> A Job With Benefits
>  by Boomstick Mick
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I Quit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure that's the right decision?" Spitfire asked incredulously as Rainbow Dash stared her down.		


"You lied to me about Soarin's wing, just so you could get a better flyer!" The rainbow-maned mare replied, gesturing to Soarin with her hoof, who stood grimacing at his team mates with his forelimbs crossed over his chest. "You may be a winning team, but you're not the kind of winning team I want to be a part of."


Spitfire looked to be deep in thought. She removed her glasses and gave Rainbow Dash an appraising look. "Rainbow Dash, you are something -- saw it at the academy, seeing it again here; we could learn a lot from a competitor like you." The fiery-maned captain smiled as she turned her remorseful gaze to Soarin. "You ready to fly?"


Soarin had to think about it. Part of him wanted to say 'Really?!' as if nothing had just happened, but this wasn't the first time they had done this to him. It was always through some convenient 'mishap' or 'miscommunication' that he always ended up missing the Wonderbolts derbies. On several different occasions he had been 'accidentally' replaced in their roster with Wave Chill or Rapidfire when he was due to perform at major shows, which would end up with him being forced to watch the show from the stands where he was stuck signing autographs and being accosted by fans. Soarin wasn't an idiot. He knew what was going on. The Wonderbolt had decided that he had had enough. Soarin knew that he was the weakest flyer among them, but he was sick of his team mates making him feel left out. He wasn't sure at that point who he should be more angry with: himself, or them.   


"Well?" Spitfire said. "You ready to fly, or not?"


Soarin decided to start with them. He would have plenty of time to deprecate himself later. "No." 


Spitfire smiled and turned around, but she quickly turned to him again in a double take. "Excuse me?" 


"I said, no." Soarin pointed an accusing hoof at her. "This is the fifth time you have done this to me, and I'm sick of it. You always seem to take advantage of every opportunity you can to ditch me. Why didn't you just bring Rapidfire instead of me?"


"That's what I originally suggested," Fleetfoot answered with a callous shrug. "Spitfire thought it would be more PC if we had at least one male in our group, but since you were injured from being distracted by those cheer fillies bouncing around, I'd say that was a mistake."


"Fleetfoot!" Spitfire cautioned her through a row of clinched teeth.


"You see that?" Soarin said. "I'm glad Fleetfoot is here, because I can at least hear the truth from someone. Why am I even a part of this team if I'm just going to be treated like unwanted baggage?"


Spitfire placed a hoof upon her irate team mate's shoulder. "Soarin, this isn't the time or place for an outburst. I really wish you would have just told me you've been feeling this way sooner."


Soarin swatted her hoof away. "Look, I'm sick of being treated like a third wheel in this team. I'd rather not be a part of it if I'm just going to hold you all back."


"You have no one to blame but yourself, Soarin." Fleetfoot interjected. "You have had plenty of opportunities to train and improve yourself, but you didn't take them, and that's why you are our weakest link. That's why we were forced to switch you out of the roster so many times. I would have told you straight to your face that we switched the roster on you, but Spitfire wanted to spare your feelings. It was she who came up with all the bogus excuses as to why you couldn't attend all those events. If you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at her."


Soarin sneered. "I knew it."


"Fleetfoot, you are out of line!" Spitfire shouted.


"No, no she's not, Captain. As harsh as she sounds, she's telling me everything I need to know. And now that my suspicions have been confirmed, I have made a decision." 


"Decision?" The captain echoed.


"I quit."


"Quit? As in — you quit the Equestria games?"


"I quit being a Wonderbolt; I'm out." Soarin raised from his haunches and immediately made his way toward the train station. 


Rainbow Dash suddenly landed in front of him to bar his path."Wait, you can't just quit The Wonderbolts!"


"I just did."


"Soarin!" Spitfire joined Rainbow Dash at her side. "Think about what you're throwing away!"


"I had plenty of time to think about this decision when I was in the hospital. No one came to visit me, so I had ample time to reflect on my life."


"Where will you go? What will you do? You reside in the estates at the Wonderbolts academy when you're not on tour. Where will you live? The board wont provide housing for you if you're not on the team!"


"Spitfire, one of the perks to being a Wonderbolt was that it paid well. I have plenty of funds in my account to survive comfortably until I figure out what my next move will be. I don't even have anything to my name back in my living quarters, so I have nothing to send for. It's almost like... There was nothing here for me in the first place." And with that, Soarin opened his wings and arched over the two mares before continuing his path to the train station. As he continued his stride the last conversation he heard between Spitfire and Fleetfoot was that of them arguing amongst each other.


"Fleetfoot, do something!"


"I am, I'm sending an express letter to Rapidfire in Los Pegasus."


"Fleetfoot!"


"What? We need a third member to qualify for the games!"




 


The beams of morning light shining between the slats of the cheap hotel room's louvered blinds assaulted Soarin's senses as his blood shot eyes opened. The days were always bright and sunny in Cloudsdale, making it the worst place in the world to wake up with a hangover. With a dry mouth and pounding head he rose, the metallic cacophony of the empty beer cans scattered about the quilt sending strident nails of pain through his skull. He shuffled awkwardly out of his bed and kept a hoof against the wall to balance himself as he made his way to the bathroom. 


Never in his life had he vomited so much. He flushed the toilet and fell backwards against the wall, groaning with his head in his hooves. 


After sitting there with his back against the wall for what felt like hours, he finally managed to get to his hooves, and he left his room. After checking himself out of the hotel, and purchasing a newspaper from the clerk behind the counter of the lobby, he trotted across the cloudy road to a small diner with his paper rolled up between his teeth.  


"Welcome, sir!" An enthusiastic mare behind the bar greeted him. She was a spritely looking lass, sporting a grease stained apron, red hair bound back in a ponytail, and the white fur on her face was pockmarked with red freckles. She was most likely in her late teens or early twenties. Soarin might have thought she was cute if he didn't feel like absolute shit. Acknowledging the girl's friendly greeting with nothing more than a groan, he took his seat at the bar and placed his newspaper down on the counter. 


"Hangover?" The mare guessed.


Soarin grumbled a half-hearted response as he spread his paper across the counter top.


"Coffee?" The waitress guessed again.


"Please," Soarin muttered, rubbing his temples. "And an ice pick."


The waitress blinked. "An ice pick, sir?"


"Yes, maybe if I poke a few holes in my skull it will relieve some of the pressure."


The waitress giggled at that. "Funny and cute! you're making me glad I didn't play hooky from work today."


Soarin smiled, despite the throbbing pain in his head.


"Can I bring you something with that coffee, sir?" The waitress tempted him. "My omelettes are to die for."


"Yeah, that sounds really good right about now," Soarin replied as he turned his attention to the want ads. "I need something in my stomach."


"Coming right up!" The waitress was gone in a flash, and the sounds of sizzling and pans clanking filled the kitchen behind the window across from the bar. She left the kitchen only once to set an empty mug down in front of Soarin. "Would you like cream, sir?" she asked as she filled the cup from a coffee pitcher.


"No thanks." Soarin took several deep gulps of the hot, bitter beverage before returning to the want ads. " 'Construction ponies needed.' " Soarin could do that. He was good with his hooves. " 'Preferably a Pegusus who can work from high places.' Check. 'Must have experience...' crap." Soarin rolled his eyes before moving on to the next ad. " 'Apprentice baker needed at Sugarcube corner in Ponyville.' " Soarin felt as if he could certainly do that. Ponyville wasn't that far from Cloudsdale, and he loved sweets. He continued to read the list of requirements, which were becoming more and more asinine with every line. " 'Must love to have fun.' Okay, that's a bit strange. But who doesn't like to have fun? 'Must... Must know how to juggle? Must know how to operate a cannon? Must have experience applying clown makeup? Must love alligators? Must know what the fox says?'  Who in Tartarus wrote this ad? Pass." He continued to scroll down the list of jobs he was either under-qualified for, lacked the experience required, or just refused outright for his dignity's sake. " 'Sign waving.' No thanks. Next. 'Security guard.' Put that in the maybe section. 'Fry cook.' That'd be a hard no. 'Taxi pony.' Maybe." 


"Your omelet, sir." 


Soarin raised his gaze from the ads and noticed the mare standing across the counter. A plate containing a piping fresh omelette rested atop a round serving tray delicately balanced on her hoof. She set the plate near Soarin's paper and chirruped, "Enjoy your breakfast~" 


The pleasant aroma wafting off the omelette in tendrils of white steam stimulated Soarin's appetite. "This smells good. Thank you, miss."


"Not a problem, sir. If you need anything else just call me. The name's Ruby Dusk." 


"Beautiful name," Soarin commented. 


The waitress favored him with a flirty wink before leaving him to his meal.


Girl knows how to earn a tip, Soarin mused to himself as he took another sip from his cup. He saturated the omelette on his plate with a bottle of hot sauce that had been conveniently set out on the bar before forking a large piece into his mouth. He returned to his paper as he chewed the bite, and that was when a particular ad caught his eye. 


'Farm hand needed at Sweet Apple Acres. No experience required. Job comes with benefits: Room and board provided. Consult Applejack for further details.'


A job with benefits? Room and board? That would save him the headache of hunting for an apartment. Working out doors in the fresh air? Physically challenging labor? Soarin smiled before rolling his paper up. He emptied his coffee cup with two generous gulps and stuffed the remaining half of the omelet down his throat with one hard swallow. "Miss Dusk, check please."


"You only had the omelet and the coffee, right? I'll just go ahead and round your bill down to eight bits," came Ruby Dusk's voice from somewhere in the kitchen. "My hooves are a little full back here, I'll be there in just a sec."


"Don't bother, I'll just leave the money here on the counter."


"Okay then, thank you, sir. Come by and see me again, okay?"


Soarin felt charitable as he remembered how the girl made him smile. This charming lass deserved something for her efforts. Soarin set the eight bits down on the bar, along with a munificent tip of twenty bits. "You put a smile on this stallion's face, now he's gonna return the favor." 


"What was that, sir?"


"Nothing, your money's on the tray," Soarin replied before pushing the glass door open and exiting the diner. 







Sweet Apple Acres -- it was like an ocean of green from Soarin's point of view. He stood there perched upon his cloud, peering down at the sprawling property below. The two story farm house nestled within an emerald pasture overlooked the orchards, like a lighthouse standing erect at the shore of an apple-scented sea. He took a moment to appreciate the view before setting a course toward the homestead. "Consult Applejack for further details," he said as he descended from the sky, recalling the words posted in the ad. "Applejack... Where have I heard that name before?"


The intricacies of the property became more discernable to the winged stallion as he closed the distance between himself and the farm. He could now make out the three rung fence enclosing the grasslands that surrounded the house. At the opposite end of the pasture, he espied a large dilapidated barn near the fenceline that made up the field's parameter. At the enclosure's opening, directly across from the two story home, he could see a wrought iron arch wrapped in vines and leaves, which marked the entrance for a dirt path that presumably extended all the way through the orchards. Far, far off in the distance, Soarin could make out where the sprawling rows of trees gave way to untouched land and snow-capped mountains. The more he could see of the property and it's beautiful, natural surroundings, the more he could see himself enjoying working there. 


A young red-headed filly lazily lying on the porch was the first pony he came into contact with. Soarin landed softly in front of the large wooden stoop. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm here for the job posted in the paper. Could you please direct me to this Applejack I'm supposed to speak with?"


The filly perked her little head up, her adorable amber eyes fluttering sleepily. "Huh, you what?"


"The job," Soarin repeated. "I'm here for the job specified in the paper."


"Oh, the job," the filly yawned. She pushed herself up to her hooves and stretched. "Why don't ya come on inside, mister. Ah'll interview ya."


Aww, she's got a little southern drawl. Soarin was immediately taken with the filly. Her mannerisms were just too cute. He couldn't hold back his quizzical grin as he said, "So, you're Applejack?"


The filly's red mane whipped over her shoulder as she turned to answer him. "No, Ah ain't," she said matter-of-factly. "But Ah'm a member of the Apple family, which would still make me yer boss, if Ah decide to hire ya. Now, step into mah office, won't ya please?" With a flick of her mane she continued to saunter her way into the home, pulling the bottom dutch door open and letting it close behind her on its rusty hinges. "Oh, and if ya do get the job, yer first chore is going to be oiling that freakin' door."


Soarin couldn't help but be amused. He decided to go along with this little game, curious to see where it would lead. He followed her through the dutch door, opening both the top and bottom sections and entering to find himself standing in the living room. He noticed a stair case to his left, and a pair of swinging saloon doors to his right, where the filly was waiting for him. He noted the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, and the corridor that most likely led to the den. He began to wonder if that's where he would be residing if he got the job. He jumped when the dutch doors suddenly creaked and slammed behind him with a loud thump. 


The little red head giggled at his reaction before she bade him to follow her through the bat wing doors, which presumably led to her 'office.' Soarin noted with amusement that the little filly was barely tall enough for the bow in her mane to just slightly brush by the bottom of the swinging doors as she entered. He followed her, pushing the doors aside, and looking around to find himself standing in the kitchen.


"Have a seat." The filly gestured to a chair at the dining room table before pulling out a stool for herself.


"Alright..." Soarin pulled a flimsy wooden chair out from under the table and sat. He listened uneasily as the chair creaked in protest, feeling as if it might give out under his weight at any moment. "So," he said as he was settling into his seat, "nice place. I could really see myself enjoying living here."


"It's been in the family for three generations now," The filly stated proudly. "A lot of ponies wouldn't understand, but we're all mighty proud of our little farm here; It's our home and it's our coffin... Hope that don't sound too morbid for ya."


"Not at all. It sounds nice. You really sound like you know where you belong in life; that's amazing at such a young age. Here I am, a full grown adult, and I still don't know where I belong. I envy you." Soarin couldn't help but feel a sudden twinge of melancholy. If he was no longer a Wonderbolt, what was he? The sudden realization stung. "It's... Hard to know what your goals and priorities are when you can't even find a paved road that leads you there. I'm sorry if that sounds weird, but knowing where you belong in life is truly a blessing in of itself." 


"If the road to your goal is already paved for ya, there ain't no point in traveling it, pardner," came a thick drawl from behind. Soarin whipped his head around and noticed a golden earth pony entering the kitchen through the swinging saloon doors. He walked over to a cupboard above the kitchen counter, selected a glass and a large bottle filled with an amber fluid, then sauntered to the table and took a seat.


"So, pardner," he began, while pouring the fluid into the glass he had taken from the cupboard, the intermingled sour yet sweet aroma of whisky and apples instantly permeating the room. "What do Ah call ya?" He slid the glass across the table to Soarin, then took a generous pull straight from the bottle.


The filly puffed out her cheeks with a pouting frown. "Ah, Come on Braeburn, Ah was gonna interview him!"


"Now, little darlin', it was yer sister who done put me in charge of the interviewing process. Why dontcha go'n play with them little paladin friends'o yers?"


"Crusaders," the filly corrected him.


The cowboy removed his hat and tussled his mane before he sat back in his chair and rested a heavy hoof on the table. "Yeah, crusaders, that's what Ah meant t' say. Why don't y'all go 'n see a movie?"


Soarin noticed instantly that this Braeburn character didn't look at all like how he sounded. His deep southern drawl was so thick he was barely able to understand what the guy was saying. He had the stride and mannerisms of the classic tough guy cowboy you'd see in the old western flicks, but his angelic face, golden mane and perfectly sculpted body made him look more like a model than a cowboy.


"That sounds fun an' all, but we used up all our bits when we bought a pie cannon for the club house. We can't afford to go see no movie."


"That so?" The cowboy dug into his vest and dropped a small burlap bag on the edge of the table, which made a metallic jingling noise as it landed. He again leaned back in his chair with a laid back smile. "That should be enough for the three of ya, Ah think."


The filly hopped on to the table and undid the lace with a light tug. She opened the bag and surveyed its contents before her eyes lit up with an exuberant smile. "Thank you, cuz!"


"Ain't no thang, sweetheart," Braeburn chuckled. "Go on, now. The big ponies need ta' talk."


"Kay, thanks, bye!" The redhead said excitedly before taking the bag of bits in her mouth and leaping down from the table. She nodded to Soarin as if to wish him luck in getting the job, then skipped away happily to bump her head on the bottom of the bat wing doors at the kitchen's entrance. "Celestia buckin' pony feathers!"


"Watch yer mouth, sweetheart," The cowboy chided in a mild tone.


"Sorry," came the filly's voice from the living room.


"Now, then," the cowboy said, "that just leaves us. Ah hope ya came ready ta' work."


Soarin looked down at the pungent amber liquid in his glass. He then slowly lifted the rim to his lips and took a cautionary sip. The sourness of the beverage overwhelmed  his senses and scorched his esophagus as if it were liquid fire, but he tried his hardest not to show it in front of the cowboy, worried that he may be offended by his reaction. "So," Soarin said, fighting back a cough, "you're just going to hire me like that? No interview? No questions? You're not even asking for a resume?"


Braeburn once again put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and chugged down two deep gulps as if the unpalatable fluid was water. He then set the half-empty container down on the wooden table with a dull thud and said, "Mister, let me tell ya a little somethin' about us Apple family kin: 'round here, we use our actions to speak for us. Ah could ask ya a million questions, an' you could have an answer for every single one, but Ah'd still know nothin' about ya. Ah gotta see ya in action before Ah can know what yer truly worth to us."


Strangely enough, the cowboy's words made more sense to Soarin than anything he had ever heard in his life.  He smiled, feeling a slight sense of admiration for this Apple family wisdom."If only politics worked the same way."


The boisterous cowboy let out a hearty laugh in response and gave Soarin a friendly punch in the arm, which numbed him all the way to the bone. "Hell, Ah like you, pardner! Now come on, we got work to do." He sprang energetically from his seat and pushed open the swinging doors. "Comin'?"


"Yeah... I'm coming." Soarin resisted the urge to rub his bruised arm as he pushed himself up from the table, and then he hobbled his way through the kitchen's exit. 







THWACK Soarin bucked the unyielding tree with all his might and watched as only two apples fell from it's branches. "Seriously? I put everything I had into that kick!" 


"Already told ya, it ain't about power: It's about precision and technique. Here, let me show ya again." Braeburn approached the tree, turned away from it, and kicked it with a perfectly executed buck. 


Every apple in the tree rained down around the cowboy in a downpour of golden delicious, while Soarin could only watch in dismay. "Witchcraft!" He said accusingly. "There is no other explanation as to how you can do this so easily!"


"Ah ain't usin' no fancy unicorn parlor tricks," Breaburn laughed.


"Performance enhancing drugs then! You're on the moon sugar, aren't you?"


Braeburn threw his head back and laughed again. "You are a hoot!"


Soarin's eyes narrowed in irritation before approaching another tree. He crouched his hind legs in preparation for another kick before the cowboy intervened. "Make sure to bring yer legs in closer 'fore ya buck em out, and remember to throw yer weight into the direction of yer kick. Try not to lock yer elbows when you spring up with your hind legs. And remember, eighty percent of your power comes from your flanks and yer hind quarters. Think about all that while ya kick; the more ya do it, the more yer muscle memory will take over for ya."


Soarin sprang his hind legs upward and bent his knees, then he let his hooves return to the ground. He practiced this a few times, making sure his form would be exact to his tutor's instruction.


"Nice," the cowboy critiqued with an approving nod. "Ya got the technique down, now let's see ya apply it."


With a deep breath, Soarin sprang his hind legs up from the earth, shifted his weight toward the tree, and kicked as hard as he could. The impact resonated through the tree's base with a loud thump as it's branches surrendered their fruit to him.


"Very nice!" Braeburn cheered.


Soarin watched the fruit fall and hit the ground all around him with a proud smile, but when he looked up he grimaced when he noticed how many apples still clung defiantly from the branches above. The irritated stallion kicked the tree again. Then he kicked again, and again, and again, until every piece of rebellious fruit lay defeated on the ground before him. 


Satisfied, Soarin sat back on his haunches to catch his breath. "This kind of work is surprisingly therapeutic."


Braeburn gave Soarin an approving nod. "Yep. There's nothin' on Celestia's earth that cleanses the body, mind, and soul like a hard day's work. Now, let's get these apples in the cart and move on. We still have a few dozen barrels we gotta fill before lunch."


Soarin blinked incredulously. "Did you say a dozen barrels -- before lunch? That sounds like more than an entire day's work." He looked back at his legs. He had only been working for an hour and they were already beginning to burn.


"Nope," the cowboy said. "Ah said a couple of dozen. Maybe we can call it a day after that. Ah don't wanna burn you out on your first day. Besides, Applejack is gonna want to meet you. In the end, she'll be the one who ultimately decides if you stay or go. Ah'm only here to show you the ropes." Braeburn then gave him a cautioning look. "Ah hope you ain't steppin' into anything yer not sure you can handle, pardner. Today is child's play compared to what a full day 'round here will be like."


"Well, what's a full day like?" Soarin asked, dreading the cowboy's response.


