them up in a row and, with his powerful hind legs, would kick them at just the right angle to send them whizzing across the still, unbroken surface of the water until gravity took control and they sank beneath the ripples.  As he bucked rocks, he stared out at the horizon, thinking about the apple orchard at home and what new contraptions he could devise to harvest the apples faster during harvest season.  Anypony who knew Macintosh well could tell that he was thinking hard when his ears were lying flat against his skull, framing the close-cut yellow mane that ran down his brick-red back.  A pony of few words, Macintosh was a natural problem-solver; always thinking of new ways to overcome the tasks present in his life.  Of the three siblings, Macintosh was the only one who had already earned his cutie mark: a ripe green apple sliced in half, revealing the dark seeds circling the centre within.  He had earned it on a sunny fall day six years before, when his father had taken him for a walk in the apple orchard.  While they trotted between the trees, Macintosh had seen one of the orchard workers­— an old, tired stallion— struggling to buck the apples from a young apple trees.  Rather than seeing this old pony over-exert himself, Macintosh intervened, and with one powerful kick from his haunches, knocked the entire tree-full of under ripe green apples from the boughs and into the buckets waiting below.  After doing this (and dismissing the tumult of gratitude from the older pony) his cutie mark appeared.  His father had been so impressed by his natural strength and willingness to help, that he promised to let Macintosh work in the orchard when he turned sixteen, something that Macintosh looked forward to, especially now that it was only two years away.

Applejack, the middle sibling, sat staring into the shallow, murky waters of Horseshoe Bay; looking closely for small crabs, crawdads, or fish in the tide-pools. When she saw a small crustacean creeping its way across the rocky floor beneath the water, Applejack scooped it up and flung it onto the sand with a swift swing of her hoof, where she used her hat to catch it with a victorious grin upon her face.  She was just a little older than eight years old and was never seen without her broad-rimmed “Coltson” hat upon her head, (she had won it some years earlier at a fair while visiting relatives in Ponyville).  The hat made her look an age beyond her years, complimenting her strong will and reckless personality.  When playing together, it was Applejack who would lead her brother and sister upon make-believe adventures in the large rooms and long hallways of the family estate.  A pony of resolve, Applejack always knew what course of action to take, and everything she did was done with a persistent attitude until it was completed (which made the lack of a cutie mark upon her orange-coated flank an ever-present source of frustration).

Apple Bloom, the youngest at barely two years of age, had only recently become accustomed to using her four slender legs.  However, that did not prevent her from running and jumping across the sandy beach, giggling happily with youthful enthusiasm as her short red mane was blown about in the occasional gusts of wind coming in from the sea.  Apple Bloom was at an age when one mostly speaks in a series of unintelligible mutters and shrieks; however, Apple Bloom was an intelligent foal, and although she couldn’t speak properly yet, she could understand most everything that her siblings said.  Likewise, Applejack and Macintosh had also come to understand many of the noises that Apple Bloom made.  For instance, on that fateful morning, when Apple Bloom stopped prancing around to exclaim “Ehyo!” her siblings knew that she probably meant something along the lines of, “Who is that strange figure emerging from the fog?”

Sure enough,  in the distance through the early morning mist could be seen the outline of a stallion striding along the shoreline toward them.  Apple Bloom had been pointing at the figure and shrieking “Ehyo!” for some time when Applejack looked up from the crawdad caught in her hat and saw it too.  She reached over and tapped Macintosh on the shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Look,” She said and gestured toward the figure.  Now that it was closer, the young ponies could notice a few details, such as the shape of a large top hat upon its head and the outline of a business coat and collar.  It was definitely an earth pony; that much was clear by its lack of wings or a horn.  Macintosh stepped in front of his sisters, taking an offensive stance between them and the approaching stranger.