Breaburn removed his hat and scratched the scruff of his chin pensively. "Well, the roosters'll wake ya up around five... Or four... depends on the season."


Soarin cringed at that. Even the Wonderbolts didn't wake up that early for their morning PT. "Uh huh... Go on..."


"When ya wake up, you can head in to the house for some grub before ya start yer day. Granny Smith makes the best biscuits n' gravy you've ever had. Shoot, her cookin' alone will make it worth working here."


"Wait what do you mean by 'Head in to the house?' I won't be sleeping in the house?"     


"Nah, they got you yer own place to bed down at. It's the old barn at the far corner of the fence. They don't use that old thing anymore, it's been around since Granny Smith was a little filly. They decided to go ahead and use it as the quarters for the farmhand - which will be you. It ain't a bad place to stay in, though. Replace the broken windows, spray it for vermin, fix the floor boards, add a fresh coat of paint, sweep it out, fix the hole in the roof, call a Celestian to perform a blessing on it, and it'll be good as new. Heck, Ah'm sure you'll love it once you get all yer stuff moved in. Ah'll help ya with that, if you'd like."


"Wait, wait, wait, wait... Did you say call a Celestian?"


"Apple Bloom thinks it might be haunted," Braeburn explained. "You can shrug that stuff off as superstition if you'd like, but it's better to be safe than sorry."


"Great," Soarin muttered, "so I get to wake up at four in the morning after sleeping in the Amityville barn house..."


"After breakfast," Braeburn continued, "you'll be tending to the livestock: Feedin' em, shovelin' out their pens, that sort of thing - then you'll pretty much be buckin' apples for the rest of the day. You'll have lunch, then it's back to work. At the end of the work day, you'll be takin' the barrels filled with all the apples ya harvested, and yer gonna be storin' em in the cellar. Them barrels'r pretty heavy, so you'll be carryin' em down one-by-one. You'll probably be makin' about twenty to thirty trips up and down them stairs. After all that's done, you'll be reportin' to Applejack to receive your pay for the day. She'll also be giving you additional assignments if there's anything else 'round here that need's doin' or fixin'." 


Soarin tried not to openly express his displeasure at everything the cowboy had just listed to him: having to sleep in a destitute, worn down shanty, waking up at four in the morning every day, spending his entire day kicking trees, then having to haul that cart around that he swore must have weighed at least a metric ton. The thought to go crawling back to his former team mates crossed his mind, but only for a moment. That was probably what they expected him to do. His team knew that he had never been very resilient when it came to changes in his life, nor was he good at sticking to his decisions if they were to ultimately lead down a difficult path, but he refused to go back on this one. The very thought of doing so, the very notion that he would consider groveling to Spitfire and Fleetfoot after that big scene he had made at Rainbow Falls enraged him. This job wasn't really that bad considering everything he used to have to put up with. 


"I'm not going back!" Soarin suddenly blurted, as if he envisioned his former captain standing before him that very moment.


"D'you say somethin', pardner?" Braeburn's voice suddenly brought Soarin back to reality.      


Soarin's eyes flashed with renewed vigor. "Nah, just thinking out loud," he responded. "What do you say we get back to work? These apples aren't gonna buck themselves."


"Ah like yer attitude!" Braeburn replied in an upbeat, encouraging tone. "Ah think we found our new farmhand. AJ is the one that still makes that decision, but with a go-get-em attitude like that, yer gonna be a shoo-in."


Soarin absolutely refused to go crawling back to Spitfire. This was a trial of his fortitude, and he refused to let it beat him. "I'm ready for anything. No matter how hard or rough the terrain may be, no matter how many bumps I hit or holes I stumble into on my way, there is nothing that will stop me from this day on. I chose this path for myself, and though it may not be paved for me to simply stroll along it, I'm going to see it all the way through!"







"I quit... I... I can't do this anymore..." Every muscle in Soarin's body burned as if his veins had been pumping acid. He laid sprawled out on the ground, his chest rapidly expanding and contracting with his labored breaths. "So tired... Can barely move..."


"Yeah, Ah'd say it's about lunch time." Braeburn mused before removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Ah guess halfing the work days will be fine until yer completely caught up to snuff with things 'round here. Why don't ya relax for the rest of the day? Maybe we can move some of yer things into yer new place?"


Soarin let out a raspy cough before responding. "I don't own anything. I have nothing to my name -- and I don't think I can get up. I think you should tell Applejack that she'll need to wait a little while longer before somepony more suited to this kind of work comes along," he said as a feeling of hopelessness washed over him. Every time he tried to compensate or comfort himself with the poor excuse that he was a Pegasus and not an earth pony, that he just simply wasn't built for this kind of labor, one word would end up popping back in his mind. 'Quitter.' Soarin was a quitter. He knew it, and he wasn't going to delude himself from that fact. He quit the Wonderbolts over a petty spat, and now he found himself quitting once again. All because the job was too hard.   


Braeburn looked down at the broken stallion lying before him. "That's too bad, pardner. Is there anyway Ah could get you to reconsider?"


"No... I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Tell your cousin that it didn't work out. Tell her that I'm sorry."


"You should probably tell her yourself. She usually takes her lunch at the house. Why don't ya go on down and see her? Ah'll go ahead and get these barrels to the cellar for ya."


"Fine... Thanks for everything, and no hard feelings." Soarin managed to get to his hooves. He nodded a farewell to the cowboy, who silently nodded back before he focused himself on his task of hitching the wagon. Thankfully the house wasn't too far from where they were. He could see it through the clearing of the trees in the distance, but his legs still burned like blazes. He decided to fly the short way back to the house. 


He landed softly on the moist turf in front of the home. He figured that since Applejack's name sounded familiar she'd be easy for him to recognize once he saw her. He began to hone in on a trickling noise coming from the side of the house. "Miss Applejack?" he called out  


"Who's that?" a female voice responded. "Ah'm over here near the well pump."


Soarin winced with every step as he made his way to the side of the house. The moment he saw her standing near the pump, memories of her came fleeting back to him. She was indeed familiar to him - the hat was an instant tip. It was the mare who sold him those sinfully delicious pies at the gala. He even recalled that she was in the small group that watched him as he chewed his former captain out the day before. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty for forgetting her so easily, but his chaotic and busy life as a Wonderbolt made it much too difficult to remember a mare he had only seen a few times. "Miss Applejack?" He called out to her again.


"Ah'll be with ya in a minute, sugarcube." She removed her hat, set it on the ground, and undid the band around her golden ponytail. Upon its liberation from its bind her hair fell all around her like a disorganized mess of honey-colored silk. 


Damn, Soarin thought. Was she... Was she always this hot? The dress she always wore at the gala kept her assets a little too well hidden from him, it would seem.


The mare lifted the wooden bucket and spilled its contents over her, letting the grime of her labor roll off of her back. Her sopping wet coat clung to her feminine frame and revealed every dip and curve of her figure. 


Soarin's wings twitched. "Hello~ farmer's daughter," he muttered absentmindedly to himself. 


Applejack whipped her sopping wet mane around to one side and turned to grace him with the warmest smile anyone had ever given him. "You the new guy? Welcome to Sweet Apple Acr-- Wait, don't Ah know you? What are you doin' here?"


Soarin no longer felt his muscles aching or burning. He forgot all about his pain, emotional and physical. It was as if all the negativity he felt burned up in the wave of heat that was now searing his cheeks red. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I am the new guy. Soarin is my name." Maybe sticking it out and working here for a little while longer wouldn't be so bad after all...
> Repaying a debt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna's shroud of twilight blanketed the orchards of Sweet Apple Acres, bringing with it the nightly symphony of the surrounding nocturnal wildlife. Soarin admired the encompassing sights and sounds as he made his way to his dilapidated hovel, a pack filled with pillows and blankets provided by his employers on his back. Granny Smith and Applejack were nothing short of generous to him upon informing them of his situation, that he lacked even the most basic of necessities, such as bedding. They had even offered him a couch from their den as a house warming gift, but he had politely declined. As destitute as the Stallion's situation seemed, he still had plenty of money left over from his previous occupation; it would harry at his conscience to accept such charity when he was well-off in terms of finances. 


When Soarin finally arrived at his barn, he placed his hoof upon the door. This was the moment he had been dreading for some time now -- it was time to see his new living quarters. He turned his head and took one last longing look at the cozy-looking two story homestead across the field before finally pulling the barn door open. The hinges, black and rusty from decades of neglect, made a harsh metal-on-metal grinding sound. The scream that emitted from the hinges of the front door of the Apple family home suddenly seemed like a beautiful siren's song in comparison. 


Soarin crossed the threshold of his new home and scanned around near the doorframe for a light switch, but he couldn't seem to find one. He didn't know why he was expecting to; the construction of the old barn may have predated the discovery of electricity itself. He moved forward at a slow, methodical pace, careful to not collide with any foreign objects within the blackened confines of the ruined structure. 


He felt his hoof kick something, something that felt like glass. The object was sent rolling until its brass bottom and glass body caught the pale shafts of moonlight shining through the hole in the roof, and he realized that it was an old kerosene lantern. Soarin picked it up to inspect it. "An antique," he mused as he examined the archaic device. He gave the flint nob an experimental twist and, much to his surprise, the wick inside of the glass cylinder came to life with a dancing flame. "Must have been recently used."     


No longer blind, Soarin lifted the lamp level with his face and observed his new surroundings. It was now understandable as to why Apple Bloom could think this worn down structure was haunted. If he could rewind time back to when he was a kid he may have thought the same thing. There was a derelict scarecrow in the corner, which cast an unsettling dancing shadow upon the wall behind it in the lantern's tawny glow. The twisted stitched smile and its wide-brimmed hat didn't make it any less chilling to gaze upon. An old harvesting scythe hung from a nail on the wall. Next to it was a rusted old pair of gardening sheers, which looked as if they were large enough to decapitate a Minotaur with one snip. Brown, corroded chains, once used for storing large farm equipment overhead, hung and swung loosely from the rafters. There did not seem to be one floor board that didn't creak in protest to his weight, and the walls and what was left of the roof groaned in agony every time the wind shifted. Soarin contorted his face into a forced expression of optimism, hoping that maybe if he poured some tender love and care into this place, he could upgrade it to a piece of crap. 


Soarin noticed a wooden upper deck at the far end of the barn. Curious, he approached it. With the handle of his lantern clinched between his teeth, and with a languid leap, Soarin cleared the twelve foot jump and grappled the ledge of the hayloft. Though his muscles ached from the labor he had done with Braeburn earlier, he still managed to pull himself up and over the threshold with minimal effort. There was a round window recessed in the wall, and below it was a pile of straw. It wasn't much in terms of a bed, but it would have to do. It was either that, or sleep on the rough wooden floor to risk waking up with an ass full of splinters. He set the lantern down, spread his bedding over the soft straw, and immediately collapsed into it. The stiff stalks would normally irritate him, but in his fatigued state he might as well have been lying on a cloud.  







Soarin was suddenly stirred from his sleep by a mysterious creaking from somewhere in his barn. He opened his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw who was standing over him. "AJ?" Soarin turned his head to survey the ledge of the second story deck, then he looked back at her. "How'd you get up here?" 


With a playful giggle the cowgirl placed her hooves against Soarin's chest and straddled him. 


"AJ, w-what are you..." Soarin's words escaped him with a quivering sigh when she leaned down and gently kissed him up and down his neck. The stallion could feel his blood heating as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensual caress of the mare's soft lips. Soarin no longer needed to ask her of her intentions. She was making them quite clear. He wanted her the moment he saw her, and it was now obvious that she felt the same way about him. He reached out to take her in his arms.


"Partner," she purred in his ear. 


"What did you just call me? What happened to sugarcube?" Soarin's eyes rounded when her voice suddenly became deeper. 


"Yer a good lookin' guy an' all, but ah prefer mah stallions to be a little more... How should ah put this..? Female."


Soarin's eyes snapped open, and staring right back at him were the quizzical eyes of a bulky golden stallion. It took the somnolent Pegasus's brain a few seconds to register the situation... 


"GAH! BRAEBURN, WHAT IN TARTARUS!" He shoved the earth pony back in a panic. "What're you doing in my bed!"


"Ah was tryin' ta' wake ya, when you suddenly pulled me on top of you," the cowboy explained matter-of-factly. 


"I thought the roosters were supposed to wake me," Soarin said.


"Shoot, they stopped crowing 'bout an hour ago," announced the cowboy. "If Ah would'a known you was one of them sleep-cuddlers, ah would have kept mah distance and splashed some water on ya, or somethin'."


"Well, I'm sure as tartarus awake now..." Soarin paused awkwardly. "I guess I'm not used to waking up this early yet. AJ isn't mad at me, is she?"


"She didn't seem too miffed about yer absence over breakfast. Ah asked if she wanted me ta' go get ya, but she said she had somethin' special planned for ya. Said she wanted ya to be rested up."


"Rested for what?"


Braeburn shrugged. "Dunno, but she said she wanted to talk to ya about it when ya woke up."


"Do you know where she is?"


"Last Ah saw, she was headin' for the cellar."


"I guess that's where I'm headed, then." Soarin stretched before rolling out of his crude makeshift bed. He sidestepped Braeburn, approached the ledge of the deck, and he spied the ladder the Earth Pony must have used to gain access to the loft. "So, that's how you got up here?"


"Yup," Braeburn replied. "Ah tried callin' out to ya from down below, but you was dead to the world. Sorry if Ah startled ya."


"And I'm sorry I violated your personal space." Soarin smiled sheepishly. "No one has to know about that, right?"


"Shoot, you think Ah want anyone knowin' about it?"  


That was all Soarin needed to hear. Feeling too awkward to carry on with the conversation, he turned his head and studied the large hole in the roof. It was just the right size to accomodate his wingspan for swift egress. "I'll go see what AJ wants with me."


"No problem. Ah'm gonna be helping Big Mac out in the orchards if ya need me."


"Sure," Soarin said, "and again, I'm sorry for... You know." 


"It's alright," Braeburn said with a lighthearted chortle. "Next time Ah'll get Big Mac ta' come wake ya up. He likes ta' cuddle, too."


That was Soarin's cue to end this uncomfortable bit of dialogue before it could get any stranger. "I'll, uh, catch you later, Braeburn," was his farewell before he hastily took off through the hole in his roof.  


Soarin soared across the emerald pasture, then rounded about the Apple family house until he came upon the cellar in back. Its doors were hanging wide open on their hinges, with the large iron padlock dangling loosely from the latch that clasped them shut. Carefully he descended the stairs, into the darkness of the underground corridor. 


The air in the belly of the cellar seemed cooler and dryer than it did above ground, and it was thick with the sweet yet bitter scent of ripening fruit. There were rows upon rows of wooden barrel racks, which were spaced from each other at just enough of a berth to allow one to walk between them.   


Soarin skirted along the edge of the tall wooden columns until he noticed a light source burning at the far end of the cellar opposite him. It was Applejack rummaging through a wooden barrel by the light of a kerosene lamp. "Hey, boss," Soarin announced as he approached, careful so as to not startle her. "Breaburn said you wanted to talk to me?"


Applejack looked away from what she was doing to greet him. Her hair caught the firelight from the lamp, making it shine with a radiant golden aura. Her smile was as welcoming as it always was. "Hey, there ya are," she said sweetly. "How ya doin', sugarcube?"


An angel without wings. "Rested and ready to work, madam captain," Soarin responded with an eager salute.    


Applejack chuckled. "You don't gotta address me with them fancy titles, Mister Hotshot Wonderbolt." 


"Yes, Captain. Madam, I mean. I meant Madam AJ! Dammit!" 


Applejack snorted as she restrained a laugh, a quizzical smile spreading across her face.


Soarin wanted to slap himself, he felt so stupid. "You know what," he said, "let's start over again. Hello, my name is Soarin, and I'm here for the job in the paper!" Soarin pretended to reach out to shake her hoof, in the hopes that his silly antics would distract her from how ineloquent he was being.


Applejack laughed at that. "You are so silly."


"Yeah," Soarin admitted with a self deprecating smile, "that describes me pretty well."


Applejack punctuated the end of her mirth with a sigh before she turned herself around to resume whatever it was she had been doing, before Soarin came bumbling in and distracted her. She removed an apple from the barrel, then examined it with a scrupulous gaze, then dropped it in a satchel bag that she wore at her flank. Soarin watched with mild amusement as she did this, unsure as to what could be going in to her seemingly strenuous process of selecting a piece of fruit. "Mind if I ask what you're doing?"


"Picking out some apples for the pie stand. Only the best will do."


"Well, that makes sense, since you do make the best pies," said Soarin.


Applejack chuckled. "Granny raised me up to be modest, but on this Ah'd have to agree. Mah apple pies are to die for." Her voice took on a wistful tone as she said, "Especially when you add in a pare."


Soarin screwed up his face. "Did you say a pare?"


The Earth Pony looked back to favor him with a smile. "Story for another day, sugarcube." She turned back to face the barrel. As she was digging around she said, "Did ya know it's Rainbow Dash's birthday today? We're planning a party for her tonight at the Ponyville town square, and Ah bet she'd get a real kick out'a you attending it, Mister Wonderbolt."



The announcement took Soarin by surprise, so much so that he forgot to be awkward. "Rainbow Dash, It's her birthday?"


"Yup, an' If ah'm not mistaken, ya'll know each other pretty well, don't ya?"


Of course Soarin knew Rainbow Dash. He had nothing but admiration for her for saving his life on several different occasions. He owed a debt to her that he feared he would never be able to repay. "It's Dashie's special day, huh? I don't mind hanging out with her on her birthday, but I'm not a Wonderbolt anymore."


Applejack dropped another apple in her bag before she responded. "Yeah, Ah know that, but Ah still think she'd get a kick out'a you showing up to her party."


Soarin scratched his chin as he pondered over what would be a suiting gift for someone who has saved his life not once, but twice. Not to mention all the times he had read about her saving the world with her friends, whenever the crown or the fate of Equestria hung in the balance. "I don't suppose you have any gift ideas?"


"Ah do, as a matter of fact. That actually brings me to the other thing Ah needed to talk to ya about."


"I'm listening," Soarin said attentively.


Applejack looked back at Soarin with an expression that was difficult to read. "You, uh, still got that flight suit of yers?"


"I have a whole closet full of them in my quarters back at the academy. Why?"


"Well, Rainbow Dash likes to collect Wonderbolts memorabilia. And Ah was thinkin' that -- maybe, since ya ain't gonna be usin' em no more..."


Soarin, anticipating the request, smiled amiably and said, "She can have one."


"Really?" Applejack's face was aglow with gratitude. "Ya mean it? Ah mean, Ah know those suits must have some sentimental value to you."


"AJ, it's okay," Soarin insisted. "I'm not a big fan of holding on to the past. If you think Rainbow Dash would like one, I'll be more than happy to present one to her as a gift." He of course omitted the fact that the suits technically weren't his to give away. They were the property of the academy. However, they were custom tailored to his exact measurements; It wasn't likely that they'd be worn by anybody else. They would probably be stored away when the board eventually turned his estate over to his replacement, to never see the light of day again. If Rainbow Dash wanted one, he didn't see why she shouldn't have one. 


Applejack bounded across the short distance between them and threw her arms around him. A sudden flash of heat stung Soarin's cheeks as he stood there, in her embrace. 


"Oh, Sugarcube," the oblivious farmer said, "you are sweeter than granny's cinnamon apple fritters! Thank you so, so much! Ah can't wait ta' see the look on Rainbow Dash's face when she sees your amazing gift! Name your price. Don't be shy, now. What would you say giving that suit up would be worth to ya?"


Soarin stood an entire head taller than Applejack. In such close proximity his senses detected a hint of the orchards wafting off her mane. She smells as good as she looks. Flustered, Soarin cleared his throat before he spoke. "I don't really want anythi--"


"Oh, shush!" Applejack cut him off. She looked up at him with that adorable smile of hers. "There's gotta be somethin' Ah could give you in return, now spit it out - an' Ah don't want ta' hear ya say you don't want nothin'!"


Soarin was taken aback by the mare's insistence. He quickly thought of what he could possibly take from her without feeling like a jerk, as this stubborn mare obviously wasn't going to take 'nothing' for an answer. Standing there with her arms around him, he thought, until an idea finally came to him. "Uhm... I don't suppose you dance?" 


"Dance?" Applejack finally released Soarin from her embrace and gave him an inquisitive look. "Yeah, Ah can dance pretty good. Why?"


Asking her to dance with him... The request felt strange now that it had passed through his lips, but he was in too deep to turn back now. At this point he might as well give it a shot. "If there's going to be dancing at Dash's party," he ventured, "maybe you can save one for me?"


Applejack cocked an eyebrow at him. "You want me to pay you for the flight suit with a dance?"


"I like dancing." Soarin shrugged as he played at being the nonchalant. "Spitfire used to make me take dancing lessons so I wouldn't embarrass her at the gala. I took to it pretty quick."  


"So, you dance, huh?" AJ said. "Okay, Ah'm cool with that. If yer sure that's what ya want."


"That's all I can really think of," Soarin replied. "I guess I have my orders, then. I'll come back as soon as I have that flight suit."


"Sugarcube, Ah ain't ordering you around," Applejack laughed before she turned to resume her business with the barrel. "Why don't you go ahead and take the day off?" She began to inspect yet another apple, then added, "Maybe that'll give ya some time ta' get whatever it is ya need ta' get done before Dash's party tonight." 


"Sounds good to me," Soarin said to the back of her head. "I'll see you at the party, then. Tonight at the town square, right?" 


AJ deposited the apple into her bag. "Five sharp."


"Got it. I'll see you there." Soarin then turned on his heels and made for the steps. 


"Sugarcube?"


Soarin stopped, then turned his head to look at her from over his shoulder. Applejack was giving him a smile that was sweeter than mulled cider, a smile that was the very portrait of sincerity. "Thank you so much. Ah really do mean it. Thanks."


That smile of hers was enough to get Soarin bothered. Did she even know how pretty she was when she smiled like that? He could feel the redness returning to his cheeks. "Uh... Anytime, captain... I mean Applejack. Sorry, I know you don't want me calling you that. I'll try to work on that."


Applejack sighed. "Sugarcube," she said forgivingly, "just call me AJ."


"Sure," Soarin stammered. So long as you keep calling me 'sugarcube.'




 


Tender nostalgia welled up within Soarin as he trotted across the desolate campus of the Wonderbolts academy. It hadn't been that long since he had last been here, but it felt strange knowing that he would most likely never see it from the inside again. Everywhere he looked, everything he saw, every cloud and every structure of the campus grounds had a thousand memories attached to them. He strolled along the cloud-paved area between the colt's and filly's dormitories, then flew to the roof tops, from where he could see the spot where he had had his first kiss with the girl he would always meet up with after curfew. Her mane was green, her coat a light blue. Her lips tasted like mint, he remembered. The memory made him smile. He lifted his gaze to look at the stage across the campus quad, where the celebration in his honor was held upon becoming a Wonderbolt. He remembered how much fun it was: the proud look on his parents' faces, his friends' painful gauntlet of congratulatory punches he had to endure. Soarin sighed as he took in all the precious memories.  


When he was done cantering along the cloudy road of memory lane, he made his way to the Wonderbolts' personal estates located at the private sector of the campus, the area where nobody but official members of the team were permitted to tread. He touched down upon the well maintained courtyard between the two rows of opulent homes, and he entered through the doorway of the one that had once been his. Soarin, wasting no time, ascended the stairs to his bedroom, and found his suits hung neatly in his closet. He selected one at random, as anyone would do, and stuffed it in a bag.


With his errand now concluded, Soarin left his quarters with his prize in hoof, but as he was descending the stairs to his foyer he noticed a familiar blue pegasus darkening his doorway. Soarin forced a smile as he approached the familiar figure, secretly wishing that he could have come out of this ordeal a little more stealthily. Things could have been worse, however. It could have been Spitfire waiting for him. "Wave Chill," Soarin greeted him, "how's it go--" 


His greeting turned into a solid 'oof' when his former subordinate fiercely embraced him. Soarin dropped his bag. "Soarin!" Wave Chill wailed, "You magnificent bastard, you're back! Spitfire told us all that you abandoned us, but I knew better!"


"Hold up," Soarin was saying, as he was disentangling himself from the overly affectionate stallion's grasp. "She said I abandoned all of you? I wouldn't have quit in the first place if Spitfire and Fleetfoot hadn't colluded to screw me over on yet another event. I was the one who was abandoned -- so don't let her make you think otherwise." 


Wave Chill looked at him apologetically. "Yeah, I figured her story sounded a little one sided. But you know how the captain can get when she's been slighted." 


"Slighted?"


Wave Chill nodded. "She's seriously pissed off about them not qualifying for the games this year. Says it's all your fault."


"The Wonderbolts didn't qualify?" Soarin parroted the revelation incredulously. Somewhere deep inside he could feel just an ounce of vindictive triumph for the blow he had dealt to Spitfire's pride. The Wonderbolts had taken first place in The Equestria Games every year since Spitfire had become captain. And now, because of him, they didn't even qualify. There's a first time for everything, I suppose. Soarin had to restrain a smile as he imagined Spitfire's reaction to him telling her that.


"So, what's your plan, man? Are you coming back?"


"No, I'm just here to nick one of my suits before the board can throw them all into storage," said Soarin, who wouldn't normally be so forthcoming over his illicites, but Wave Chill was a longtime friend of his; out of everyone he knew on the team not to be a snitch, it was Waves.


Wave Chill smirked knowingly. "Ah, I got ya. Gonna hang on to those memories, huh?"


"You could say that."


"That's cool, that's cool... Just don't let Spitfire catch you. She's still fuming about you abandoning us."


Soarin, face purpling, let out a sharp stream of air through his nostrils. "I was the one who was abandoned. Spitfire was the one who abandoned me. Whatever yarn Spitfire spun to you was a lie!"


"Alright, alright, I believe you!" Wave Chill said in an attempt to placate him. "You can rant and rave about it all you want, but it's not going to change the fact that Spitfire has it out for you now, and Fleetfoot is backing everything she says."


Soarin rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"


"If it's any consolation to you," Wave Chill offered, "it'll be a pain in Spitfire's butt to find your replacement; picking a Wonderbolt out of the crowd of our cadets isn't an easy task. Rainbow Dash is the first one that comes to mind, but Spitfire refuses to sign her on, despite the urging of everyone else on the team." He then leaned in and added in a hushed tone, "I think she's secretly worried RD would end up supplanting her as captain. Give that girl another season of training at the academy and she'll be flying circles around Spitfire. You just watch."


Soarin smiled at the visual of Spitfire glowering indignantly as the higher ups ceremoniously presented Rainbow Dash with her former title. "You're probably not wrong," he agreed, looking down at the plastic bag containing his flight suit. He forgot about his own problems for that moment and went back to his regrets about the gift he would present to Rainbow Dash. A worn out old hand-me-down, with no use other than to collect dust, simply wasn't a befitting gift for someone who has saved his life on numerous occasions. 


"I haven't a doubt in my mind that Rainbow Dash could make for a chill captain." Wave Chill shrugged. "She has more raw skill than anyone else I've met, but she still needs more experience under her belt. Getting in the Wonderbolts would be the first step, though." 


The statement got Soarin's noggin jogging. A devious smile began to creep along his face. 


Wave Chill furrowed his brow when he noticed his friend's sudden shift in demeanor. "You feeling alright, dude?" 


"I have an idea," Soarin announced. "The gift for Rainbow Dash. Paying off my debt to her for saving my life. I can even get in one last jab at Spitfire. Three birds with one stone." Without another word Soarin left his former dwelling, leaving a confused Wave Chill to puzzle over his actions as he quickly strode toward Spitfire's quarters.  


The Captain's Estate was an easy thing to spot. It was the largest of the houses, towering at the head of the long courtyard that bisected the residential area. It was more of a mansion in truth, with its own wrought iron gate to wall it off from the rest of the campus. Soarin knocked hard on the captain's door, then waited patiently for her to answer. 


The moment the door opened, the edges of Spitfire's eyes sharpened into a searing hot glare. She grabbed Soarin around the neck, pulled him through her doorway, and pinned him against the wall. "I knew you'd come crawling back!" she growled.


"You missed me that much?" Soarin taunted.


Spitfire pulled him from the wall only to slam him into it again. "Your pathetic little fit of butthurt cost Cloudsdale the Equestria games! You made a fool out of not only yourself, but all of us!"


"Well, you should have found someone to replace me. Oh, wait, you did do that, and it didn't go so well for you." 


Spitfire didn't have a rebuttal for that. Instead she changed the subject. "I hope you're not here to ask for your position back, because I already tore up your contract."


With her hooves still pressed against his neck, Soarin gave her a calm, calculating look. "That's good, now you're going to write up a new one."


"Excuse me? Have I gone insane, or was that an order I just heard you give me!" 


"I'm calling in a debt you owe."


"The only thing I owe you is a couple smacks upside the head for that stunt you pulled at Rainbow Falls!"


"Not a debt to me. A debt to Rainbow Dash. Did you know it's her birthday today?"


"So, what? I don't owe her a damn thing."


"Really? Because if it wasn't for her, your body would be the consistency of a cheese pizza, right along side mine, and that spazmatic unicorn with the gaudy butterfly wings."


"That doesn't mean I owe her, Soarin! She did the same thing for us that we would have done for her. No more, no less."


"Oh? Suppose I tell everyone about how you whimpered like a baby after that dragon trapped you against that mountain a few years back? You know what I'm talking about, don't you -- of course you do."


Spitfire's ire began to falter under the accusation, and Soarin knew he had her. "I don't know what you're... I-I never--"


"Oh, yes you did. You might not remember, but I sure do." Soarin placed the back of his hoof over his head in a melodramatic display of mockery. "Oh, I thought I was going to be left for dead under that bell!" he exclaimed, mimicking her voice in a high falsetto. "I saw my life flashing before my eyes! I don't want to die a virgin!" He then gave his former captain a coy wink. He noted with satisfaction the perturbed expression on her face, the shame in her eyes, the bead of sweat running down her forehead. He had always figured he'd be able to use that fit of post traumatic hysteria as a bargaining chip one day. When you're the captain of the most elite flying team in all of Equestria, your reputation is everything, and he knew that news like this would absolutely humiliate her if it got out. 


Soarin could feel Spitfire's grip around his neck loosening. Her furious gaze softened to that of an annoyed frown. "What do you want, Soarin?"


Soarin smiled. "How about you, me, and a few members of the team have a little discussion over lunch? I know a nice little diner where the cutest little waitress works."
> A Family lost
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The extravagance of Rainbow Dash's birthday/anniversary celebration had reached a level of epic that no one could have anticipated thanks to the combined efforts of Pinkie Pie, the resident party planner, and a traveling party pony named Cheese Sandwich. The meeting of these two ponies ultimately resulted in a social event that dwarfed even the Grand Galloping Gala in all its grandeur: Streamers and confetti, fired from party cannons, rained down over the roads. An amber stream of cider cascaded from the spout of the town fountain to froth and splash over the walls of its stone basin. Ponies young and old filled their bellies with barbecued hay burgers, freshly-baked sweets, and cupcake-topped pizza, the slices of which were so large that they could have doubled as an edible blanket after eating the first half and collapsing into a food coma. Those who were not eating, passed out near the cider fountain, or relaxing in the giant punch bowl were crowded near the large stage at the center of town, enjoying the musical performance of Pinkie Pie as Applejack, Twilight Sparkle, and Rarity provided their services as background dancers.


♪Get your hooves up, party's starting out right now
Everypony, everypony get down
Time to make a wish, better make it right now
It's been a year and today is your birthday party♪


Ponies near the stage danced in a state of mirth and merriment. The ones who were able to catch on to the main chorus of the song sang along.


♪Make a wish, it's your birthday
Make a wish, it's your birthday party
Make a wish, it's your birthday
Make a wish, it's your birthday party♪


Pinkie Pie was just coming to the second verse of her song when her tail began to twitch. Her ears flattened back, her mane deflated, then reinflated. She stopped singing and looked curiously at the sky. The DJ adjusted the switches on her board and brought the volume of the music down when she noticed Pinkie's sudden spasms. The ponies in the crowd, including Rainbow Dash, stopped dancing and looked on at the Pink mare's erratic change in behavior.


Applejack, Twilight Sparkle and Rarity traded curious expressions with one another. 


"Darling," Rarity said, "are you feeling all right?"


Pinkie Pie gripped her tail to keep it from trembling. "Something's coming this way!"


A hushed chorus of murmurs broke out from the crowd in front of the stage. Pinkie Pie's precognitive ability was not a secret to the citizens of Ponyville. The local saying was, 'When Pinkie's tail starts a twitchin', it was time to stop, look, and listen.' 


Pinkie Pie, guided by her sixth sense, craned her head back and scanned the sky. It was her mane that twitched this time. She couldn't see it, whatever it was, but she could feel it approaching. "Whatever it is, it's coming from over there." She pointed toward the city of Cloudsdale as it loomed in the distance.   


The throng of party-goers turned their collective gaze toward the direction in which Pinkie Pie had indicated. All was silent, save for the subtle whisper of a gentle breeze blowing through the town.


An object began to materialize far off in the distance. It was small at first - barely a speck that only the keenest of sight would have been able to discern. The ponies squinted and leaned forward in an attempt to identify the airborne enigma as it rapidly approached. Some in the crowd yelped with a jolt of surprise when a powerful clap of thunder roared from its direction, a jet of black smoke following in its wake, like a smoldering meteor tearing through the atmosphere. The unidentified flying object's speed accelerated, and a white ring of air rippled from where it broke the sound barrier with an earth shattering boom. When it was high above the stage it angled sharply in a dive. There was no time to warn anyone to get back. The object fell upon them like a shooting star, then crashed into the stage, sending a web cracks sprawling through the wooden platform.


The prostrated ponies that had braced for impact near the stage dared a timid peak. Applejack and all of her friends uncovered their heads to goggle at the pillar of smoke, straining their senses in an attempt to identify their new guest. Its form was abstract at first, an apparition wreathed in an opaque shroud. The silhouette assumed the form of a pegasus when its wings fanned out, and when the smoke dispersed, all beheld the Wonderbolt standing before them.







Soarin dropped an army green duffel bag on the ground with a heavy metallic thunk. Tendrils of residual smoke lazily wafted from the tips of his wings as he scanned the ocean of party attendants, then he let out an impressed whistle from between his teeth. He turned to Rainbow Dash and her friends on the stage. They could only gawk -- shocked, awed, and reasonably startled. "I wasn't expecting a turnout like this," he said. "You're more popular than I thought, Dashie."


"Y-yeah... I'm pretty awesome..." Rainbow Dash stammered, her saucer eyes betraying the nonplussed visage behind her mask of bravado. "What are you doing here?"


Soarin regarded the inquiry with exaggerated offense. "What, I can't give my regards to the birthday girl on her special day?"


"I didn't mean it like that," Rainbow Dash said defensively. "I mean, you're a Wonderbolt; you have more important things to do, don't you?"


"I'm not a Wonderbolt anymore; I quit, remember?" Soarin took the duffel bag he had brought with him, unzipped it, and began to assemble the object inside. "I often myself thinking..." He paused as he looked curiously at two pieces of metal and attempted to figure out how they were supposed to connect. After some experimental tinkering, he managed to couple their latches together with a careful alignment of the threading, a few twists, and a sharp metallic clack to indicate they were in place. He nodded in satisfaction before he continued. "I often find myself thinking of what the perfect gift would be. Like, what would truly be special? Just about anything in this world can be bought, but, c'mon, where's the fun in that? I mean, don't get me wrong, commercialism has its place when it comes to gift giving, but I think you deserve something special, something that can't just be purchased from a store. What is that, you ask? Why, your fondest wish, of course."


Rainbow Dash exchanged bemused looks with all of her friends. 


Pinkie Pie, first to break the silence, started hopping in circles around Soarin as he worked. "So, you're here to grant Dashie a wish? So, you're like a genie, or a magician? Oh, oh, if you're going to saw a mare in half, I volunteer!"


"I'm no magician, per se." Metallic clicks, the stripping of duct tape, and the sliding of greased iron threads twisting into place could be heard from the item Soarin was tinkering with. "But I can pull a good time out of my hat." 


"But you're not wearing a hat," Pinkie Pie observed. 


"You're right." Soarin gave the object a hard pump, and with that final clack of the metal slide riding along the steel rack, he had finished assembling the device. He rested the long tubular object on his back, grinned, and said, "Guess I'll just have to pull it out of somewhere else."


"What the hay?" Applejack finally spoke up, eyeing the object in question. "Ah thought you was gonna give her yer flight suit -- not... Whatever that thing is."


"Wait, what?" a very flummoxed Rainbow Dash broke in. "Why does it sound like you knew he was coming to my party? And what's this about a flight suit?"


Applejack ignored her friend's questions and regarded Soarin with an expression that could only be described as a 'what the hell are you doing' expression.


Soarin's response was a cocky grin that said 'you'll see' before he started in the direction of the microphone. The speakers popped and pattered as he gave the mic a few experimental taps, then he held his now-assembled device aloft for the world to behold. "This little piece of hardware, fillies and gentlecolts, is the culmination of what you get when you take the mad geniuses that are the Wonderbolts pyrotechnics team and lock them in a room with a few scraps of metal and a crate of energy drinks: I give you the Combustible Ordinance Launching Tube, or C.O.L.T for short: It operates and functions much like a party cannon, but it's far more portable and easier to load than its bulky predecessor. She fires eighty eight millimeter stadium grade rockets, it's beautified with a cobalt finish, sports a hair trigger and a polymer foregrip, and features a recoil-absorbing ergonomic stock for maximum comfort - for the grenadier who simply doesn't have time for a dislocated shoulder. This is only a prototype, but as soon as all the testing is done, you will be able to pick these babies up wherever fireworks are sold. Shop smart. Shop S-mart."


Pinkie Pie's smile was ecstatic. "Can I get mine in pink!"


Soarin shouldered the C.O.L.T and inclined it. His hoof found the ignition switch. The launcher kicked with a loud boom. The rocket trailed a swirling stream of rainbow smoke until it suddenly bloomed in the twilight with a deep rumble that rolled throughout the sky, and night was turned to day. The mares met with Soarin at the helm of the stage, gazing wide at the shower of blues and reds and greens and purples setting the firmament ablaze.


Rarity's eyes became glittering sapphires as they reflected the conflagration. "Simply divine!" she said, enamored.


"One rocket did all of that?" asked a thoroughly intrigued Twilight Sparkle.


"So... Awesome," murmured a starry eyed Rainbow Dash.


Soarin was aware of Applejack standing next to him. He stole a glance at her. She stared in silence, captivated by the display. The light from the bursting showers illuminated her coat in a way that made it look like molten gold. It invigorated him that she was enjoying the show so much, but it wasn't over. Just you wait, he thought. It's just getting started.


Soarin focused his attention on the sky and waited. A smile touched his lips when the silhouettes of Spitfire, Fleetfoot, Wave Chill, High Winds, Rapidfire, Blaze, and Lightening Streak became distinctive through the veil the fireworks had created. Right on time.


The sounds of mild amusement escalated to frenzied exclamations of excitement as the Wonderbolts tore through the vibrant firestorm, the tips of their wings slashing white lines through the air as they flew in perfectly synchronized formation. In a flying V they dove together, then banked to soar just above the group gathered before the stage. Soarin noted how Wave Chill, all decked out in his flight suit, flew just low enough to give a young colt standing on his father's back a passing a high hoof. Both father and son were thrilled by that. 


Nice improv, Waves. Soarin then glanced over at Rainbow Dash to gauge her reaction. She was hyperventilating, forelegs tightly crossed over her chest, as if to keep herself from falling apart from the rapture of it all. "You had the Wonderbolts show up to perform at my birthday?" she exclaimed.


Soarin laughed. He figured that Rainbow Dash would be excited, but she was taking it to a level that not even he had anticipated. It was kind of cute how, despite her tough tomboyish exterior, she just couldn't fight back her girlish squees of mirth when she was so ecstatic. "Sure did," he said. "And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to perform my... My..." A small lump was beginning to form in his throat. He hadn't expected this part would make him emotional. He fought to keep his voice from becoming husky. "It's time for me to perform my last aerial stunt with my team, ever." With a deep breath he swallowed that pesky lump, and forced it into the deepest pit of his stomach. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. He would have plenty of time to be misty-eyed later. 


He returned to his duffel bag and retrieved another rocket. He loaded his launcher, then fired it into the sky. Spitfire gave the signal to the others, and, in perfect synchronization, as if they were merely reflections of each other instead of individuals, they pivoted in the air and tore after the projectile with powerful bursts from their wings. Their sudden explosion of speed tussled manes and blew the hats off of those standing too close.


A suspenseful calm came over the enthralled crowd as the Wonderbolts spread out to orbit around the rocket. Faster and faster they went, until they were a blurry cerulean ring in the sky. A vortex was beginning to form. 


Soarin then popped the last shell into the C.O.L.T before he opened his wings and took to the sky.


The rocket finally burst in the air, and what spread forth upon its detonation was a colorful ring of light, a rainbow nova. The tornado The Wonderbolts had preemptively created sucked it in, and then they became as one, a shimmering vortex of iridescent flames. The Wonderbolts then dispersed and made their way to the stage. Their job was now finished. The rest was up to Soarin.


Everyone watching the spectacle down below began to 'ooh' and 'ah.' Meanwhile, Soarin was hovering by, launcher in hoof. He took aim once his former team were at a safe enough distance, then fired the final rocket into the base of the funnel. The resulting explosion engulfed the winged stallion in an expanding nimbus of colorful flames.  