“Who d’you think it is?”  Applejack asked; worry lacing her thick Southern drawl.  Although the siblings had been raised in Baltimare, they retained the accent that their father had brought with him from their grandmother’s farm in Ponyville.  He had moved with his wife to Baltimare to expand their grandmother’s apple business, but they never lost their proud country accents, which their children had inherited.

“Ah dunno,” Macintosh replied in his much deeper brogue, squinting at the figure, “but it seems to be comin’ right toward us.”

“We’re alone here,” Applejack said, nervously.  “Who else could it be movin’ toward?”  She felt the thick fabric of the hat in her hooves and had a sudden desire to throw the crawdad at the figure; it intimidated her so.

However, as the figure reached them, the siblings saw with relief that it was not anypony to be frightened of at all, but rather somepony that they knew very well: Mr. Wright.  Mr. Wright was a close friend of Mr. and Mrs. Apple whom the children remembered seeing at many of their parents’ dinner parties and community events that they organised in the orchard.  One of the things that the siblings liked about their parents was that they never sent their children away to their rooms when adult company was over, but instead allowed them to stay and participate in the conversations and activities as long as they helped clean up afterward.  The siblings remembered Mr. Wright because he seemed to always be suffering from a nasty cold, and would constantly be overcome by a fit of coughing and sneezing into the white-lace hoofkerchief that he kept upon his person.

Mr. Wright took off his top hat with a slow motion and stopped in front of the three young ponies.  However, just as he was about to speak, he suddenly convulsed, possessed by yet another one of his loud coughing fits: spending several moments wheezing into his hoofkerchief.  Macintosh and Applejack patiently waited for him to recover.

“Howdy do,” Big Mac muttered awkwardly, shaking the hoof that Mr. Wright was not using to cover his mouth.

“Howdy do,” Applejack repeated, dipping her head and replacing her hat, then jumping in alarm and flinching as the crawdad pinched her ear.

“Ody yu!” exclaimed Apple Bloom.

“Fine, thank you,” Mr. Wright replied in his refined, Canterlot accent— the result of many years living and studying at the esteemed University of Economics in the capital city— as he returned his hoofkerchief to his pocket.

For a few lingering moments nopony spoke, and the siblings began to wonder what Mr. Wright was doing there at Horseshoe Bay.  Since he was a banker, as well as a highly respected figure in society, the children were very surprised to see him here on the beach instead of at the bank in the city, where he worked.  It was very plain that he was not dressed in appropriate beach attire, and the siblings had a sinking feeling that this was not simply a casual meeting.

“It’s a right fine day,” Applejack said finally, in an attempt to break the silence.  Of course, when one typically compliments the weather, very seldom do they intend to give an accurate report of the current conditions.  So when Applejack said, “it’s a right fine day,” she was not saying that this dismal, overcast afternoon was in any genuine way ‘nice’.  Apple Bloom made a gurgling noise that sounded something like an upset seagull, and Macintosh leaned down to let her crawl up onto his back.

“Yes, it is a nice day,” Mr. Wright agreed absently, staring out across the grey sands.  Looking back with solemn eyes he continued, “I am afraid that I have some, ah, that is to say, I have some bad news for you.”

The sinking feeling that Applejack and Macintosh had been experiencing developed into genuine feelings of dread as they stared at Mr. Wright.  Macintosh’s ears were flat against his head, but Applejack had connected the dots before him and dropped her hat in disbelief.  There could only be one reason that a close friend of her parents had come all the way out from the city just to find them at Horseshoe Bay.

“Your parents,” Mr. Wright said, “have perished.”

The siblings, with the exception of Apple Bloom, stared at Mr. Wright in shocked silence.

“There was a horrible fire that destroyed the house and the entire apple orchard.  They were unable to make it out in time.” Mr. Wright continued.  “I am so terribly sorry to have to tell you this, my dears.”

Macintosh took his eyes off Mr. Wright and stared out at the ocean.  Mr. Wright had never referred to the siblings as “my dears” before.  Any hope that this was some kind of terrible joke on his part was dispelled by the gravity in those words; he could feel the serenity in Mr. Wright’s speech, and sorrow began to manifesting itself within him.  He heard Applejack make a choking as tears welled up behind her green eyes.  Apple Bloom was looking at her two siblings, and at Mr. Wright, only partly understanding what was going on.  In frustration, she pounded Macintosh’s back with her tiny hooves and screamed, “pah go!” Agitated that she could not fully comprehend what was happening.

“Perished,” Mr. Wright said, his eyes still focused on the distant horizon, avoiding the three ponies eyes, “means ‘died’.”

“We know what th-the word ‘perished’ means!”  Applejack stammered crossly, blinking the tears from her eyes and glaring at Mr. Wright.  Feelings of frustration and helplessness were forcing their way through her subconscious, making her want to scream, cry aloud, and hit Mr. Wright all at once.  However, she did none of these things; instead she just continued to stare at Mr. Wright as the tears fell silently down her muzzle.

“The fire department  arrived, of course,” Mr. Wright went on, looking back at the siblings with an empathetic expression, “but they were too late.  The entire estate was engulfed in flames.  In a matter of minutes nothing was left.  I am so, so sorry.”

Macintosh’s whole body tensed at these words.  The house and the orchard were both gone, just like that.  His father’s life work and his own dream future, all up in flames.  He could feel Applejack losing control next to him.  In that moment he desperately wanted to make Mr. Wright stop talking and comfort his sister, but he found that he could not move a single muscle; all he could do was stare at Mr. Wright and listen to the horrible news, detail after heart-wrenching detail.

Mr. Wright coughed several times into his hoofkerchief before continuing.  “I was sent from the bank to retrieve you three and take you back to my home, where you can stay until we figure out where you will live from now on.  Since I am the executor of your parents’ estate, I will be handling all saved proceeds from the apple business in Baltimare as well as your parents’ fortune. When Macintosh comes of age at sixteen, the fortune will be yours, but the bank has taken charge of it until then.”

Although he said ‘executor’, as far as the siblings were concerned he might as well have said ‘executioner.’  He had simply walked down the shoreline to them and, in a matter of seconds, had changed their lives forever.  None of the siblings knew how to respond.

“Come with me,” Mr. Wright said and gestured back the way he had come.  Applejack scooped up her Coltson once again and placed it upon her head before following after Mr. Wright and her two siblings.  In that manner the three Apple siblings— now the Apple orphans— were led away from the shore and away from the only lives that they had ever known.

> Chapter the Second: Intrusive Introductions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Dear Princess Celestia,
Where are you now?



Despite the purest of my intentions, I cannot do any justice to the overwhelming sorrow that the three Apple youngsters felt the following day as Mr. Wright called the carriage to a stop in front of what had once been their home.  Though they had hoped with all of their hearts to the contrary, it was immediately apparent that Mr. Wright had not exaggerated even in the slightest when describing the devastation of the fire.  In front of them stretched acres upon acres of land that, though once green and lush with life, was now charred and blackened.  All that was left of their family’s household was a heap of soot and grey rubble, and the mere structural outline of the foundations.  In stunned silence, the siblings walked together through the decimated entryway of what had once been their home.

“You know,” Mr. Wright said as they exited the carriage.  “Many of your parents’ friends have already stopped by to pay their last respects.  Even Princess Celestia stopped by for a while.  Very kind of her, I must say.”

Applejack glared over her shoulder, hot tears brimming around the edge of her eyelids.  She stood in the centre of what would have been the large entrance hall, but was now no more than a crumbling heap of smoking soot.  Only just the previous morning, if she had been standing in that exact location, she would have had the base of the grand staircase in front of her, with rays of celestial light falling upon the crimson carpet through the glass dome that had served as a roof.  Now, however, everything that had once been familiar to her was gone.  Overwhelmed by emotions that are completely impossible to describe, Applejack crumbled to the ground, allowing her face to fall into the soot and grime as sobs flowed freely from her.  Apple Bloom, sensing her sister’s distress, pressed herself up close to Applejack’s shuddering body in an effort to provide for her some comfort.  If you have ever lost somepony close to you, I am sure that you know, at least in part, how Applejack felt.  If you haven’t, then you cannot possibly imagine.