The throng down below was in a cacophony of gasps. The Wonderbolts, however, remained calm as they hovered above the stage, some shaking their heads and laughing at the reactions of those not privy to the stunt. 


The fissure of rainbow fire continued to ripple, and all thought their rocket launcher-wielding hero consumed by the hungry firestorm -- until -- like an action hero outrunning the wall of fire chasing him down a narrow corridor -- Soarin emerged, his widespread wings carving rainbow wisps into the night sky. 


Wild cheers echoed throughout the town from ponies near the stage, on the stage, and even from those who were now observing from opened windows. Many had even climbed atop their roofs to observe the spectacle from their homes, Soarin had noticed. 


He joined his team to gaze up at the sky, to observe the climax of their stunt. It wasn't long before the ovations and applause began to dwindle, and the entirety of Ponyville's populace had become bereft of breath at what the Wonderbolt's had created.  


The tornado's eruption mottled the sky in an aurora of shifting colors. Green faded to blue, blue faded to purple, purple faded to orange. The spiraling waves danced fluidly about the sky like clusters of bio-luminescent sea life drifting lazily in a starry current. Its beauty even managed to enthrall The Wonderbolts. They had not yet had the privilege to perform this particular stunt, as it was being saved for the grand finale of their Los Pegasus air show, the most anticipated airshow of the year. 


Soarin couldn't help but find it funny that this little backwater town would be the first to observe the Wonderbolts' most fantastic aerial stunt yet, but this trick was merely a gift from Spitfire. Soarin had yet to present his own gift. He touched down on the stage and approached the microphone. Before he spoke, he took a few minutes to let the others around him enjoy the romantic atmosphere the aurora created: Some gazed dreamily. A few babbled to each other in amazement. Lovers intimately nuzzled and held one another while gazing at the array of airborne colors. 


Soarin looked up at the sky and let the serenity of the moment take him. My last show ever, he thought, wistful, yet strangely at peace with himself. And I went out with a literal bang.


All in attendance were still looking up at the colors in silent reverie. There were some couples among them that had started making out. Soarin cleared his throat into the mic to get their attention. "Now, now, Ponyville, remember, there's kids here too. Why don't you save the real fireworks for when you're in private, eh? You know who you are!" Soarin swept an accusing hoof over the crowd. The adults had a chuckle at that. "The Wonderbolts, fillies and gentlecolts. If that wasn't an entrance, I don't know what is!"


A thunderous gale of applause erupted. The Wonderbolts took a bow amidst the cheers and whistling and roaring clop of hooves. Rainbow Dash and her friends were all stamping, clapping and hooting to contribute to the collective of mirth and revelry. 


Looks like everyone's having fun, Soarin thought. He then gave Spitfire a nod. The fiery-maned captain gave her team a signal before they descended to the stage.


"What's happening?" Rainbow Dash oscillated as they landed all about her. "Is this part of the show?" she said, magenta eyes blinking in puzzlement. 



Spitfire, glowering, did not deign to answer as she produced a tubular container from the inside of her flight suit, which she wordlessly thrust out for Soarin to take. Spitfire and Soarin met eyes as the object was being transferred between them. The rancorous look in her eyes was nothing short of poisonous, as if it conveyed a vow of retribution. No one seemed to notice the exchange as Soarin began to slide the object out from Spitfire's foreleg. Just as it was about to clear her hoof, she gripped down tight on it, her eyes narrowing into an even sharper grimace. Unintimidated, Soarin waited patiently for her to let go, and after a moment she finally did. 


Soarin taunted her with a derisive smile before he turned away from her. He cleared his throat into the mic. "Front and center, noobie," he said, indicating Rainbow Dash.


The perplexed mare tilted her head. "What did you call me?"


"He called you noobie, noobie," Rapidfire replied. 


"He's calling you to stand with him," Wave Chill urged her on with a flick of his hoof.  


Rainbow Dash wasn't sure what to make of her situation as she went to meet with him. Several times she would look to The Wonderbolts, then to her friends, as if they would render some clue as to what was going on. When she had fallen in beside Soarin, she just looked awkwardly out at all the ponies in front of the stage. There were so many eyes in that audience silently staring at her, and every single one looked just as clueless as she was. She rubbed her leg coyly and said, "So, you gonna tell me what's going on?"


Soarin gave her a playful wink. "I already told you, I'm here to grant you your fondest dream." He raised the piece of parchment for the audience to see. Ponies in the crowd squinted in an attempt to read the tiny print, but the only words legible from where they stood were the bold ones at the top that read 'Conditions of initiation.' He turned the parchment over, took one last look at Rainbow Dash, then read it out loud for all to hear.


"Upon the signing of this document, I, Rainbow Dash, acknowledge that I am a reserve for the Cloudsdale Wonderbolts. Upon my day of completion of the academy, I will fill the now empty seat in the team and bear my title as an official Wonderbolt with pride and honor. I understand that this seat shall remain open exclusively for me upon my completion of the academy and all of its courses. However, if I should fail to complete said courses, therefore failing to graduate on the applicant's expected date of completion, on the thirteenth sunrise of the month of hearthfire, this contract becomes null and void, and I, Rainbow Dash, shall relinquish my reserved slot on the team." 


Soarin set the contract flat on the ground for Rainbow Dash to stamp with her hoof print, cementing her position in the team she had always pinned to be a part of, but she remained silent, nonplussed. The crowd watched on in anticipation. Rarity and Fluttershy stood with their hooves over their mouths, while Pinkie Pie's and Twilight Sparkle's jaws hung open in a silent gasp. Applejack was the only one who wasn't looking at Rainbow Dash. She was looking right at Soarin, a perplexed look on her face, as if she was trying to determin if he was real or was merely a figment of her imagination.


The lull was beginning to make Soarin feel uncomfortable. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?" he said in a low voice, so only she could hear him.


"You're... You're actually making me a Wonderbolt?" She said in a breathless whisper.


"No, Dash. It's still up to you to make yourself a Wonderbolt. All I did was pull some strings to make you a reserve. If I could make you a Wonderbolt right now, I would, but you still have to graduate from the academy. Your spot is guaranteed so long as you finish your courses. Oh, and by signing this document--" Soarin turned the contract over to reveal another body of print on the other side. "Just for a little icing on the cake, this contract is also a property deed. By giving this document your stamp, you also inherit my estate. It will just be empty space since I've moved out, so I figured why not just move you into it right now. Of course, if you prefer to live here in Ponyville, you could always use it as a dorm for you and your friends, to make the commute to the academy easier during the season."


Soarin then felt a disturbance in the force. He lifted his gaze to notice Spitfire trying to burn holes into him with her eyes. "What?" he said, brusquely. 


"The estates are not sorority houses!" Spitfire barked. "I never approved of this decision, nor did you ever mention it to me!"


"No, you didn't," Soarin held the document up for spitfire to see. "But the board did, and I even got the deed notarized."


"Who in the hoof did you find to notarize that?" The Captain demanded.


"I'm not going to say his name, but a certain little dragon in this very town just happens to be a licensed and full-fledged notary of the public. As a matter of fact, he helped me write out the deed and this contract for a diminutive little fee of a few gemstones. Both the contract and deed are stamped with the official seal and watermark of the Canterlot court, and this little dragon whom I speak of is a direct assistant to a princess, therefor his legal authority is an extension of Celestia herself. You could disregard the deed if you'd like, but I wouln't if I were you."


"Check mate!" Wave chill blurted, earning him a scathing glare from The Captain.    


"And there is only one more thing to do," Soarin announced. "The only thing keeping this contract from becoming legally binding is your hoof print."


"I'm afraid I'm going to wake up any minute," Rainbow Dash said softly, overcome with emotion. It isn't every day that one's dream is suddenly presented to them in the form of gold-trimmed parchment.


Rainbow Dash's friends were joining her by her side. "Darling," Rarity said, "this is your dream come true!"


"Yeah, doesn't that make you happy?" Pinkie Pie asked.


Applejack placed a comforting hoof on her friend's shoulder. "Ain't nopony gonna make you sign this thing if you don't want to, sugarcube."


Rainbow Dash wiped a tear from her eye. "This is all happening so fast." She took the parchment in her hooves and scanned her eyes across the texts several times. Her friends watched in silence. The crowd and even the Wonderbolts waited in anticipation for her answer. "This part, right here." She pointed to a line of text. "If I should fail to complete said courses, therefore failing to graduate on the applicants expected date of completion on the thirteenth sunrise of the month of hearthfire, this contract becomes null and void."


"A deadline had to be set," Soarin explained. "There's an empty slot in the team that needs to be filled as soon as possible. You'll be inheriting my schedule when you graduate, and last time I checked, there was a whole year of special appearances and events you'll be attending. You'll need to be a full time student to make the date, but I'm sure you're more than capable of handling that."


Rainbow Dash swallowed. "A-a whole year, huh?"


Soarin could see the hesitation written in Rainbow Dash's expression. "Dashie," he said softly, "isn't this everything you've ever wanted? This contract will secure your future."


"Travel to exotic locations," Wave Chill put in.


"Basking in the applause and admiration of thousands of screaming fans," Blaze added.  


"A solid seven figures a year?" Rapid fire incentivized. "You'll be making a lot more than you ever did at that minimum wage weather patrol job of yours."


Soarin was beginning to puzzle as to why Rainbow Dash was being so hesitant. She continued to stare silently at the contract while the team poured the incentives on her. When finally, with a sorrowful sigh, she rolled the contract back up, walked over to Soarin, and held it out for him to take back. "I'm very sorry, but I can't accept these terms."


The dumbfounded stallion could only goggle at her.


"I'm sorry," Rainbow Dash said, with a smile that was as grateful as it was sincere. "You must have gone through so much trouble to put all of this together. This is honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, but I'm not ready to make a commitment like this just yet."


Soarin had put a lot of effort into this contract in order Spitfire-proof it, yet it was Rainbow Dash who had been the one to end up foiling him. He should have known it would backfire on him in some way, as his hopes and plans were wont to do. "Are you sure about this?" He asked her, trying his hardest not to look dejected.


"Yes. My friends need me, and I need them, and they'll always come first. Don't get me wrong, I do plan on becoming a Wonderbolt eventually, but it's going to be on my own terms."


"I see..." Soarin felt the sting of disappointment, but he hid it well. All he really wanted to do was make Rainbow Dash happy on her birthday, and he supposed he had already achieved that just by showing up. Forcing himself to smile, he took the parchment and tore it in half, then he tore the halves into quarters. Before long he had two hoofs full of legally notarized confetti, which he threw into the air for the wind to take. "There's no point in dwelling on it, then."


Rainbow Dash gave him an apologetic smile. "So, you're not mad?"


"Mad? Why would I be mad? You still have your birthday party to enjoy, and if nothing else, you at least have that to gaze at for the next few hours." Soarin pointed to the aurora burning away in the sky. "And it's all thanks to Spitfire, who so graciously planned out our entrance just for you on your special day. Isn't that right, Spits?" 


Spitfire's eye twitched. Her lips pulled back in a forced smile, taught as a bowstring. "Sure. Happy birthday, Rainbow Dash," she uttered through a row of clinched teeth. "I guess since you won’t be needing us anymore, we'll just be heading back to Cloudsdale."


"You guys don't have to leave just yet!" insisted Rainbow Dash. "We can hang out, can't we? The party's just getting started."


Soarin could practically feel Spitfire impatiently rolling her eyes behind her goggles. "Look, Rainbow Dash, Soarin has caused a lot of trouble for me when he abandoned the team the other day, so I have a lot of work to do to make up for his—"


"Oh, my Celestia!" High Winds broke in. "I smell churros!" She turned to Pinkie Pie. "You have churros here?"


Pinkie Pie nodded. "Yeah, I just put some in the oven before I got on stage. They should be done any second now. Want one?"


"I haven't had a churro since I was a filly!" The Wonderbolt said wistfully.


"You're supposed to be on a diet," Spitfire scolded her.


"They have a fully stocked bar." Lightening Streak grinned as he eyed the tiki bar. "From the looks of the stamps on those bottles, they have brands of aged bourbon I've never seen before. They may even have some of that Griffonstone rum I've been looking for."


"Don't even think about it, you old booze hound!" forbade The Captain. "You have a cover shoot for a sports magazine tomorrow morning. You won’t be in any shape to go to it you get sloshed tonight."


Wave Chill touched down on the stage and threw an arm over Soarin's shoulders. "All these girls, dude. There must be, like, fifty mares to every stallion in this town. And there isn't even a bad looking one among them..."


"Yeah, Ponyville's funny like that." Soarin noticed Fleetfoot standing on his other side. "I suppose you're going to agree with Spitfire, like you always do, and tell everyone to go home?"


Spitfire placed her hooves on her flanks. "Well, Fleetfoot? I'm sure at least you understand the importance of adhering to a strict schedule, don't you? Help me convince these idiots we can't afford to waste our time here."


"Actually..." Fleetfoot pointed a hoof out past the crowd. "I don't suppose you know that guy over there, do you, Soarin?"


Soarin followed the direction in which her hoof had been indicating, and noticed the muscular, golden, stetson-clad stallion leaning against the tiki bar with a drink in hoof. "Braeburn? Yeah, I know him. I actually work with him. Why?"


"I do declare," Fleetfoot purred, mimicking the drawl of a sultry southern belle. "That gentlecolt is givin' me the vapors. Don't suppose you could introduce us?"


"Fleetfoot!" The fiery captain exclaimed. "What's gotten in to you?"


Without missing a beat, Fleetfoot looked the captain in the eye and said, "Hopefully that stallion if I play my cards right."


Soarin snorted back a laugh.


Spitfire's baleful eyes fell upon Blaze and Rapidfire. "Let me guess, you're both staying as well?"


"This could be a chance to settle a little dispute between me and Rainbow Dash," said Blaze, grinning competitively down at the rainbow-maned mare on the stage. "She toots a mighty big horn about how she's the fastest flyer in all of Equestria. This could give me an opportunity to put her in her place."


"I'm with High Winds on those churros," Rapidfire put in. "Haven't had any real food since I joined the team six years ago. I'll burn the excess calories off at PT tomorrow."


Spitfire, exasperated, threw her hooves up in the air. "Fine, you children go have your fun! The only adult on this team has many crucial matters to attend to." The captain spun around in the air toward Cloudsdale, then turned her head slightly to offer Soarin one final farewell from over her shoulder.. "Oh, and Soarin..." Her muzzle wrinkled, her teeth gleamed in a harsh sneer, her tone laced with as much malice and venom she could muster. "I really do hope that you're less of a failure in whatever occupation you've decided to take up. I feel sorry for the next poor sap who wastes their time and effort with you. Know that when you broke your oath with us, you've brought disgrace to all of Cloudsdale. I would even go as far to say that you've disgraced your family... If you had one!" And without even giving Soarin the time to respond to her statement, she departed for Cloudsdale.      


Soarin didn't show it, but he was caught off guard by how affrontive her remark was. He had no family to speak of, other than a mother whom he hadn't spoken to since his father's funeral half a decade ago. The closest thing he had to a family these passed few years were The Wonderbolts... Perhaps that's what she meant."   


"Whoa!" Rainbow Dash was rushing to Soarin's side. "What was that about? I've never seen that side of her before."


Soarin sighed bitterly as he watched the captain's form shrink in the distance. "Be grateful you're not a Wonderbolt yet, for when you are, that side of her will be something you will become all too familiar with." He could feel Rainbow Dash's sympathetic hoof resting upon his shoulder. He quickly composed himself, turned around, and managed to smile at her. "Hey, don't make this night about me, Dashie. It's your birthday!" He pivoted toward the crowd and extended his hoof to his former team. "We're the Wonderbolts, and we are here to party with you tonight, Ponyville!"    


The declaration was received with cheers and applause, the nastiness that came hurling from Spitfire's mouth like an envenomed spear immediately forgotten, much to Soarin's relief. Wave Chill dove from the stage and let the crowd catch him, as the other members of his former team departed to pursue their respective pleasures.







Soarin had made a point to spend time with each member of his former team, knowing it would most likely be the last time he would have the opportunity of seeing them outside of a stadium. He knocked back shots of exotic liquor with Firestreak - the oldest Wonderbolt and self-appointed liquor connoisseur of the team. Soarin was sure to buy him one last shot before he left him there at the bar. "I'll miss ya, kid," was his parting words. 


Soarin played the announcer for Rainbow Dash and Blaze's race. Rainbow had won the first race, and Blaze won the next two in a row, but the results were always so close that it almost didn't matter. 


Soarin was then dragged into a cupcake eating contest between High Winds, Rapidfire, and Pinkie Pie. Much to his surprise, he was the first one to drop from the contest. Pinkie was Ponyville's grand cupcake eating champion, and she had successfully defended her title that night. Pinkie Pie promptly celebrated her victory by eating more cupcakes. 


Soarin hung out with Wave Chill, his best friend, who wanted to do nothing more than chat up Ponyville's female populace. He was a smoothe talker, that one. All he had to do was initiate a conversation with a girl who was eying him shyly from a distance, and It wasn't long before he was surrounded by mares, all eager for his attention. He told them stories of his and Soarin's glory days, made them giggle and blush at his flirty jests, and kept them all thoroughly entertained. Soarin really didn't have much to offer in the way of witty banter, so he mostly let Wave Chill do the talking. Last anyone saw of him that night, he was leaving the party with a red haired mare with a rose on her flank.


Soarin tried for all he was worth to enjoy the rest of the party, but Spitfire's remark kept creeping into his mind. Her words served as a reminder that he was no longer a part of them, that they were the closest thing he had to a family, and he had willingly thrown that all away. His thoughts kept taking him back to one question: If I'm not a Wonderbolt anymore, what am I? The thought intruded upon him again and again, until he could no longer pretend to be happy. He felt as if he was without an identity, without a family, without anyone to validate him. He felt alone, isolated, despite the presence of all those around him.


The familiar lump in his throat returned, accompanied by a heavy sensation in his chest. Was he really going to get this choked up over leaving The Wonderbolts? He was miserable as a Wonderbolt; Spitfire had seen to that. But he was miserable now, as well. The only difference was that he now no longer had anyone to confide in. Outside of Cloudsdale, the home he had known all his life, and without his family, he was alone in a strange world...  Soarin finally decided it was time to leave the party. All he wanted to do now was be alone with his thoughts... His thoughts, and a strong drink.


Upon his departure, Soarin had purchased a bottle of cheap wine from the bar to take home with him. When he made it back to Sweet Apple Acres, he used the key the family had entrusted to him to let himself inside the house, where he procured Braeburn's bottle of whisky. "I'll just pay Braeburn back tomorrow," he told himself. He doubted Braeburn would miss it tonight; he was busy somewhere doing Celestia-knows-what with Fleetfoot. 


Bringing the wine and the whisky back to his barn, he had mixed the two spirits in a bucket he had rinsed out, and he created a lethal concoction of fortified wine. It didn't taste very good, but it would do the trick. He could already feel his head swimming after half a glass. He tipped it back and drained what was left of it.


The orange flame in his lamp he had set on the table, which was his only source of light, became blurry and distorted through his inebriated eyes. He could feel the vice grip on his heart steadily loosening with each passing second. "If you had one," he chuckled mockingly. "Screw you too, Spitfire," he slurred. His head began to sway this way and that. "I may not have a family, but at leasht I'm shober -- and you'll be-- hic--drunk in the morning." 


Soarin, with glazed, unfocused eyes, reached for his bucket to poor another glass for himself, when he was startled by a rapping at his door. He froze. Could it have been Braeburn wanting to know where his whisky had gone? He left his glass on the table, grabbed his lamp, then drunkenly stumbled his way to the door. 


The impatient knocking grew louder. 


"I'm coming!" Soarin shouted. He grasped the large barn doors by their iron handles and pulled them open. "Yeah, what do you wa--" He blanched to find Applejack standing in the glow of his lantern. She was the last one Soarin wanted to talk to right now. She was most likely here to yell at him about not sticking to the original plan. He wished he had just given Rainbow Dash the damn flight suit.


Applejack crossed the threshold of the barn, eyeing him. Soarin backed away as she approached. 


"Ah just don't know what to with you," she said. "The crazy entrance? That fancy-schmancy bazooka thing ya pulled out at the party? That crazy explosion that nearly deep fried you? And then - to top it all off - you go and try to draft Rainbow Dash into the Wonderbolts? You are some kinda batshit crazy, you know that?"


Here it comes, Soarin thought, bracing, as if he was preparing himself for a devastating collision. 


"You promise to dance with me, but then what do you do? You just disappear from the party and ditch me, like it ain't no thang? You broke mah heart, sugarcube."


"I know, you don't have to tell me! I'm nothing but a-- Wait, what?"