Macintosh walked slowly past his sisters toward the smouldering remains of the great orchard.  Rows upon rows of blackened stumps riddled the scorched ground, like tombstones marking the passing of everything that the Apple siblings had ever known.  As he walked through the charred remains, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.  Step by step he walked, unfaltering, further and further away from the smoking remnants of his old life, until his mind and heart were too overcome with emotion to carry on.  A sob escaped from his lungs, unlocking the floodgates to his soul as he gave in.  He let the tears flow then, allowing himself this one moment of weakness in front of his siblings, yet crying in silence all the same.  I could spend pages and pages― or even entire volumes― attempting to explain to you how miserable these poor ponies were at this time, but I know that I could not, even then, be a satisfactory mediator of such sorrow.

Mr. Wright stood next to the carriage, allowing the siblings to have this time to themselves, empathising with them in this one moment.  However, as a banker, the death of the Apples’ and the loss of the orchard was just as much a financial inconvenience as it was an occasion for immense sorrow, resulting in conflicting emotions within his business-oriented mind.  This was not to say that Mr. Wright was not sad, nor that he did not sympathise with the Apple youngsters.  Rather, Mr. Wright lived in a world governed by facts and figures, where everything had a number and a net value.  It was present in every aspect of his life, and he was not entirely capable of completely comprehending the gravity of such matters of emotion (especially when there was paperwork involved).

“Hey, buddy; your kids nearly done?  It’s gettin’ dark here!”  Complained the muscular grey earth pony pulling the carriage, shielding his eyes from the early afternoon sun.  “You all aren’t my only customers, y’know!”  Baltimare was not a city known for friendly public service workers.

“Right you are, sir,” Mr. Wright replied submissively.  “Um, children!  If you are finished, we need to depart now.”

The Apple siblings reluctantly returned to the carriage.  As she walked back, Applejack glanced several times over her shoulder at the remains of the home that she was now leaving.  Before re-entering the carriage she turned one last time and removed her hat, bowing her head and shedding one last tear for her parents’ memory.  Macintosh, however, spared not a single look at the wreckage, but instead walked with stiff determination, eyes glaring straight ahead with brows furrowed, wanting no further reminders of all that they had lost.


* * *


“It has been a difficult few days for us,” Mr. Wright announced at the supper table two days later.  The Apple siblings looked up as he said this with undisguised looks of exasperation on their faces, as if to say, Are you only just now noticing this?  Mr. Wright either ignored or didn’t notice their faces as he continued, “However, I do believe that those of us in charge of your parents’ affairs have finally determined where you will stay from here on out.”  Applejack had to suppress the urge to face-hoof at the realisation that he was speaking about his executive duties at the bank, not about the emotional state of the three Apple youngsters.  She knew Mr. Wright well enough to know that he meant well, however she could not help being unappreciative of his objective attitude.

“Good!”  said Scrawl, Mr. Wright’s oldest son, who was sitting across the table from Applejack.  Glaring at her, Scrawl continued, “So we won’t have to share our rooms any more!  I don’t like sharing with Applejack.  She’s so primitive!”

“Me neither!”  Penn continued from his brother.  “And Macintosh is boring and mope-y.  Oh, and the filly bites!”

The siblings had been living in Mr. Wright's large penthouse apartment for the last four days, having to share a room with Scrawl and Penn, Mr. Wright’s two sons.  The apartment, despite being large and spacious, was incredibly grey and drab, and every room smelled like dried flowers.  Missing the comfort of their own home, the youngsters were not at all comfortable here, and Mr. Wright’s children did not help matters.  Being the sons of a well-to-do banker, the two Wright colts had been raised never wanting for anything, almost completely left to their own devices by their father.  As a result, they were two of the most unpleasant children that the Apple siblings had ever had the misfortune to meet.  Rude, disobedient, and inconsiderate, they treated the Apple siblings as if they were members of a social class significantly below theirs, making fun of their accents and belittling their intellect.  It completely astounded the Apple youngsters that children of a well-respected member of the banking community could be such disrespectful ponies.  So when Mr. Wright announced that they would soon be moving to a more permanent home, they could not help but feel a bit eager.

“Where?”  Macintosh asked, his ears perking up at Mr. Wright’s words.

“With who?”  Applejack inquired.

“Ooom!”  Apple Bloom exclaimed from the end of the table, where she sat upon several stacked boxes to reach the tabletop.

“Are we goin’ to stay with Granny Smith in Ponyville?”  Applejack asked just as Mr. Wright was beginning to respond.

Mr. Wright opened his mouth to reply but instead erupted into yet another fit of coughing, groping for his napkin to wipe the saliva from his muzzle.  “Excuse me.  Now, in answer to your question, Applejack, I’m afraid not.”

“Why not?”  Applejack implored, glaring at the banker incredulously.

“Because the will that your parents left clearly states…” Mr. Wright replied, pulling a notebook out of his front pocket, “ hem, hem… ‘If we pass prematurely from this world, we would like our children to be raised by their closest relatives.’”  He closed the book between his hooves resolutely, looking back at Applejack with a satisfied smile.  “You see?  Clear as day.”

“Ah don’t follow,” Macintosh said in his low, quiet voice, “who is closer to us than our Granny Smith?”  He had put all of his hopes upon their new guardian being his grandmother, since he felt just as much at home on her apple farm as he ever had at the Apple estate in Baltimare.

“Well, you see, the will clearly states that you are to be given to the charge of your closest relative.”  Mr. Wright began to say in a voice immediately attributable to that of a college professor about to deliver a lecture.  “And in this case, ‘closest’ clearly is meant to be geographical, as opposed to emotional.  We believe that your parents wanted you to be raised in the most convenient way possible, and it turns out that you have a relative right here, in the city.  That way you will still live in the environment that you have grown up in.”

“So who is he?  Or she?”  Applejack asked.

“His name is Rising Star, and he lives just on the other side of town.”  Mr. Wright explained.  “He is a distant relative of yours, either your third cousin four times removed on your mother’s side, or your fourth cousin three times removed on your father’s.  Sorry, can’t quite remember which exactly.  Either way, I have already made arrangements to take you to his house tomorrow morning—”

“Ah’m sorry, but Ah don’t follow neither,” Applejack interrupted, “if this relative of ours lives so close by, why didn’t our… uh, why didn’t we ever invite him over?”  Of course, Applejack was going to say ‘parents,’ but just as the word was about to pass her lips her stomach wrenched and the familiar emotions threatened to invade.  Any thought of her parents in these last few days since their death was unbearable, and she had avoided thinking about them so as not to appear weak to Scrawl and Penn.

“That is very probably because he is a very busy stallion!”  Mr. Wright replied with a knowing nod, “much like myself!  Although he is an actor, by trade.  I hear that he is one of the greatest actors in all of Equestria; isn’t that exciting, children?  Oh, I nearly forgot to mention, he also has a daughter, so you will have another filly your age to keep you company!  Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Macintosh glanced at Scrawl and Penn, who were making rude faces at Apple Bloom, who was growling back at them like a cornered dog.

“Eeyup,” he muttered apprehensively, “sounds just wonderful.” 

“Now, we should all get to bed!  It is going to be an early morning for you three!”  With a cheerfully hummed tune cut short by another coughing fit, Mr. Wright got onto his hooves and trotted into the kitchen with his plate clasped in his mouth.  Once there, he called back, “Scrawl, Penn, be good lads and help clean up!”

The request fell upon deaf ears.