Applejack smiled seductively as she approached him. "Sugarcube," she purred. "You. Promised. Me. A. Dance."
> Amnesia Complex
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Soarin let out an anguished groan as a rooster outside roused him from his alcohol-induced coma, letting fly with a strident, torturous cry that ricocheted around in his skull like a chunk of jagged shrapnel. He rolled to his belly and writhed miserably in his nauseated state, every pulse of blood rushing through his head ringing painfully like a series of rhythmic hammerblows on a blacksmith's anvil. 

Slowly he pushed himself up with his front legs and let his blanket slide down his back. He strained his vision as hard as he could, but nothing save for a few vague shapes from nearby inanimate objects could be identified within the twilight. He curiously squinted upward through the hole in his roof, which, strangely enough, was directly above him. Something about its placement didn't seem right. Why was that? His hangover seemed to have muddled his mental acuity. 

His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the darkness, and images that were obscure were now able to be seen with a little more clarity. He turned his head and was able to identify the ledge of his loft where his bed was. That was when he realized he had been sleeping in the middle of the floor. He must have passed out. He glanced down at his blanket. His brow wrinkled with a curious frown when he shifted his gaze to his pillow. Why is my bedding down here? 

Soarin grappled with the riddle, but his thoughts alluded him as the rooster outside launched another assault on his senses; that Celestia damned bird's harsh bellow after a night of inebriation carried with it the sensation of a gelid dagger twisting in his skull. He guarded his ears until he was sure the crowing had ceased, then he shakily trudged for the door, eager to fill his lungs with the cool morning air. 

Soarin had only taken a few steps when he suddenly felt his hoof kick something soft. Whatever it was, it blended in well with the dark, and it was unnoticeable until his hoof sent it in motion. The round object slid a short distance before coming to an abrupt stop. He picked it up and inspected it. A hat? Soarin couldn't see it clearly, but he could feel it. It was soft and warn with age, and he could feel a nick at the edge of the brim. It was familiar somehow. He scanned his barn and noticed the old scarecrow in the corner. The dark may have obscured its features, but the shape of its hatless head was definable enough. "Is this yours?" Soarin asked rhetorically before examining the hat again. How did this get on the floor? He meditated on the subject for only a moment before disregarding the mystery as trivial. With a flick of his hoof, he hurled the hat by its brim like a frisbee and sent it spinning through the air toward the scarecrow's head. It missed and landed soundlessly somewhere in the dark. Soarin shrugged insouciantly and made his way to the door.         





The pulsing rhythm of Soarin's headache lessened after he had spent a few minutes stretching and drawing in the fresh rural air. It was just cool enough for him to see his breath pluming like hot steam. He popped the stiff joints in his neck and back while savoring the brief deep indigo of the morning sky before it would turn to azure with the rising of Celestia's sun. He turned his attention to the Apple family house across the grassy pasture. A window on the second floor was lit in the darkness of the early morning with a radiant golden light. A silhouette passed by it, but Soarin's vision was still too blurry for him to determine who it was. He began to wonder to himself if that was Applejack's bedroom.

"Applejack..." His musings jarred his memory. Applejack visited him last night... While he was shitfaced drunk. 

He tried to remember more, but all he could conjure in his mental imagery were snippets here and there. A collection of short first person memories lasting only for brief seconds at a time flashed through his head like a damaged roll of film running through an old projector: He could recall her smiling as she approached him. His memory went hazy after that. Soarin dreaded the thought of being so drunk that he passed out in front of her. He could only pray to Celestia that he didn't make a complete ass out of himself. Being the pessimist that he was, he imagined over a dozen likely and humiliating scenarios that could have occurred. 

His thoughts were again brought to a grinding halt when the rooster let loose another piercing scream. Soarin covered his ears and cast a bloodshot glare upon his feathery tormentor that sat perched on a nearby fence. "I'm awake!" He snapped. "You can shut up now!"

The rooster clucked and cocked its head uncomprehendingly. It then flapped its wings and sucked in air as if it were preparing to bellow another savage cry. Soarin preemptively picked up a nearby rock with his mouth and flung it in the air. "Piss off!" He yelled as he loosed the rock in the bird's direction with a kick. The projectile missed its mark by mere inches, but the bird, fearing the possibility of a second and more accurate shot, relented and scurried away.

Soarin grumbled exasperatedly as he turned and shuffled to the water spigot behind his barn. After sating his thirst, washing his face, and styling back his tousled mane he trotted across the field toward the Apple family home for breakfast, as would be the morning ritual there. 

He continued to wrestle with his memory as he strode across the pasture, but still he had nothing. All he could remember was that she was there, and he was blind stinking drunk in front of her. This troubled him. What if he had made a fool of himself in front of her? Even worse still, what if he did something to offend her? 

Unpleasant images of Applejack's disgusted and disapproving eyes boring into him from across the breakfast table popped up in his thoughts when he approached the door, making him feel hesitant to open it. He wished she hadn't seen him in the state he was in last night. Why did she come to see him in the first place? Something about a dance? He was too drunk to dance. He hoped against hope that he didn't try to dance with her while he was drunk. 

Maybe I could just go without breakfast today and get straight to work, he thought to himself. This would be his first breakfast with the Apples, and he would be making a bad first impression if he showed up hungover - especially on a work day. Not to mention that the prospect of facing Applejack with his blank memory daunted him. She'd probably assume he was a lush now, which wasn't too far from the truth. But, on the other hoof, he could smell what ever it was Granny Smith was cooking. He wasn't able to identify the tantalizing aroma, but it smelled delicious. He paused to take in a deep whiff of the scent, letting the intoxicating fragrance of herbs and spices grace his sinuses. The delectably mouthwatering aroma shoved his nausea aside and stimulated his appetite. His stomach grumbled in protest at the very notion of skipping a meal. He also knew that he would need his strength. Apple bucking was a physically demanding job that he could barely do on a full stomach. He shuttered to think of how lackluster his performance would be if he tried to do it while half-starved. 

But wasn't he considering leaving the farm just last night? It's not like anypony would miss me. 

Soarin sneered at the idea once he had given it a few seconds of sobered thought. This job felt like his last chance at redemption. He was a failure as a Wonderbolt, he didn't want to be a failure as a farmer, too. Even if the job wasn't particularly to his liking, he needed to prove to himself that he could at least do something right. This thought jarred an unwelcome memory of the night before, and Spitfire's words suddenly echoed in his mind. 

I really do hope that you're less of a failure in whatever occupation you've decided to take up. I feel sorry for the next poor sap who wastes their time and effort with you.  

Soarin narrowed his eyes in irritation as he recalled his former captain's scathing remark to him. Out of all the things from last night that he was not able to remember, why couldn't those words be one of them? The whole town saw him just lower his head and take it as if he were her submissive little whipping boy. Why couldn't he at least come back at her with a clever quip or snarky remark in front of all those ponies who witnessed him being chastised? "Oh yeah," Soarin remembered with a self-loathing scowl, "because I'm pathetic."      

"Landsakes, boy!" An aged southern drawl suddenly startled the melancholy stallion. "That glare of yours could peel the paint off the walls!"  

Soarin staggered backwards when he noticed the matriarch of the Apple family glaring at him from the doorway. "Oh, grandma, I didn't notice you standing there!" 

"You didn't notice me standin' right in front of you?" The old matron squinted a suspicious eye at him. "Your vision must be worse than mine! And yer manners need some work, too. 'oh, grandma, I didn't see you.' Just what kinda greeting is that? And what's with this grandma stuff? It's Granny Smith to you, young fella!"

"I-I didn't mean to offend you!" Soarin stammered, caught off guard by the heat in the aging mare's tone. "Good morning, Granny Smith! You, uh, you're looking positively—" 

"Positively..?" 

"Beautiful!" Soarin blurted. "Yeah, that's it! And young, too! For a moment, I thought Applejack may have had another sister living here!" 

"Do Ah look like an ear of corn, boy? Quit trying to butter me up!"

Soarin clapped his mouth shut. He began to fabricate additional conclusions to last night's scenario. Was it possible that he did in fact do something to offend Applejack last night, and she reported his vile behavior to her grandmother? Why else would Granny Smith be acting so hostile toward him without provocation? 

The elder continued to glower at him as she hobbled out from the doorway, then she began to circle around him. Soarin continued to stand still and look forward, as if he were a perturbed but compliant soldier standing at attention to await a harsh reprimand from his superior. Was she going to fire him? Maybe she would have Big Mac and Braeburn pummel him; or perhaps she will fire him, then have Big Mac and Braeburn pummel him. He didn't want to leave the farm - not after pledging to himself that he could be of some worth to someone for a change. 

"Hmm... Nice and firm... Just how ah like em," the aging mare chuckled lecherously.

"I beg your pardo—" Soarin's articulations escaped him and his eyes widened when he felt the sting of Granny Smith's hoof slapping him hard on the ass, the sound echoing like the harsh crack of a whip. If his posture wasn't completely straight, it was now. 

Laughing, Granny Smith said, "What ya standin' around fer? Get on inside and get ya some grub, youngin!"

"Y-yes, ma'am!" Soarin hastily retreated in to the house, fearing that hesitation may consequently result in another rap on his rump. He shoved open the creaking saloon doors that lead into the kitchen and dining area, and he now found himself standing before the Apple family. 

The clan congregated around the large, round wooden table, breaking fast on biscuits smothered and steaming in piping hot gravy. Ice cubes danced inside condensation-saturated mason jars filled with a golden amber fluid, and a metallic tray upon which sat rows of freshly baked buttermilk biscuits was set at the center of the table beside a cast iron pot. Braeburn sat with his back facing Soarin. Big Mac was seated next to him. They ate and laughed and conversed with each other as if they were long time friends, while Apple Bloom had her nose in a book. There was a seriousness and determination burning in her eyes as she scanned the text, every once in a while forking a piece of biscuit into her mouth without feeling bothered to turn away from the tome set in front of her. Soarin could catch little snippets of her mumbling something aloud. It sounded as if she was reciting the ingredients for some sort of macabre witches brew.

"Hair from a ewe, talon from a hen, blood from a changeling, feather from a griffon.
Skin from a snake, eye from a crow, scale of a dragon, will-o'-wisp's glow." 

As peculiar as the little filly's behavior was, Applejack was the one who managed to hold Soarin's attention. She sat at the farthest end of the table from where he stood. The deceptively petite mare voraciously and relentlessly tore at the mountain of gravy-smothered morsels on her plate with gusto, only stopping after every other bite to wash it down with the iced liquid in her nearby jar, or wiping her face with her leg - seemingly forsaking the necessity of the napkin that was right in front of her. The moment after licking her plate clean, she returned to the iron sheet at the center of the table for a second helping, scattering her biscuits on her plate into shreds, smothering them with gravy from the iron pot, and continuing her ravenous onslaught.  

"Mornin', green horn!" Braeburn's sudden boisterous greeting jolted a twinge of pain through Soarin's skull, which served to remind him that he was hungover.

"Yes, it is," Soarin glared. .  

Applejack's head snapped up from her plate as if she had been startled by his voice, her gravy-spattered cheeks bulging with partially chewed food. Her face bore a deer in the headlights expression as their eyes locked. Bright red lines crept across her face and burned the spaces between her soft white freckles before she wiped her mouth with her unsoiled napkin and downed her mouthful with one hard swallow.  

"H-hey," Soarin said, too nervous to think of anything else to offer. He still couldn't be sure if there was going to be trouble between them.  

"Well, hey yourself," she replied in a surprisingly sweet tone, her emerald green eyes gleaming in a beckoning smile. "Why don't ya come over here and grace me with yer presence?"

Soarin noticed that next to her place at the table sat an empty plate and glass, presumably set there just for him. "You want me to sit next to you?" He asked, astonished. 

Applejack pulled the unoccupied seat next to her out from under the table and playfully patted it with her hoof. "Please?" she pleaded with a cute flutter of her eyelashes. "Ah ain't gonna bite ya." Soarin gawked at her, unsure of what to make of her coy behavior. 

"You gonna come keep me company, or are you keeping away like a school colt all afraid of mah filly cooties?"  

Her playful jest made Soarin crack a smile, making him feel a little more at ease. "Sorry," he inclined his head shyly. "I guess I thought that you might have been angry with me."

"Angry 'bout what, sugarcube?" Applejack asked with genuine curiosity.

"I was drinking... I might have had a little too much. I was almost expecting to get an ear full from you over it."

"Shoot," Applejack chuckled. "A little too much? That's quite the understatement." 

Soarin blanched. Oh crap, I did do something screwy, didn't I?

"Long as ya don't make a habit of it, and learn from your mistakes, y'all should be fine." Applejack said with a laid-back smile..

Soarin smiled when he heard her say that. His new boss was not only cute - she was kick back. He joined her for breakfast, and thoroughly enjoyed both the food and the interaction with her. The sweet tea was good, too, though the concept of drinking from a mason jar was still a bit odd to him. Applejack didn't even once let him fill his own glass. The second he emptied it, she would snatch the pitcher from the center of the table and have his jar filled before he could so much as blink. It felt awkward to be serviced in such a way. He declined every time, but she always insisted. 

The farmer spoke unendingly and passionately about her heritage, her family, and her work ethic, to which Soarin listened intently. There would be a few times when Applejack would attempt to steer the subject in Soarin's direction, but he'd ask about some picture or rusted archaic tool hanging on the wall, which would always lead the conversation back into a lengthy and detailed story about the object in question, what it was used for, and the family member who had passed it down to them. The exuberant little farm mare was chatty, but Soarin didn't mind. She was full of interesting facts and stories, and Soarin enjoyed listening to her as he ate. He had had four helpings by the time he had reached his capacity. 

When Soarin was finished eating he pushed his plate forward with a contented smile. A warm and pleasant glow radiated in his belly as he sagged back in his chair.

"Full?" Applejack asked.

"Yep," Soarin said through a yawn.

"How was everything?"

"Amazing."

"Ah'm real glad ya liked it." 

Soarin lulled his head back and closed his eyes. "I'm just going to relax for a minute, if that's okay. Let my breakfast settle before I head out for work"

"Take all the time you need, sugarcube." 

Soarin stretched his arms toward the ceiling with another yawn, then relaxed his hooves behind his head. If this was the way he'd get to spend his mornings from now on, with good food and pleasant company, he would have no complaints.

"Sugarcube?" Applejack said after a few quiet moments.

Soarin lazily opened one eye and gave her a sideways glance. "Hmm?"      

"Can Ah ask ya somethin'?"

"You can ask me anything." Soarin sat straight up in his chair and placed his hooves on the table to show her she had his undivided attention. 

An air of apprehension seemed to loom over the farmer as she looked down and traced the grain in the wooden table with her hoof, as if to distract herself. "About last night," she began.

Soarin stiffened. "Last night?" He said cautiously. He should have known that the subject of last night's occurrences would eventually come up. He tried to fortify his resolve by telling himself that whatever may have happened, she didn't seem to be upset about it, so it must not have been anything bad.  

With a sigh, she reached for her tea, taking several deep quaffs until not even the icecubes remained. She exhaled sharply as she set the jar back down, and she narrowed her eyes determinedly. "As Ah told ya last night," she began, "the Ponyville day celebration is going to be in a few days, and, well..."  She shifted nervously in her seat before she spoke again. "Well, A-Ah don't suppose—"

"Green horn?" Braeburn suddenly interrupted.

Alarmed by the sudden intrusion, Applejack turned away and rubbed the back of her neck.

Soarin noted her peculiar behavior with bemusement before turning his attention to Braeburn. "What?" He snapped, eager to return to their conversation. 

"Ah don't wanna rush ya," Braeburn said, "but you two need to rap your conversation up. Lots'a things we need to go over today, so it would probably be best if you and I got an early start. Ah'm only gonna be here for a few more days, so you'll need to pay attention an' learn as much as ya can, as fast as ya can."

"You're only here for a few more days?" Soarin asked, surprised. "I thought you lived here."

"Ah don't live here," Braeburn went on to explain. "Ah'm only here to train you. AJ and Big Mac are too busy with their harvest to bother with a green horn like you. No offense."

Granny Smith suddenly pushed the saloon doors open and entered the kitchen, a newspaper clenched between her teeth. She took a seat at the table between Braeburn and Big Mac and set the paper down before adding, "We're behind on our harvest this year. Our clientele has been growing, so we needed an extra hoof to keep up with our quota. Ah don't want to sound harsh, but we don't have room on the farm for substandard or mediocre laborers; we're all really gonna have to break our backs this harvesting season." 

Soarin nodded and said, "I'll do my best." He looked silently at his jar and watched the ice cubes shift as they slowly disintegrated and intermixed within the sweet beverage. Every word the old mare had just said waned his confidence. Substandard and mediocre was all he was capable of, but he knew he had to try. This job felt like his last chance at redeeming himself for his lifetime of failures. "I'll do my best," he repeated, putting a little more conviction in his voice.

Granny Smith smiled kindly at him. "That's all that we ask of you. As long as you keep that promise, yer just as welcome as family 'round here."

Soarin acknowledged Granny Smith with a wordless nod before looking to Braeburn. "I guess I'm ready when you are."

"Alrighty, then." Braeburn stood up from his seat and rounded the table toward Apple Bloom. "Just let me say goodbye to mah two favorite ladies real quick." He gently adjusted the bow on the filly's head before bending down and kissing her on the cheek. "Have a good day at school, sugarcube'." He said with a doting affection in his voice. 

"You do the same," Apple Bloom replied, acknowledging her cousin by reaching up and hugging him around his neck with one arm, still never taking her eyes from her book. 

The lofty golden stallion then did the same with Granny Smith. 

"Try not to be too hard on the city slicker." She chuckled. "They just seem to be gettin' more and more fragile with every generation."  

Soarin frowned, not amused by the old badger's condescension. He turned to Applejack to gauge her reaction on Granny Smith's comment, but she had a look about her as if she were too lost in thought to have been paying attention. It was then that he remembered she was trying to say something to him before Braeburn's interruption.  

"What was it you were going to say to me?" He reminded her.    

Applejack looked at him, her expression inscrutable. Several times her mouth twitched as if she were about to speak, but she remained silent. Finally she said, "Ah'll ask ya later. Focusing on your work takes priority over such..." she paused, then giggled nervously while waving a dismissive hoof, "Silly little things."

"What could be so 'silly' that you don't even want to tell me?"

"It ain't nothin' to rustle yer jimmies over," Applejack assured with an uneasy smile. "Ah'll, uh, talk to ya about it over dinner tonight. Promise."

"You comin', Mr. Soarin?" Braeburn called out impatiently from the living room.

"I'm coming." Soarin sighed as he reluctantly got up from his seat. He wanted to know what was on Applejack's mind now, not later, but it wasn't like he could interrogate her. He absolutely despised secrets, especially when they concerned him. Crestfallen, he made his way to the kitchen's exit.





Soarin was not a stranger to hard work. The long and strenuous flight practices and training regimen that had forged him into the lean, corded, aerodynamic stallion he was could attest to this. He was in the best shape of his life, the absolute pinnacle of physical fitness. He had adorned the covers of many sports and male fitness magazines. Everything from his diet, to his training routine, was a carefully calibrated science, orchestrated and devised from the creme of the crop of sports nutritionists, and he only trained with the best personal trainers money could buy. Soarin himself was sired from a line of physically superior specimens. His own grandfather was a Wonderbolt, back in the day when they wore those corny bomber jackets and aviator shades. Yet, despite his pedigree and untapped resources, he couldn't buck a Luna Chucking tree to save his damn life.     

The heat was merciless, despite him laboring in the shade of the orchard's canopy. It didn't take Soarin long to realize how spoiled he was, having the privilege of working out in air conditioned private gyms his entire life. 

Sweat secreted profusely from every pore in his body, matting his fur to his skin with an unpleasant sticky sensation. He didn't have his trainer there to rub his back when he was sore, or spray him with ice cold water from a bottle and wipe him down when the heat became intense. All he had to use as a towel was a dirty old handkerchief that Braeburn gave him. The crude cloth looked like it was ripped from someponie's garment during a bar fight, which wouldn't surprise him in the least to find out if that was true. It had an acrid stench of musk, old leather, and whisky about it. Soarin refused to wipe down any part of himself with the ringworm-ridden fabric, though he kept it, not wanting to appear ungrateful.

As unpleasantly stifling and muggy the air was, it was tolerable compared to the persistent ache in his back and legs. Every buck was a service to his memory that his physiology was not that of an earth pony's. It was basic kindergarten biology that Pegusi have hollow bones and light muscles, which help them fly. Earth ponies, on the other hoof, have naturally dense frames. Soarin continued to repeat this fact to himself in his mind. The excuse made him feel less inadequate when he felt like buckling into a puddle of his own sweat. His lack of success at the job was not a question of his physical condition, it was an issue of simple biology. It was like a fish trying to fly, or a bird trying to swim. He simply wasn't built for it. But if that was true, what was driving him to perform these tasks that he continued to perpetuate the impossibilities of? This riddle perplexed him as he went on laboriously through the day.     

"Try to kick a little higher," Braeburn instructed. "The higher your kick, the harder the apples rattle."