* * *


That night was an uncomfortable and restless one for the Apple youngsters.  Nervousness about the following day and lingering sadness from their parents’ death melded to disrupt what would have otherwise been a peaceful and relaxing night.  Even young Apple Bloom—who, due to her young age, still could not entirely understand what was happening—had a difficult time  sleeping that night.  Her sister and brother were troubled, and as a result so was she.  So, when Mr. Wright knocked lightly on the bedroom door the siblings were already awake.

“Rise and shine, Apples,” he whispered before succumbing to yet another fit of wheezing.  Surprisingly, though, Scrawl and Penn remained asleep through the commotion.  “It’s time to go, so be brisk!” Mr. Wright finished after he had recovered.  “Brisk,” in this circumstance, meant “quickly, so that the Apple siblings were out of the apartment as soon as possible.”

Barely ten minutes later the siblings were piling into yet another small taxi carriage as Mr. Wright gave directions to the pony pulling it.  Then they were on their way, heading at a steady pace toward a new home and a new life.  The trip was passed in complete silence, besides Mr. Wright’s regular coughing fits.

After about half an hour of sitting in silent reflection, the carriage came to a halt half-way down a narrow alley lined with small houses made of pale white brick.

“Here we are!”  Mr. Wright declared in what was surely meant to be a cheerful and encouraging voice.  “Your new home!  Isn’t it lovely, children?”

The siblings slowly exited the carriage and found themselves in front of what was undoubtedly the prettiest house on the block.  The bricks were white and freshly painted, the flowers around the doorsteps beautiful and in full bloom, and the curtainless windows looked in upon a bright and comfortable interior.  The Apple youngsters all gazed at it in astonishment and wonder.  For a fleeting moment, the siblings thought that maybe their lives were taking a turn for the better after all.

“It definitely is darn pretty!”  Applejack said in awe.  “That’s where Rising Star lives?”

“Um... no, wait, this isn’t right…” she heard Mr. Wright mutter.  They looked over at him to see that the older pony had his notebook out and open, cradling it between his hooves as he looked back and forth between it and the beautiful house.  “Oh, I am frightfully sorry, children, this is the wrong number,” he said finally.  He checked the notebook again before putting it away and walking down the sidewalk to the house immediately next door.  “Here’s the right one!”

This house could not have been more different than the one next to it.  The white bricks were so covered in filth and grime that they were practically grey, sharply contrasting against the whiteness of the houses around it.  The two windows in front of the forlorn-looking building were dark, and no living plant life could be seen on the lawn of dead grass in front of it.  Another characteristic feature of this house that contrasted against those around it was a large tower, looming ominously above the narrow street.  Unlike the rest of the house, this tower appeared to be made out of rough brown plywood, leaving the impression that it was a later addition to the otherwise small structure.

“Well, let’s not dilly-dally! I am sure that you are all anxious to introduce yourselves!”  Mr. Wright began to trot up the paved, crumbling walkway to the front door.  It was then that the siblings noticed that in the wood of the door was a large and crude carving of a five-pointed star.  It appeared to have been roughly etched out with what was probably a dull knife, judging by the imperfect lines.  They looked inquisitively at this as Mr. Wright pounded upon the door with his hoof.

From within the depths of the dark and mysterious house the siblings could hear a commotion, then a crash and a loud exclamation.  Finally, very audibly, someone shouted, “BELLATRIX!  The bucking door!”

Briefly after this the door swung inward, revealing the cowering form of a light blue-coated unicorn—she couldn’t have been that much older than Applejack—who peeked through the crack between door and frame at them apprehensively.

“The Star says that if you are the tax man he has already told you once, and if you come back again so help him he will—” she was interrupted by more shouting from within the house.  When the shouting stopped she turned back to the ponies on the doorstep.  “Oh!  Um, The Star says to please come in.  He is in the sitting room; that way.”  She said, gesturing down the hall behind her, then quickly backing away from the door, allowing it to swing open entirely.  The siblings were met with the unpleasant sight of a very dark and dirty entry way, riddled with discarded pieces of clothing and miscellaneous household items scattered all across the floor.