"Got it," Soarin panted. He winced as he bucked as high as he could without sacrificing power.

"Nice!" Braeburn critiqued.

Soarin looked around him. He counted only twelve apples. "Dammit!"    

"Damn what? That was a good kick. Yer doin' a lot better than you was on yer first day."

"No, I'm not!" Soarin snapped. The heat and Braeburn's unwarranted praise was beginning to fray his temper. "I still don't get how you're knocking these trees dry with only one kick!" He sneered down at the meager amount of fruit the tree had surrendered to him for his efforts. "I'm lucky if I can do it in ten."

"Been doin' this all mah life," Braeburn offered with a shrug. "Keep at it, you'll get it."

Soarin doubted that very much. He struck the tree again in frustration, this time forsaking any sort of technique. An intense jolt of pain traveled from his legs to his back. He did his best to remain stoic in front of Braeburn, but dark blots were forming around his vision, and he feared in the back of his mind that he may have just pulled or sprained something. There were no new apples that had fallen for all the pain that last kick had caused him. "This is impossible," he muttered hopelessly.

Braeburn trotted to him and said, "You don't look too good. Why don't you take a load off and let me handle the rest of the honey crisp trees." 

Soarin was about to protest, but before he could, Braeburn swept passed him and let loose a powerful kick that resonated like thunder. The very tree that Soarin had just nearly broken his leg on, was effortlessly knocked bereft of its fruit in one buck. The whites of Soarin's eyes boiled red as he fought back an oath. The frustration he felt was maddening. He suffered in his dejection silently as he watched Braeburn deposit the fallen apples into a barrel. He attempted to offer his assistance, but the crippling pain from his crude kick persisted. He could do nothing but take Braeburn's advice and lay down.   

Maybe I really am useless... Granny Smith's cautionary words to him echoed throughout his mind. Substandard and mediocre, Soarin was beginning to think, were words that were too good to describe his performance. In order to be on the level of mediocrity, he'd have to at least be able to do the job. 

"Mr Soarin!" Came a familiar voice in the distance.

Braeburn pivoted around and noticed Apple Bloom sprinting toward them in a mad gallop. "Apple Bloom? Why ain't ya in school, sugarcube?"

Soarin turned his head to acknowledge the filly. He took a deep, calming breath before he spoke, cautious not to project his frustrations onto the child. "What's up, kid?"

Apple Bloom slid on her haunches to a stop. Her eyes were wide with urgency. "Mr Soarin, Ah know this is sudden, and Ah know yer busy an' all, but could ya please get me to school? And quick!" 

"You should'a left twenty minutes ago," Braeburn commented.

"Ah know, Ah know, but Ah got all caught up with the alchemy book Twilight let me borrow; Ah lost all track of time."

"Why do you want me to bring you to school?" Soarin asked.

"School starts in fifteen minutes, and Ah just kinda figured - you know - thirty minute walk fer me, five minute flight fer you."

"Now sweet heart," Breburn chided, "getting to school on time is your responsibility. It ain't respectful to treat Mr Soarin like yer personal Taxi."

"But Ah'll get Saturday detention if Ah'm tardy one more time!" Apple Bloom wined, her eyes shimmering pleadingly. "Ah promise not to ask again. Just this once. please?" The little filly shifted her pleading eyes to Soarin.

Soarin thought for a moment. The cool sensation of the wind tugging at his mane, the soothing sound of the air rushing past him, the calming endless blue of the sky, it was just what he needed about now. "I really don't mind," he said.

"Really?" Apple Bloom's golden face lit up with the radiance of a lit hearth.

"Sure ya don't mind?" Braeburn asked.

"If you don't mind me leaving the farm for a few minutes," Soarin replied.

"Ah guess it's fine, if ya really don't mind." Braeburn looked admonishingly at Apple Bloom as she happily slung her book bag over her shoulder. "Yer lucky Mr Soarin is such a nice guy, little lady. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Mr Soarin!" said the filly. "Ah don't wanna rush ya, but we need to go, like, nowish. Ah'd sooner chew the abc gum off the bottom of Scootaloo's desk than spend a Saturday afternoon peeling it off."

Soarin crouched down to his belly, and Apple Bloom swung a leg over him and situated herself firmly at the base of his neck. "Does this flight come with free peanuts?" she giggled ammusedly at her own joke.

"No, but in the event of an emergency, I'll be using you a flotation device," Soarin retorted, which scored a disapproving frown from Braeburn. Soarin pretended not to notice as he raised to his hooves, then dug them into the ground. He looked hungrily up at the sky and spread his wings. "Ready, kid?"

He could feel the pressure from Apple Bloom's hind legs on the sides of his neck as she gripped his mane like a pair of reins. "Ready." 

"Hurry back," Braeburn waved.

Soarin crouched, then leaped, and he was airborne, effortlessly ripping through the orchard's canopy as he shot strait for the sky's zenith. He drew in a deep breath and looked down to watch the earth flee from him until Sweet Apple Acres was but a green square patch in the distance.    

"Mr Soarin!" Apple Bloom cried out. Terrified, She buried her face into her steed's mane.

"What's up?"

"Slow down!" She whimpered.

"Oh, sorry." Soarin lessened his speed to a more casual pace as he ceased his climb. He arched his path until he was moving forward, and he banked toward the direction of the school, which looked like a little red dot from his altitude. "That better?" He could feel Apple Bloom's face still hidden in his mane. "Take a look at the world around you, kid. Few earth ponies get to view it from this perspective. I promise, you'll love it." 

After a few unsure moments, he could feel Apple Bloom's grip loosening. The frightened filly managed to open her eyes, and was overcome with a sense of wonderment as she took in her surroundings. "A-Ah can see the whole town from up here!" She exclaimed. "This is amazing!"

"You like that?" Soarin laughed.

"Ah do!" She giggled and freed her grip from his mane, hanging on with only her hind legs. "Ah had no idea this felt so good!" The little one grinned fiercely with her head upturned as she spread her arms out, her crimson red mane flowing behind her like blazing phoenix feathers. A gentle updraft suddenly hit them. Soarin locked his wings out and rode the wind above a cluster of clouds. His wings traced white wisps through the air as they glided lazily through the draft. It was a little boring to move at such a slow speed, but it was relaxing, and at least his passenger seemed to be enjoying it. 

"Hey, kid?" Soarin said, seeing this interaction as an opportunity to gather some clues to Applejack's odd behavior. "I don't suppose your sister said anything to you before I came in for breakfast, did she?"

"Matter of fact, she did."

Soarin smiled. "She did? What'd she say?"

"Good mornin'," Apple Bloom replied.

Soarin's eye twitched in irritation. "I meant, anything about me?"   

"Ah don't think so. Why?"

"No reason," Soarin sighed in surrender.

"Tell me why!" Apple Bloom insisted. "Is it a secret? Ah like secrets! Promise Ah won't tell no pony. Cross mah heart, hope to fly!"

Soarin thought it over, then decided it didn't matter if the insistent little filly knew about his dilemma. It wasn't like it would change anything. "Something happened between me and your sister last night, but I can't remember a thing. To make things worse, she seems to be harboring a secret from me."

"Why can't you remember anything?" Apple Bloom asked interestedly.

Soarin mulled over his answer for a second, trying to put his words in a way that a child could understand. "You can call it amnesia, I guess."

"Oh!" The filly exclaimed knowingly. "You were drinkin', weren't ya, Mr Soarin?"

Surprise spread across the Pegasus' face. "Aren't you eight? How can you know that?"

"Part of being an alchemist is understanding how various chemicals, such as alcohol, effect the body." The filly pointed out matter of factly. " Ah figured ya was hungover from the way you stumbled into the kitchen with your eyes all bloodshot. You should have told me you was feelin' puny this mornin'. Ah could'a whipped up a medicinal poultice for that. Detoxification potions are easy-peasy." 

"Alchemist?" Soarin asked. "What's that?"

"It's a fancy way of saying potion mixer. Twilight Sparkle is a pretty good teacher. She's got access to a lot of really neat books that help further mah research. She even has a small laboratory she lets me use when we have our time together."

"Potions, huh?" Soarin shifted the edges of his wings like rudders on a plane in a diagonal glide, the school fast approaching. "I took a crack at potions when I was a kid, but I never really went anywhere with it. Plus my folks wanted me to be an athlete. They always got a little nervous when I would show interest in what they referred to as 'egghead' pursuits."

"Egghead, shmeghead, alchemy is awesome," Apple Bloom stated, her eyes sparkling with passion. "It's chemistry and magic all bundled into one perfect little package. The limits to what one can do with alchemy are only defined by your knowledge and imagination. Ah could cure any illness, or Ah could turn ya into a frog. Who knows? Maybe a cure for mortality could be discovered one day!" 

Soarin chuckled. "You're starting to sound more like a mad scientist."

"Alchemist," Apple Bloom corrected. The two were now traveling just over the school grounds. Apple Bloom swiveled her head around and waved at two other fillies. She pointed at them and said, "Can ya land me over there, Mr Soarin?" 

"Sure, kid." Soarin veered toward the fillies, swooped down, and descended slowly until he was on the ground. The moment he landed, the dull ache racing up his legs acted as an instant reminder of how tired and sore they were. 

Apple Bloom dismounted and the two fillies she waved to came scrambling to meet her, but a grey earth pony with a braided platinum ponytail cut them off and managed to get to him before they could. She skidded to a stop and looked up at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Could it be? Soarin, coming to visit me at my school? Like in my fanfictions? All twenty of them!"

Soarin staggered backwards, but the filly mirrored his steps. "You," She began, "You... You're really Soarin? Could it be?"

Soarin nodded. "I take it you're a fan?"

"Fan doesn't even describe it!" The little silver filly dropped her book bag and produced her binder. It was covered front to back with pictures of him. Pictures that were taken of him during his shows, pictures of him from magazines and various advertisements. The one picture that was centered in the binder, as if to give it special attention, was of Soarin in his flight suit with his hood unzipped. His mane was ravaged, and his body glistened with a sheen of sweat as if he had just come out of a fierce battle. His muscles were especially prominent through the magic of lighting and airbrushing. It was a fitness ad to Soarin's recollection.

"You want me to sign your binder?" Soarin guessed.

"Yes!" The filly squealed. "And then you can marry me! And we'll have a honeymoon in Prance! Then we'll have three beautiful babies together! Two girls, one boy! And we'll have a summer home off the Gold Coast of Hosstrailia!"

Soarin uneasily backed away from her. 

"Sil!" A pink filly suddenly sprung from out of nowhere and subdued the silver one, clasping a hoof over her mouth. "You're scaring him! Play it cool!" The pink filly smiled up at Soarin as the silver one desperately mumbled unintelligible declarations of her affection. "You'll have to forgive my friend. Rabid doesn't even begin to describe her fandom."   

"It's okay," Soarin chuckled and turned to Apple Bloom. "I'll see you at home, kid."

"Don't ya wanna meet mah friends?" Apple Bloom asked, standing between an ivory unicorn and orange Pegasus, who were both gawking at him with expressions of intense enthusiasm.

"What does he mean by he'll see you at home?" Said the ivory unicorn, her voice sweet like a minstrel's.

"Oh, Soarin lives with us." Apple Bloom informed. "He's kinda like a handy pony in training."

"Freaking Soarin of the freaking Wonderbolts is living with you?" The Pegasus exclaimed in disbelief, the gruffness in her voice betraying a certain tomboyishness in her demeanor. 

A sudden, horrible screech suddenly erupted from the silver earth pony's mouth. The sound could only have been described as iron spears grating harshly against a brick wall. She shoved her pink friend to the ground, liberating herself. "You're working and living with those hicks?! Does this mean you're not a Wonderbolt anymore?!"

"No," Soarin answered curtly, not liking the term the silver one had just used to describe his employers. He then looked back to Apple Bloom. "I should get back to the farm, kid. I'll hangout with you and your friends any time, though."

Another strident squeal escaped the silver filly as she darted in his way before he could take off. "Wait! Please! This is exactly how one of my fics begin! You should come work for my family! We've been needing a new butler since the other one died, I guess. My Daddy can triple whatever meager salary those Apple hicks are paying you." 

Soarin glared at her. Spoiled brat, he thought. He knew how to piss off rich fops like this, though. When they tried to act superior, simply act even more superior. He stuck his muzzle up and smiled insufferably. "Kid, I don't need your money, and your daddy would weep if he saw the size of my wallet. You ever hear of the one percent? Well, I'm the zero point one percent."

"Ooohh," the pink one remarked with an approving smile. "Silver Spoon, he's sassy!"

"Isn't he great?" The silver one sighed, her head tilting with a dreamy expression.

Soarin face-hoofed and quickly realized that acting pompous and superior would only warrant admiration from yuppies like these. "Apple Bloom," he said frusteratedly, "I'll see you at home."

"Would you mind if Ah brought mah friends around your barn, so Ah can have them meet you?"

Soarin spread his wings as he crouched into take off. "I don't mind. Party at my place, I guess."

"Wait!" The silver filly pleaded, but Soarin ignored her and took off. The last thing he heard was her screaming after him, "Soarin, wait! This isn't how my fic goes! You still need to ask me to marry you!"

"Kids these days..." Soarin rolled his eyes as he sped into the azure sky, the filly's desperate screams for his attention becoming more and more distant until they were completely inaudible. 

On a whim, he decided to clear his head of all thoughts and just fly with no destination in mind. Just ten minutes, then I'll head back to the farm, he promised himself. 

He shifted his course and shot into the sky, climbing higher and higher, until the air was thin and frosty with arctic gales, until the earth below was patched like a sprawling quilt that curved far in the distance. He enjoyed the liberating sensation of the endless blue's embrace. He may be living with earth pony's now, but he was still a Pegasus. The sky was every Pegasus' first love, and Soarin was no exception. 

He filled his lungs with the icy air, and exhaled a white mist that dissipated into the wind - just like his worries. 





The grass felt lush under Soarin's hoofs as he touched down on the farm. There was just something about flying that relaxed him and chased his worries away. His legs didn't even feel sore anymore. Energized and refreshed, he was ready to find Braeburn and get back to work. He was ready to apologize for being so short-tempered earlier. He was sure that the apple bucking would eventually become easier as he gained experience. 

Soarin looked all around, but could not seem to locate Braeburn in the location where they had been working. It was then that he noticed packed in lines where the grass yielded to the weight of the barrel wagon's wheels. He followed them for a few minutes until he could hear Applejack's voice ringing from a clearing in the distance. Soarin smiled as he quickened his stride. Just hearing that saucy little farm girl's sexy drawl was enough to invigorate him. 

"Ah don't care Braeburn, he's been annoying me all day. Have you seen the way he looks at me? The way he undresses me with his eyes?"

Soarin stopped dead in his tracks. Who was she talking about? He crept to an apple tree and stealthily peeked out from its side. Braeburn was tapping the cap of a barrel in place with a rubber mallet. Applejack was standing near him. She seemed livid about something.

"Cousin, the only article of clothing you ever wear is your hat." Braeburn pointed out. "You're already undressed."

"Yeah, well..." Applejack faltered. "Well, he probably dresses me with his eyes just so he can undress me with em again! He made me feel so uncomfortable that Ah had to go hide in the chicken coop just to get away from him. The chicken coop! Rarity's been runnin' me ragged, too, as if it was mah fault that preppy little city boy's been drooling over me!"  

"Miss Rarity? She's been buggin' you too?"

"You kiddin'? She won't leave me alone! She gets mad at me because she's got such a huge crush on the guy, and Ah'm like, You can have him, Ah sure as shoot don't want him. Don't get me wrong, Ah love Rarity to death, but that girl has some serious jealousy problems."

Soarin was beginning to wonder if they were talking about him. It couldn't be. It was true that he had the tendency to 'admire' her - maybe - but he was always careful to not make it too obvious. But if he disgusted her so much, why was she being so nice to him over breakfast? The Applejack he knew wasn't two-faced. And what was all this stuff about Rarity? Rarity had a crush on him? The only thing he knew about that unicorn is that she was extremely flamboyant, and she knocks your ass out when you try to rescue her. Soarin involuntarily rubbed his jaw as he remembered the blow she inflicted on him that fateful day she plummeted from Cloudsdale. 

"Give the guy a break, cuz." Braeburn grunted as he hoisted his now-sealed barrel onto his back. "You know how those rich and famous types are. He's just a little eccentric, that's all. And Miss Rarity, well, she'll get over it."

"Eccentric or not, famous or not - you don't know what its like to be stared at like you're a piece of salt lick, and to make matters worse, have your best friend hate you over something you have absolutely no control of. Ah don't want him on the farm, and Ah damn sure don't want him around me - especially when Ah'm trying to work. Ah'm not in the habit of talking about ponies when they ain't around to defend themselves, so Ah'll just leave it that."

Soarin turned around and slumped his back against the tree with a vacant look in his eyes. They were talking about him! What other rich, semi-famous stallion has been here besides him? She really wants me gone? 

A loud thump resonated from the cart when Breburn dropped the barrel in place among the other containers. There was a long silence until he finally said with a cold seriousness in his voice, "You want me to get rid of him when he comes back?" 

Soarin felt his heart drop into his gut, not believing that Braeburn, one of the nicest guys he had ever met, would offer such a service against him with such a callousness in his tone. He had thought a friend of Braeburn up until now. 

"That's real sweet of you, but no. He ain't gonna be here for very long, so it's not like it matters. Ah just can't wait till we're rid of him. Out of the farm, out of the city, and out of mah life, and If he thinks he can come around here whenever he wants like he's one of the family, he's got another thing comin'."

Applejack's statement was like a dagger thrust into his heart. He never truly thought of himself as one of the family, but is still devastated him to hear her say something like that. The hurt of all the past grievances inflicted on him manifested once again as a vice grip on his heart. It made its way up to his throat, but Soarin swallowed it. No, no more feeling sorry for myself! I've done nothing but try, and try, and try, and it's never been good enough for anyone. He looked up at the sky, and entertained the thought of just flying away and never returning, but he quickly decided against it. He wasn't going to quit this time. He was surrounded by backbiters who smiled at him through their teeth while concealing daggers behind their backs, which was no different than how things were when he was in the Wonderbolts. He decided that his only way out was through a pink slip. At least that way he could tell himself that he didn't give up and quit like he did with everything else. He stepped out from his concealment and glared at Applejack, waiting to be noticed.  

Braeburn was the first to notice him. "Well, look who's back!" he said with a bright smile. "Just in time, too. Ah think the rear axle on the wagon's got a bad seem. Guess who gets to learn how to use a welding torch?"    

"Hey, sugarcube," Applejack greeted him with a sweetness that practically made Soarin's stomach lurch. "Heard ya took mah baby sister to school. That was so sweet of you!"

The memories of all the humiliation and indignation Soarin had ever endured swirled about in his mind like a raging thunderstorm as he watched her smile at him. The way she was just talking about how she wanted nothing more but to have him out of her life, and then to just turn around and smile at him like that. It exacerbated his already foul mood. The more he looked at her, the more he saw Spitfire. His rage bubbled inside him until it was dangerously close to reaching a fever pitch. He wordlessly walked past her, and he hitched the wagon. "Lets get these apples to the cellar, then we'll weld this axle," he said with a level of restraint that surprised himself.    

Applejack trotted beside him, smiling that fake smile of hers. "So, Ah was thinkin' maybe we could go out for lunch? You ain't had a burger 'til you been to the hay burger."

"No." Soarin said curtly. "You and Braeburn go without me. I have an axle to fix."

"Uhm, well, A-Ah m-meant just you and me, that is, if y'all wanted." 

Soarin noted Applejack's nervous demeanor with curiosity. "No," he said once more. "I already had my break."

"Well, ya gotta eat!" Applejack insisted. She sounded as if she was becoming frustrated.  

"I'm not hungry!"

"You ain't now, but Ah'm talkin' about lunch time! You know, in a few hours?"

"No, now leave me alone!" Soarin quickened his pace to the apple cellar with a grimace. He noticed Applejack was no longer perusing him. He slowed and turned his head around to see what she was doing. 

Applejack stood there with a sullen look until Braeburn joined her. She shook her head and said something to him. Braeburn said something back to her. It almost sounded like "I'll find out." Then he hugged her and trotted until he was side-by-side with Soarin and the cart. He kept his eyes forward and asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

Look at this bastard pretending to care! "Talk about what?" 

"Anything that may be on your mind."

"Eh, nothing too serious," Soarin offered with a sardonic shrug. "You know, just a little back pain. Feels kinda like someone plunged a dagger into it." 

"Mister Soarin, whatever the reason for this attitude of yours, Ah can't say that Ah appreciate it. And Ah don't know if y'all noticed, but you just hurt mah cousin's feelings."

"Well, I guess you could always get rid of me," Soarin said accusingly.

"Ah'd really rather not have to do that, if Ah could avoid it," Braeburn replied calmly. "Look, ah know we're guys, and what not, and we ain't supposed to talk about our feelings, but Ah'm here, alright? It's like grandma said: family."

Soarin stopped. The wagon behind him jerked, and the barrels rattled together. "Family?" Soarin laughed humorlessly. "Do you want to know what family is?" 

Breaburn remained silent.

"Familial love is nothing but conditional affection. Everyone loves you when you're on the top of your game, oh, but when you fall, who's going to be there to catch you? No one! No one catches you, Braeburn - they only gather around you to mock you and kick you until you're forced to drag yourself back to your hooves!" Soarin roared with pint up fury as he slashed the air with his hoof. "Everyone treats you like you're a burden! They make you feel like they'd be better off if you just laid down and died. But they don't tell you that to your face, do they?" Soarin glared at Braeburn, who only returned a look that was half laced with concern and confusion. 

Soarin scowled at him with a trembling jaw before turning away and continuing down the trail to the cellar. He didn't care about restraining his temper anymore. He was going to be fired anyway, so what did it matter? 
> Forsaken
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

 	The hour moved seamlessly as Soarin and Braeburn worked to repair the wagon axle. Soarin hadn't any experience to speak of when it came to metal work, but Braeburn stood close by, his black goggles reflecting the intense strobes of light as he instructed Soarin through the task. Fire flashed, metal hissed, and slowly the fracture in the wagon axle melted, joined, and mended, the flame making contact on the metal like a white-hot rose spewing forth a bronzed shower of blazing pollen. The barrage of sparks stung as they singed Soarin's fur, but it was a sensation that was becoming easier and easier to ignore. As long as his face and eyes were shielded, he'd be fine.   

"That should do it." Braeburn announced. "Yer a natural at this."

Soarin removed his welding mask and twisted the valve on the side of the torch head, causing the blue flame to retreat soundlessly into the nozzle. The raised line where the metal had bonded glowed cherry red as warped tendrils of blurred air wafted about the crease.

"We'll give it a few minutes to cool down before we move it," Braeburn advised, removing his goggles. He approached the metal axle where it lay clamped over an iron bench between two large vice grips and gazed appraisingly at Soarin's work. "Solid work," he critiqued with an approving nod. "Ah can't believe this is your first time using a welding torch; this is journeyman's level craftsmanship, at least!"

Soarin grunted in compliance as he unscrewed the acetylene cylinder from the butt of the torch. He then carried the head piece to an oil-stained craftsman's table where he began its disassembly. 

"So," Braeburn said softly, "anything on yer mind? Anything at all?"

"The task at hoof," Soarin replied curtly as he proceeded to disassemble the torch, securing each metal part within the loops of a leather welding kit laid out across the table. He had become standoffish since his outburst, speaking only in laconicisms when spoken to.   

Braeburn shook his head, unsatisfied by Soarin's answer. "Can ya open up just a bit? Ah'm startin' to think that ya don't like me." 

"Huh," Soarin replied disinterestedly, slipping another piece of the torch into the kit.

Braeburn sighed impatiently. "Look, Ah ain't gonna dance around this subject all day with you."

"Then don't."

"You seem upset. You've seemed upset since the first day you were here - now even more-so. You remind me of some sort of brooding war veteran, and you only seem to be getting worse."

"That so?"  Soarin tried to sound like he wasn't interested, but Braeburn's statement piqued his curiosity.

"Its like you're manically depressed. Ah ask if you're okay, and you say you're fine, but Ah look into your eyes, and Ah can tell that... Well... Yer not. The only one Ah ever heard you open up to was Apple Bloom, and that was the first day Ah met you. Somethin' about how its a blessing to know where you belong?"

There was a long silence before Soarin spoke again. Finally, after pondering carefully over his answer, he said, "Kids are easy to talk to." Soarin spoke slowly, methodical not to betray any emotion in his tone. "They're easy to understand. They cry when they hurt. They smile when they're happy. They wear their hearts on their sleeves, and don't care what anyone else thinks of it. Children are genuine. Sometimes they're even brutally honest. That is, until they grow up, become more socially aware of all the fakes around them, and the choice to either assimilate or become an outcast is thrust upon them." 

Breburn nodded as if he had confirmed something. "So, you admire a child's ability to express themselves openly? Is that because its something that, deep down, you wish you could do?"  

Soarin turned his head slightly and cast a glare upon the prying earth pony from over his shoulder. Something about his questioning was coming off as derisive. "And what are you, a psychologist? What's next, you gonna ask me if my daddy ever hugged me?" 

"You see that?" Said Braeburn, pointing a confirming hoof. "You use sarcasm and snark to mask your feelings. You say you admire forwardness, but you just seem to be one of those fakes you have so much contempt for." 

Soarin whirled his body around to face him and spat, "I'm not masking anything! I don't go on about myself because no one cares. And why should they? Everyone has their problems, so why should mine matter? And why do you keep pretending to care? Are you digging for ammunition to use against me?"

"Wow," Breburn retorted with exaggerated amazement. "Borderline cynicism, trust issues, misanthropic tendencies towards society, anything else you got to add to this laundry list of yours?"

"You think I'm some sort of puzzle for you to solve?" Soarin demanded. "I'm not falling for this nice guy facade you're putting on for me. You're just trying to lull me into a false sense of security, and I'm not going to fall for it!"

"And paranoia to boot," Braeburn concluded. "Ah ain't tryin' to be mean, but you got some demons, partner."

"Who doesn't?" Soarin asked.

"Ah'll bet you're an alcoholic, too."

"You know what, how about I ask you a question?" Soarin said, evading the prying stallion's speculatory, albeit accurate assumption. He tugged his welding glove off and pointed a demanding hoof toward Braeburn. "How about you tell me something candid about you, for a change!"

"Why do you want to know about me?"

Soarin shrugged. "I answered one of your questions. Several, actually. Now, it's your turn to answer one of mine. An answer for an answer." 

"Sounds fair, Ah suppose." Braeburn removed his hat and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, this may be a bit of a cliche, but Pa' skedaddled after Ah was born. 'Cause of him, Ah never got to go to school. Soon as Ah was able to walk, Ah had to help 'Ma tend to our farm. Ah don't even so much as remember what the dirty ol' rascal looked like. Good thing, too. Ah might kill him if Ah ever see him." Braeburn paused, and he concluded with a light-hearted laugh, "But hey, 'least he didn't name me Sue before be ran off."

"Oh, so you're a bastard, then?" Soarin scoffed. "My dad's dead. What else you got for me?"

"Hey, look at that, We just had ourselves a breakthrough!" Braeburn suddenly announced with a proud smile. 

Soarin tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, bewildered. "What?"

"You finally shared something about yourself!" Braeburn placed his hat over his chest and closed his eyes mournfully. "Ah'm sorry to hear about yer daddy. Ah don't know what it's like to have one, but if Ma' ever left me, that'd be heartache Ah just wouldn't be prepared to deal with."

"Oh, come off it with the good guy act, would you!" Soarin spat.

"Mister Soarin, if you'd just tell me what's goin' on with you—"

"Hey, Braeburn, where you at?" Big Mac's deep resonating voice called out from somewhere outside accompanied with the thump of heavy lumbering hoof steps. 

"Ah'm in the tool shed," Braeburn replied. 

A few moments later the door to the shed opened, and Big Mac's imposing frame blocked the light from the outside as he entered. He turned his head to Soarin with a silent nod of acknowledgement. Soarin returned his gesture with a curt wave.

"Brae, need yer help with somethin'," reported Big Mac.

"What is it?" Asked Braeburn.

"The city stage needs to be fixed before the Ponyville day festival in a few days. Mayor's willing to pay a fat commission for its repair. You in? Fifty fifty?"

"What's wrong with the stage?" Soarin asked with half interest. 

"You broke it," Breburn and Big Mac replied simultaneously.

Soarin rubbed the back of head with a sheepish grin. "Oh, yeah."  

Braeburn placed his hat back on his head and asked, "when would we be headin' out?" 

"Right now, We only have a few days, so it's gotta get done quick."

Braeburn turned to Soarin, but before he could say anything, Soarin said, "Go ahead, I can finish up here on my own."

"You sure? Ah could help out with the axle, and then go meet up with Big Mac in town later. That sucker's pretty heavy."

"We unbolted the wheels and dismounted the axle together, It shouldn't be too difficult to do the process in reverse. If I hit any snags, I'll come find you."

"Alright," surrendered Braeburn with a shrug. "Why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the day off after yer done here. Ah think you need some time to clear your head."

"Might as well," Soarin replied, doing poorly to restrain the maliciousness in his tone. "It's not like I'm going to be around here much longer anyway, right?"

Braeburn looked perplexed by Soarin's statement, but he shrugged it off. "You got all the tools and lumber we need for the job?" He asked, looking to Big Mac.

"The Mayor is supplying us with all the resources we need. She's even having her personal chef provide us with a free lunch."

"What's the job pay?" Braeburn inquired as he started toward the door with Big Mac following close behind.

"Two thousand up front - two thousand when it's done."

"City folk sure are generous," Braeburn chuckled as they exited the shed, closing the door behind them. The two stallions' chatter became faint to Soarin's ears as they distanced themselves further from the shed.

Soarin turned to the axle and sighed listlessly. It did look pretty heavy, but if Braeburn could lift it, then so could he. He inspected the freshly welded crease to make sure it was safe to touch. The glowing red seam was now a cool raised line, like freshly-healed scar tissue from an experienced surgeon's scalpel. Soarin ran his hoof over it, appreciating his work. "Might as well get this over with," he sighed reluctantly.

Soarin unfastened the clamps and, with a heavy grunt, heaved the axle onto his back. The veins in his neck pulsed as they raised from his skin, he clamped his teeth, his legs shook violently. He was just about to let the axle slam down on the ground so he could think of another way to get it out of the shed, but he realized that if he dropped it he might damage the floor. Seeing no other option to his disposal, he dragged himself toward the door.  

Damn Braeburn for making this look so easy!  

Soarin tapped the door open with the tip of the axle and painstakingly strafed his way through the narrow exit. Blots were beginning to form in his vision, and his breathing became labored as he made his way to the side of the tool shed where the upturned wagon awaited him. He didn't know how he did it, but he eventually made it. 

Methodically positioning himself between the two brackets where the axle would be placed, Soarin heaved the heavy piece shoulder level. Breathing heavily and irregularly through his clenched teeth, he grunted loudly and, with another heave, thrust the axle over his head, as if he were gorilla pressing it. He then dropped it down, letting it slam down onto its iron placings with a thunderous crash.

A numbness rushed through Soarin's body the second he was relieved of the weight, and all he could feel was an intense burning sensation in his back and legs. He slumped over the wagon with a heavy sigh. His mane was soaked with perspiration. It stuck to the sides of his neck and hung in front of his face, obscuring his features as he gasped to catch his breath. He blinked and rubbed his eyes vigorously in an attempt to snuff out the dark spots that threatened to envelope his vision. 

"My, my, what an Impressive feat of brute strength!" Applauded a flamboyant voice.

Soarin's head snapped up, but his sudden movement sent a twinge of pain through his soar body. All he could make out in his exhausted state was a bronzed blot standing across from the wagon. "Who's that?"  

"I'm absolutely heart-broken that you wouldn't recognize me!" The blur exclaimed.

"That metro sexual idiolect..." 

"Oh, my dear Soarin, metro is soooo last week. Get with the times, man!"

Soarin zeroed his vision in on the blur until the pony's features became more distinguishable. He was a unicorn: thin, tall, and wiry - sporting a designer sweater with a side pocket that accommodated a hair comb.  "Trenderhoof," Soarin groaned with dismay.

"Very good, I'm flattered!" Said the unicorn through a row of gleaming white teeth, which seemed far too bright to be natural.

Soarin grunted as he pushed himself up from the wagon and said, "I believe all the Wonderbolts know who you are. You've shown up to enough of our after-show parties."

"Good sir, it is my job as a traveling writer to attend and review the many soirees and shindigs of Equestria."

"And yet, you always go on about yourself as if you're the one being interviewed."

"Well, I am the most interesting pony in Equestria," Replied Trenderhoof, patting himself on the chest with a pompous air of self-appreciation. "Who wouldn't want to know all about me?"

"Whatever you say." Soarin rolled his eyes. "So, what's such an omnipotent being who drinks only the finest elder wines from the holy grail doing among us lesser dirt-grubbing mortals? And let me know if I should avert my eyes."  

Trenderhoof removed his glasses and began cleaning them, sighing passively in response to Soarin's impertinence. "I'm here to write a review on the Ponyville day celebration. I came here early to tour the town and take in the sites so I can get a vibe for the place."

"Uh huh, well, this isn't Ponyville." Soarin informed with a blunt rudeness in his tone. "This is Sweet Apple Acres." 

"I know that!" Trenderhoof shot back. "But - as is the unpredictable nature of these things - I have fallen deeply, madly in love!"

The edge of Soarin's lip curved into a sly smile. "Sorry, but you're not really my type. Maybe it's the glasses?"

"It's nice to see that you haven't lost that sense of humor of yours, but no, I wasn't talking about you. Her name is Applejack."

Soarin eyes narrowed.  "Applejack, huh?"

"Yes, Applejack!" Trenderhoof said, suddenly thrusting his hooves in the air like an overenthusiastic poet reciting the writs of Quilland Ink. "She is the most beautiful mare in all of Equestria! I have come to extend to her the incredible honor of being my escort for the Ponyville day celebration. She will accept, of course, and it is there where I shall make her fall madly in love with me, as I have with her!" 

Soarin remained silent as he retrieved a ratchet and some bolts from an old coffee can he and Braeburn had stored them in. He aligned the threaded holes of the axle with those of the wagon, adjusting them accordingly to properly fit the bolts. "But does she know that?" He asked, keeping his eyes focused on his task.

Trenderhoof turned his head and smiled. "She'll know soon enough. One look into my luscious lavenders and she'll know who her very special sompony is meant to be." 

Soarin inserted the bolts in the aligned threadings and twisted them into place. "Huh," was all he could think of to say. He was doubting that this guy would be Applejack's type, which brought him to another thought: why did he care?  

"May I ask you why you're here, Soarin?" Trenderhoof Finally asked, shifting the subject. "Last I heard, you had quit the Wonderbolts. I must say that I am quite surprised to run into you here."

"News travels fast," Soarin observed as he continued working. "I'm employed here."

"You... Work here?" Trenderhoof asked, his eyes widening with astonishment. "You lucky bastard! You must get to see Applejack all the time!"

"A position for a new farm hand will be opening up soon," Soarin said. "I'm pretty sure I'll be out of here before tomorrow comes."

"Oh, so you're leaving?" 

Soarin grunted confirmingly.

Trenderhoof's eyes narrowed as if he were deep in thought. "This is uncanny. It's like the universe is trying to tell me that I belong here. As exciting as my life is as a writer, I wouldn't mind working and living here along side that beautiful mare." His expression softened, then he said, "She is beautiful, wouldn't you agree?"

"She's..." Soarin paused. He wanted to disagree, but the memory of Applejack's soaking wet form suddenly intruded on his thoughts. The tips of his ears turned red, and a strange churning sensation could be felt in the pit of his stomach. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. "She's okay, I guess," he stammered. 

"Oh, I dare say, she's more than okay. Now, if you'd excuse me, I must inquire my Applejack about the job opening before anypony else can swoop in and takes it." The unicorn's smile gleamed like sunlight upon polished marble as he politely dipped his head before turning away. "Farewell, Soarin. I do hope that our paths will cross again." 

Soarin glared at him as he sauntered away with that annoying spring in his step. For reasons that he wasn't completely sure of, he was beginning to harbor an intense loathing for that unicorn.

With the axle firmly mounted and the wheels bolted on, his job was complete. Soarin had pushed the wagon over onto its wheels and rolled it back and forth experimentally to gauge his work. Satisfied, he looked around at the surrounding orchards and remembered that he now had the rest of the day off. 

Soarin wasn't used to having free time. There was always something that needed to be done at the academy, or when he was on tour with the Wonderbolts, but what was there to do here? He would need to find a hobby - some means of productive entertainment while he wasn't on the job. He thought for a second, then remembered he wouldn't even have his job for long. It seemed that all he would have from now on was free time. He decided to walk instead of fly back to his barn, so that he could explore the orchards and meditate over what he would do with his life after his employment with the Apples was terminated. Now, he thought to himself as he strolled at a lazy pace, what could a stallion with plenty of funds and unlimited free time do to occupy himself?   





When Soarin had finally made his way to his barn an hour later, a somber sense of detachment loomed about him. He had been weighing his options out for the past hour and he still didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. He didn't know what hobbies he would enjoy, or what kind of job he should look for next. Soarin had been a Wonderbolt his entire adult life - the thought of being anything else felt strange to him. It was like he lacked an identity now. 

He entered his barn and surveyed the plethora of ancient tools and dusty old crates piled up against the walls. His barn must have been used for storage after it had served its purpose. Soarin chuckled at the irony. "Storage." That was a good word to describe him. He wasn't good at anything, and he wasn't particularly passionate about anything either. He simply existed to occupy space... Like storage.   

Out of sheer boredom, Soarin decided to inspect some of the relics within the old wood crates. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. 

He came across a few antiques: some glass figurines, some tools, a few dusty old black and white photo albums. He even found an old duster coat. It was brown and faded like old raw hide, but the material still felt tough and resilient. Soarin thought it kinda neat. It reminded him of what the cowboys would wear in those corny old silent westerns. He folded it as neatly as he could and set it aside, not being able to bring himself to stuff something so intriguing back into the crate with the rest of the obscure crap.   

Soarin continued his impromptu salvage expedition and, among the antiques, he found a flat, circular object. The outer rim of its circular body had an elegant design to it, like the pattern of a tightly braided rope made of solid gold. Whatever it was, it seemed valuable. He blew the dust off of its surface, and found that, under the thick layer of dust, was himself staring back at him. It was an  antique pocket mirror. He looked hard and long at his reflection. Those craggy bags under his eyes that seemed to be his trademark facial feature were deeper and darker than usual. The reflection he cast was gaunt and grim, green eyes with no trace of vitality left in them. He might as well have been staring into the face of an old world-weary stallion as he drew his last breath on his deathbed. He set the mirror face-down upon the folded duster, not desiring to witness his haggard visage any longer. Soarin was tired, depressed, and lethargic. His eyes pretty much said it all: he had no energy, no motivation. He was exhausted - physically as well as emotionally.    

He looked to the hay loft in the upper tier of the barn where that filthy make-shift bed of his had been. If there was one thing on this farm he knew he wouldn't miss, it would be that itchy, flea-ridden straw pile. He then turned his head and eyed his pillow and blankets that were still piled on the ground where he had left them that morning, which once again raised the question of how his bedding got there in the first place. He thought about it for only a moment, then he shrugged, disregarding the riddle. There's no point in wondering why anyone does the things that they do while they're drunk, he finally decided. Whatever reason he had, it was a drunk reason, which probably made a lot more sense last night when he was intoxicated than it would now while he was sober.    

With a sigh and a yawn, the somnolent stallion approached his bedding and collapsed into it. Itchy pile of straw, hard wood floor, it was all the same to him. As tired as he was, he could have found comfort on a stone tablet in the Canterlot dungeon. He yawned one last time, curled up, closed his eyes, and drifted away effortlessly into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.     





A voice suddenly cut through the ether of Soarin's unconsciousness. The voice sounded distant and distorted, but it was vaguely familiar. 

"Hey, how long have you been in here? Why are you sleeping on the floor? Can you hear me?"

Groaning, Soarin opened his eyes. He looked up at the blue Pegasus standing before him. It took a second for his half-awake brain to register the face. He scrambled to his hooves in surprise when his mind finally identified the stallion. "Wave Chill!"

"What's up, dude?" Soarin's former teammate greeted in a soft-spoken tone, which was different from the usual Western Equestrian up beat surfer dialect he was accustomed to speaking in. Oddly enough, his mouth was smiling, but his eyes betrayed something different: it was a sadness of some sort, but it was lost on Soarin as he struggled to gather his faculties. 

"Hey!" Soarin replied, still surprised. "How did you— When did you—"

"You were easy enough to track down." Wave Chill cut him off, as if he had anticipated Soarin's question. "I figured you'd be somewhere in or round Ponyville. It was all just a matter of asking questions around town. Found a couple of earth ponies that were working on the stage you messed up last night. They pointed me in your direction."

"Oh," Soarin yawned, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but you're on the tour roster for this season, aren't you? Shouldn't you be getting ready for your trip?"

"I, uh..." Wave Chill faltered. That was when Soarin noticed he had a canvas messenger bag slung across his shoulder.

Soarin observed his old friend's accessory with a wry smile. "Cute purse," he joked. "Did you come all this way because you wanted me to help you shop for some matching shoes?" 

Wave Chill tried to laugh at the joke, but even he himself seemed to be aware of how painfully fake his weak chuckle was.  

Soarin was starting to feel uneasy. Why's he acting so strange?