“Well this is where I will leave you!”  Mr. Wright said as the door swung open.  “Unfortunately I need to report immediately to the bank.  It was very nice to have you staying in my home, my dear ponies, and I hope that you will all be very happy here.”  He glanced into the dirty house with some unease.  “If you have any questions or concerns, do not be afraid to contact me!  Give me a phone call or find me at the bank.  And I shall give you a call at the end of the week to check up on you, alright?”

As he turned to return to the carriage, he stopped to look back at the siblings.  Upon his face was a confusing expression: something between compassion, concern, and empathy.  However, just as he was about to say something he was once again overcome by coughing.  When he had recovered, he nodded once with a small, warm smile and said "Goodbye, Apples."

With that, he returned to the carriage and was off down the alley, leaving the sibling alone on the doorstep of a strange house in a strange neighbourhood.

“But we don’t have his phone number,” Macintosh muttered as the carriage drove away.

“Or even know where the bank is, for that matter,”  Applejack responded.

“Umo,” Apple Bloom agreed with a nod.

With this realisation that they were, truly, on their own, the siblings turned and, with a deep, nervous breath, entered their new home.  There was no sign of the blue unicorn to be had as they crossed the threshold, so the siblings continued to walk nervously down the hallway in front of them.  The muffled clopping of their hooves upon the hardwood floor, thick with dust, resounded in the large hallway, doing nothing to help their nerves.  As they finally reached the sitting room door Macintosh raised a hoof to knock, but before he could do so a commanding voice from within exclaimed, “You may intrude!”

Taking this as an invitation to enter, the siblings pushed open the door and entered the moderately large room beyond, which was furnished with a couple of old, worn and discoloured couches, some scattered cushions upon the floor, and a bowl of apple cores sitting atop a table that was pushed up against the back wall.  Even with the dim light coming from the solitary lightbulb hanging from the grimey ceiling, they could see that this room, too, was absolutely filthy and messy.  Amidst the grime in the middle of room stood a tall, scraggly-looking earth pony with a greying mane and dark grey fur, wearing a black frock coat with long coat-tails running down his limber back.  Upon his flank was a cutie mark depicting two theatrical masks, one with a smiling face and the other with a frown, ribbon flowing between them.  He glared at the siblings as they walked in with a look of amused indifference upon his sharp, narrow muzzle.

“Hello, hello, hello,” he said, his mouth developing into a full smirk as he surveyed the siblings, as if he were an old housemare evaluating fresh produce at the market.  His voice was deep and full, however it had a sharp edge to it, as if every word from his mouth had the potential of leaving a papercut.  “Hello,” he said one last time, and continued, “dearest ponies, welcome to my humblest of abodes!”

With a glance around the room once more Macintosh concluded that to call this place humble was being generous.  A small roach crawled across Apple Bloom's hoof, causing her to begin to cry.  Rising Star, however, ignored this and continued:

“Yes, I realise that it is nowhere near comparable to the grandeur of the Apple estate, but I’m sure that you will soon feel right at home!  And who knows,” he leaned in close to the siblings, until his rancid breath fell upon their faces in waves of uncomfortable heat, causing the youngsters to back away, “maybe with a little help from your parents’ money, we can fix it up a bit!”  Macintosh saw a gleam in the older pony’s eye that made him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Applejack decided immediately that she did not like this stallion one bit.  “Well, that ain’t gonna happen!”  She stated, ignoring the looks of warning from Macintosh, “cuz no one can touch our parents’ money until Macintosh grows up!  And even then you ain’t gettin’ one bit of it!”

Rising Star’s face contorted into a brief look of undisguised rage, and there was a glint in his eye like an angry dog.  For the briefest of moments Macintosh was afraid that he was going to strike, so he forced himself in front of his sister, ready to take the blow for them.  But then Rising swallowed, and shrugged his scruffy shoulders.

“Yes, well,” he said.  “Apples and oranges, it’s all the same to me!”  He then turned away from the Apple youngsters’ shocked faces and shouted in his loud commanding voice, “BELLATRIX!  You are summoned!”

Moments later the young blue unicorn from before rushed in, breathing heavily from the exertion of the jog.  “Yes, oh great and admirable Rising Star?”

Rising Star nodded at this strange address, and the siblings looked at the unicorn quizzically.  If she was Rising’s daughter, why on earth would she refer to him that way?  Noticing their glances, Rising Star turned to the youngsters.

“I am what many ponies consider to be a ‘big deal’ in the acting world,” he explained to them with a fiendish grin.  “You will soon learn that this household is an extension of that world, and in here, I am to be called by my stage name, ‘The Great and Admirable Rising Star,’ whenever you address me, is that understood?”  He fixed upon the siblings such a glare as to fill them with uneasiness.

“Eeyup,” Macintosh replied apprehensively.  Applejack said nothing, but instead stared at Rising Star in shocked disbelief.

“Good!”  The older pony said, his smile ever widening.  “Bellatrix!  Show these young ‘uns to their rooms!  I have very serious acting business to attend to!”  And with a flick of his long, unkempt mane, Rising Star strode out of the room, humming a fast-paced tune as he went.  The siblings continued to stare after him, so stunned by this first impression that none of them dared speak.  The blue unicorn stood there as well, gazing at the siblings.  Eventually Applejack noticed this and turned to her.

"Howdy do!"  She inquired, offering her hoof to Bellatrix.  "My name is Applejack, and this here is my brother Big Macintosh and my little sister Apple Bloom.  Your name is Bellatrix, right?"  She gave Bellatrix a friendly smile, which was mirrored by Macintosh and Apple Bloom.

Bellatrix considered Applejack’s hoof for a moment with wide eyes.  She gazed  at Applejack and Macintosh, with a strange expression, or mix of expressions, playing upon her face.  Fear, desire, apprehension, and… was it arrogance?  Applejack cocked her head curiously, waiting for a response.

“I… uh…”  Bellatrix mumbled, looking back and forth between the two older Apple siblings.  Finally she sighed and shook her head.  “He… he wouldn’t like… I mean… just follow me, please.  I’ll show you your room.”

As the unicorn led the way out of the sitting room, Applejack and Macintosh exchanged a confused look.

“Ah don’t like this,”  Applejack whispered to her brother as they exited the sitting room.  “Ah don’t like this at all.”

Macintosh merely nodded in agreement.  They mutually understood that this was not a good place for them to be, and if they stayed here, things would not be getting better at all.

> Status Update, 20/1/2014
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greetings, everypony!  Silver Quill here!

Things have been a bit tough on my schedule lately.  School is back into full-swing, and with it comes the heavy weight of  homework upon what little free time I had over the winter break.  With it has come a realisation.  I love writing; it is, in a word, my passion.  However, I have a few personal standards, and when a piece of fiction that I write does not meet my own standards, I cannot justify publishing it, here or anywhere.  And without sufficient time to dedicate to my writing, I am finding that I just cannot seem to reach these standards.

As a result, for the time being I am going to be putting a hold on all of my fan fiction projects, including A Series of Right Rotten Events.  None of these projects are dead, by any means!  However, until the summer holidays hit and liberate my schedule, I cannot find the energy or time to justify working on these projects.  I look forward to the end of the semester, when I can continue with these fictions!  However, for the time being, I have taken on some somewhat smaller projects, which do not tax my free time quite as heavily; primarily these consist of analysis videos and musical endeavours such as covers or original compositions.  Almost all of these will be released on my YouTube channel.

Thank you all for expressing interest in my work, and I hope that this temporary hiatus will not last any longer than it has to!

~Silver Quill