"I have something that I think you should see," Wave Chill announced after a moment of silence. He reached into his bag and produced a rolled up newspaper. "The headlines," he stated vaguely.

Soarin looked down at the paper clenched in the crook of his friend's foreleg, bewildered. "You know, I got a glimpse of the headlines this morning. I'm well aware of the carrot shortage in Baltimare."

"That's the Ponyville newspaper, Soarin. This is the Foal Street Journal."

"Since when do you read that over-hyped sensationalist bullsh—"

"Soarin!" Wave Chill cut him off hotly. "Just read it."

Soarin took the paper from him, curious as to why Wave Chill could be acting so strange. He sat back on his haunches, unfolded the paper, and checked the front page headlines. He blanched as he read them out loud. "Soarin abandons Cloudsdale; Wonderbolts fans in outrage." The edges of the paper rattled in his shaking hooves. He glanced up at Wave Chill, as if confirm the legitimacy of the article.

"Read on," he advised. 

Soarin did as he instructed. 


Sources have indeed confirmed the unfathomable: it appears that the Wonderbolts will not be taking home the gold in the Equestria games this year. In fact, they will not be competing at all. It's hard to believe this and accept it as reality, as it is well known that Cloudsdale has won the gold in the Equestria games for the past ten consecutive years. The Wonderbolts, since they had started competing in the games a whole decade ago, have never lost, but this year they will not even be competing. Why is this, you may ask? Because the beloved bolts have decided to give some other team a chance this year? That's a good guess, but no. It turns out that the Wonderbolts have been having issues as of late, and when we at the Foal Street Journal say "issues," we mean Soarin. The beloved poster boy of the Wonderbolts, as difficult as it is to believe, has abandoned Cloudsdale over reasons that have not been confirmed, however, our sources have reason to believe that it was due to "financial issues." Now, when we say "financial issues," we don't mean like the kind of financial issues that an average pony like we, or you, our dear reader, would have. No. While it is unfortunate that many of us normal ponies may have difficulties feeding our families and keeping up with our bills, or Celestia forbid, drowning in debt, we have Soarin, who's salary has been confirmed to be but a meager 3.5 million bits a year, which apparently was not enough for him to etch out a living for himself.


Soarin continued reading, the outrage within him intensifying with every sentence. The media had sought to embellish the facts with half-truths in order to demonize him as much as they possibly could. The story was laced with conjecture that was written in a way to have the believer perceive them as facts. Every time the paper would disclose information about him that was complete bullshit, it would validate the falsities by saying it was confirmed by a "witness" or a "reliable source." It didn't take Soarin long to guess who this "source" was.

"Spitfire," he growled as if her very name was a curse. He set the paper down and cast a feral glare toward Wave Chill. "Where is she?"

"This isn't Spitfire's fault." 

"Then, who's is it!" Soarin roared. "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me? I'll never be able to show my face in public again!"

"Calm down! Spitfire didn't say those things about you."

"That so?" Soarin said doubtingly.

"Yes, that is so. Look, the press did come to Spitfire for answers, but all she gave them were unembellished, unbiased facts. I was standing right there when she was being interviewed. The publisher is just running wild with the story to sell papers. You know how the media is. Besides, you have no right to be mad at anyone but yours--" Wave Chill stooped himself. He knew he had just crossed a line.

"I'm sorry?" Soarin demanded in an unstintingly calm voice. "What was that?" 

Wave Chill paused, thinking of a way to rectify his statement. "Look," he said, "I understand what you've been going through, I do... But... Soarin, man, I just... You shouldn't have bailed."

"I 'bailed' because I was sick of being lied to and treated like dead weight!"

"You didn't have to quit right before the preliminaries!" Wave Chill shot back defensively. "Oh, but you didn't quit there! You somehow forced Spitfire into spoiling that grand finale we've been working on for the Los Pegasus air show. And thanks for that, by the way. She's only fricken livid about it, and she's been taking it out an anyone who crosses her path!"

"And she should have been happy for the honor. She owed Rainbow Dash a debt that she never intended to pay!"

"I owe who now?" Spitfire's voice rang out, bringing a sudden halt to the argument. 

Wave Chill paled, his posture stiffening as the captain entered the barn through the hole in the roof. The dust from the ground raised all around her as she landed. "C-captain, where— how—" 

"I followed you here," said Spitfire. "I figured your little bromance with Soarin would cloud your judgement and convince you to make a stupid decision like this. You know we can't be seen with him anymore, Wave Chill; it would further damage our already wounded reputation."

"I was just trying to help Soarin to see the weight of his— uh... Decision to, uh... The repercussions of him abandoning us, ma'am."

Soarin's eyes widened in betrayal and disbelief. "Excuse me!" 

Wave Chill glanced back at Soarin with a combination of panic and guilt in his eyes, as if to offer an unspoken apology.

Spitfire smiled, looking rather pleased by Soarin's hurt reaction. "That's okay, Wave Chill," She began. "I can forgive you this one time. But, as I have said, we shouldn't be mingling with such disreputable company." The captain's wrathfully accusing eyes fell upon Soarin with the last two words of her sentence.

They glared at each like two wild beasts ready to rip each other apart over the slightest indiscretion. Soarin had never felt such an intense loathing in his entire life, and he knew such was the same for his former captain. But she started it. It was her fault. It was all her fault. She chased him away from the team, and now she was dragging his name through the mud for some sick sense of retribution. He should have known things would happen like this. Spitfire always, always got the last laugh. He had never heard of anyone crossing her and getting away with it.  

"Wave Chill." Spitfire broke the silence, her gaze remaining hotly zeroed like a glaring statue - never moving - never faltering. "Why don't you head on home now. I would like a quick word with Soarin... Alone."

Wave Chill hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Wave Chill!"

Wordlessly, the Wonderbolt turned around and paced toward the barn door.

"Waves," Soarin called out to him. "Whats all this about how you can't be seen with me anymore?'"

The Wonderbolt came to a dead stop, but he didn't turn around.

The silence was all the answer Soarin needed. He felt a solid lump forming in his throat as he began to understand the meaning of Spitfire's words. It took all his strength to speak without his voice quivering. He refused to cry. He wouldn't give Spitfire the satisfaction. "Am I ever going to see you again?"

Silence. Wave Chill continued toward the door.

"Waves... We've been friends since flight school. We enrolled in the academy together... Please..." Soarin breathed heavily as a tear rolled down his face. He did his damndest to hold them back, but he couldn't. They flowed through his ducts and forced their way through like a battered dam giving under the force of an overflowing river. He knew he looked stupid, but his dignity was the last thing on his mind. 

Wave Chill stopped again. His body tremored.

Spitfire rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Wave Chill, just say whatever it is you want to say!"

Again there was only silence.

"Spit it out!" 

"Waves," Soarin pleaded.

The Wonderbolt turned around, keeping his head down, not wanting to make eye-contact. He sighed, then finally said in a shaky voice, "We've had some good times, man. But this is my career. I'm not as eager to leave it behind as you were. I came here to say goodbye, and, I'm sorry." And with those parting words, he turned around and made that long walk to the door, closing it behind him.

Soarin felt cold as a profound feeling of emptiness came over him. "Are you happy, Spitfire?" He said. "I made you lose out on the games - you've taken everything from me. My reputation, my dignity, my best friend, everything. You won. I have nothing now. I ask you, are you happy?"

There was a long silence. And then, "So, how was she?" Her voice was so casual, almost cheerful. 

Soarin looked up at her. She was now standing across from him at an arm's length. "How was who?"

"Rainbow Dash. Was she as sweet and tight as you hoped?"

Soarin cocked his head to the side, legitimately astonished at the accusation. "I don't... What?!"

Spitfire's face contorted with disgust. "Oh, don't even try to play dumb. You must have been hoping for something pretty special in return for dragging me and the others to that girl's birthday party," she spat. "Typical stallion!"

"Why are you doing this to me? You've already won. You've taken everything from me, and now you're just throwing baseless accusations around, and for what, just to kick me while I'm down? What have I done to deserve—"

Spitfire suddenly laughed over Soarin's voice, then her face relaxed into a mocking grin. "What did you do to deserve this? Were you really going to ask me that?" She laughed again. "You, Soarin, are the biggest screw up I have ever had the displeasure of flying with! You never took anything seriously, and all you did was bring the team down! And then, what do you do? You found a way to make us suck even more: you bailed on us when we actually needed you for once! But no... Oh, no! You weren't finished there. You really had to find a way to rub some salt in the wound. You come blackmail me, you force me to throw away the grand finale I have been spending the past six months developing and practicing for. And for what? To spite me? For a booty call? I don't care what your reasoning was! You're destined for nothing but misery, with nothing else to look forward to but a filth-ridden gutter as your grave, and you won't rest until you've pulled everyone around you down with you!" Spitfire about-faced, and made her way to the exit, not bothering to wait for a retort. Just as she placed her hoof on the door, she turned and tossed over her shoulder, "From what it sounds like, you didn't even get laid. You got nothing for all your efforts. Look around you, Soarin. Look how far you've fallen. You have nothing, and that's all you are now: Nothing!" 

She turned to the door when it suddenly opened, and in ran a group of four little fillies who bumped into her. Soarin recognized the fillies: They were Apple Bloom and her friends from the school. He didn't know what he was going to say to them. He was too stunned from Spitfire's speech. He could have expected her to say the cruelest, most vile things to him, yet she'd always end up saying something that took him off guard and cut through the emotional armor he bolstered up around himself.

"Oop, please excuse me!" Spitfire said to them with a mellifluous trill in her voice.

Soarin's jaw dropped.  

"Oh my gosh!" The the ivory unicorn exclaimed. "Spitfire! It's captain Spitfire!"

"That's me!" Spitfire replied with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Are you little ladies just coming from school?" 

"It really is her!" The silver one who tried to make a move on Soarin that morning put it. "Oh, my gosh! Can I please have an autograph? I can't believe it's really you - here, of all places. Did you come by to visit Soarin?"

"Something like that," replied Spitfire, still smiling. "You said you wanted an autograph? Do you have a pen?"

Soarin watched in utter disgust as Spitfire suddenly had these fillies wrapped around her hoof. She signed their binders, told them a joke, and they all shared laugh, and she bid them farewell, tossing back one last glare at Soarin before leaving, which the fillies didn't seem to notice. Soarin learned all the fillies' names as he watched the exchange. 

"I can't believe how nice she is!" Silver spoon exclaimed.

The other three, Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, seemed to be just as starstruck.

Soarin felt an immeasurable and inconsolable animosity flowing through him. He knew that, for all his frustration, there was nothing he could ever do about it. Nobody would ever take his side, not against Spitfire. Her craft in the ways of speech could lead one to believe the opposite of everything they believed with one or two words. She was a master, and he knew that she had intended for him to see the act she had just put on. She wanted to show him how potent her powers of manipulation were. It was a way of saying 'don't mess with me. I can make this worse.'

The four fillies continued to go on about how cool and nice Spitfire was, until they approached Soarin, who just stared vacantly, as if he were an empty husk drained of vital essence. 

Apple Bloom tugged at him, but he didn't respond. "Mr Soarin?" She said. "You okay?"

Soarin didn't respond. It was as if he was catatonic. 

"Mr Soarin?"

Silver Spoon looked at him sideways and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.  "Hey there, future hubby." 

Again, no response.

"What's wrong with him?" Sweetie Belle asked.

"Not enough protein in his diet, perhaps?" Guessed Scootaloo. "Rainbow Dash told me that can mess with your reaction timing."

Applebloom thought for a moment, then brightened as an idea came to her. She dug through her book bag and pulled out her potion manual, then flipped the pages until she came to her book mark. She ran up to Soarin and held it out for him to see, but he didn't look. "Mr Soarin, you know you were tellin' me 'bout how ya can't remember last nights events? Well, Ah might'a found a way to help you with—"

"Alone..." Soarin said under his breath, gathering the newspaper off the ground so that the little ones couldn't see it and bare witness to his shame.

"What was that now?" Apple Bloom asked, setting her book down.

"Alone... I want to be alone." With a blank look, Soarin turned, shuffled to a corner of his barn, curled up, and it was there he laid, completely unresponsive to the fillies' efforts to communicate with him.

After almost a half hours of trying, Apple Bloom finally said, "Ah think we better leave him alone for now, girls... He'll talk to us when he's ready."

"But what's wrong with him?" demanded Silver Spoon. "I can't have a vegetable as a husband!"

"Knock that off!" Scootaloo barked. "Let's just do as Apple Bloom says. I don't think we're going to get anything else out of him."

the fillies groaned reluctantly in agreement. Soarin could hear them scampering away, but he suddenly felt his blanket draping over him. He turned, curious, and he saw Silver Spoon smiling at him. It was an act of kindness. Something that was so foreign to him. "...Thanks, kid..." He managed.

She blushed before turning and scurrying away to catch up with the others.

Soarin waited until he heard the door close. He looked back to insure no one was around. Satisfied that no one was there or near, he wrapped his arms round himself and curled into a fetal position. The newspaper with that detestable article plastered across it lay only a few inches from him, face up, as if to mock him. His identity, his team, his friend, his dignity, his reputation, everything gone. Soon enough he wouldn't even have his job anymore. He would have nothing. Soarin's grip over his chest tightened. A strange, insecure feeling came over him. He felt like a ghost, like he had nothing or no one that could validate his existence. He felt like he had no anchors to this world, like he could just float off from the plane of existence at any moment. The abandonment he felt was like a weight in his chest. But it wasn't abandonment. It felt more like he was forsaken. 
> A hard night's work
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The inside of Soarin's barn had begun its transition from a run down shack - to its macabre form that it maintained in the twilight hours. Dusty beams of light from the waning sun bled through the cracks of the hovel, elongating the shadows of the objects within, giving their silhouetted forms a rather sinister appearance. A cool breeze shifted the building slightly, jostling the rusted chains hanging from the rafters, which clanked in cadence along with the structure's groaning wood. The scythe and hedge scissors hanging on rusted nails tapped unstintingly against the wall every time the wind blew, adding to the eldritch symphony. Soarin stared morosely into the corner and listened to the odd sounds his dilapidated building made as he reflected on his life.           

His emotions went through stages as he laid there: It started with depression, then went to self pity, then turned to anger, and eventually grew into hatred. He hated Wave Chill. He hated Spitfire. And above all else, Soarin hated himself. Ultimately, the one who was truly at fault was he. He could have stood up for himself a little more. He could have tried a little harder during his practice sessions with his team, which might have aided him in avoiding the situation in which he now found himself. He sighed despairingly. He could have done this. He could have done that. But what was, simply was; there was no getting around it. 

The crestfallen Pegasus' ear twitched when he heard a bell in the distance. Granny Smith's voice could be heard from across the pasture. 

"Come and get it, everypony! Soup's on!"          	

Soarin uncurled from the corner and, with a sigh, he forced himself onto his hoofs. He didn't want to be late for his termination. In a way, he couldn't wait for it to be over and done with. Whether the whole family was going to be in on firing him, or if it was just going to be Applejack telling him off, it didn't matter. It wasn't like he expected anyone to step in and defend him. 

He started toward the door, but a sudden, unexpected knock made him freeze in place. Was spitfire back to emasculate him some more? The first series of knocks was proceeded by another. The perturbed stallion swallowed as he steeled himself, attempting to maintain whatever ounce of shallow pride he may have still possessed. "C-come in..."

The door creaked open, and a freckle-pocked face peaked out at him from its border. Soarin felt uneasy as those familiar emerald eyes fell upon him. "Hey there, cowboy." Applejack smiled shyly. "Yer lookin' a bit lonely in here all by yerself."

Cowboy? Soarin thought. What's this deceitful little mare up to? 

When Applejack pushed the door open and entered the building, Soarin noticed a basket hanging from her neck.  "Ah figured that uh..." She smiled timidly, blushing as she stroked the back of her head. "Okay, know what? Let me start over." The farmer cleared her throat. "So, this morning..."

Soarin tilted his head in an inquisitive manner. "This morning?"

"Uh, Ah just wanted to apologize for this morning. You were obviously in a bad mood, and Ah wouldn't stop naggin' you. Ah'm sorry 'bout that. Braeburn told me that somethin' seems to be bothering you, so Ah figured we could talk about it over dinner..." She paused to rub her leg with a hoof, a coy little smile gracing her face as she dipped her head and glanced up at him through her golden bangs. "Just the two of us?"  

Soarin glared at her, vexed by her cutsie demeanor. This coy behavior of her's would have normally charmed him, but he saw through her charade. His best friend had just abandoned him, the media was publicly spurning him, and his former captain had all but castrated him. He was not about to let this backwoods hick make a fool of him, too!

"Ah even baked you a fresh apple pie... Y-you still like mah pies, don't ya?" 

Applejack tried to smile, but her expression dimmed into awkward confusion when the stallion would only reply with a silent glare. "S-sugarcube, what's wrong?" She set the basket down and approached him with a worried look on her face. 

"Nothing that's any of your concern," Soarin replied, a cold resentment in his tone. "Why don't you just do what you came here to do, so I can get the hell out of here!" He scowled at her venomously. That look of confusion and innocence on her face worsened his mood. If only she was aware of how much he knew. "Well? Are you going to fire me? We both know I don't belong here, so get on it with it, already!" 

"You don't belong here?" Applejack's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Her mouth twitched several times, as if she didn't even know what to ask first. "Soarin," she finally managed, "yer as good as family 'round here. Remember last night? Where's your hat?"

"My... hat?" Now it was Soarin's turn to be perplexed. A hat? He never wore hats.

Applejack swiveled her head and scanned her eyes around the barn. Finally she noticed the old scarecrow's hat in the corner where Soarin had tossed it that morning. She retrieved it and approached him. "Last night," she hinted as she offered the mangy old accessory to him. "Don't ya remember?" 

The baffled stallion, not knowing what to make of the situation, and already in a state of grief, shot a vicious warning glare at her. He didn't know what she was getting at, or what game she was trying to play, but he was well beyond pissed off now. She could at least treat him with some dignity. 

The farmer lifted the hat to set it on his head.

Soarin's temper finally piqued. "I don't want that filthy thing on my head!" With a quick swing, he smacked the hat out of her hoof, sending it hurling into the wall. 

Applejack backed away from him, green eyes wide and watering with dismay. "Are you some kinda mental case!" She demanded in a strained voice.

"Yes! Yes, I am! And it's ponies like you that have made me this way!"

"Ponies like me?"

"Ponies like you!" The ill-tempered stallion jabbed a hoof in her direction. "You selfish, backbiting, two-faced liar! And stop looking at me like you don't know what I'm talking about! It's not enough that my life has been completely ruined, but now you have to come around and mock me?"

The mare's face - while meek and startled at first - began to burn with outrage at Soarin's accusation. "Ain't no one mocking you but the voices in yer head, you paranoid schizophrenic! And how dare you accuse me of being a liar! Ah'm the very essence of honesty, ya hear?" 

"Hearing you go on about honesty," Soarin chuckled sardonically, a contemptuous hoof over his face. "It's like a whore preaching the virtues of chastity!"    

Applejack's face displayed an array of emotions: Shock, hurt, anger, confusion. Finally she scowled and shoved Soarin back with a surprising amount of force that nearly sent him reeling off his hooves. He found himself having to rear up with his hind legs and counter balance the backwards momentum with his wings to keep from toppling backwards. 

"You want me to fire you? Fine! You're fired! Get the hell off mah property!" The inconsolably furious mare's golden hair whipped as she spun around and stomped her way out of the barn, slamming the door so hard on her way out that the entire building shook.  

Soarin stood there, glaring at the door for - he didn't know how long. The dark of night had swallowed the farm by the time he finally moved. He thought he'd feel victorious for once. He resisted Applejack's charms and told her off. But no, he felt worse than before. He rationalized with himself over and over again that he didn't do anything wrong. She was just a liar, and a good actor. She planned it all to happen this way! All she had to do was push; and push; and push, until he finally snapped, so that she could make him out to look like the bad guy in all of this... That had to be it...

Nothing worked, no matter how hard he tried to reason with himself. He felt even worse than before. He examined the basket on the ground. Applejack seemed to have forgotten about it in her fit. Moving slowly, Soarin approached it and lifted the lid. Inside of the wicker container was a feast for two: a freshly baked apple pie, two barbecued ears of corn, containers filled with baked beans and mashed potatoes. There was a tin of cornbread, and a thermos full of piping hot tomato soup, and a six pack of Red Buffalo, which just happened to be Soarin's favorite ale. The delicious feast was enough to make Soarin's mouth water. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. "Did she make all of this for me? Why?" Soarin was flabbergasted. Why would she go through the trouble? She hated him. She wanted him gone. She didn't want him anywhere near her. Those were her exact words.  

It didn't make sense. Where was the payoff to all of this? Where was the punchline? He knew what he heard that morning. He disgusted her. Soarin couldn't make heads or tails out of anything. Maybe he really was becoming a mental case. No, that couldn't have been it. One who is truly crazy doesn't perceive themselves to be crazy, do they?

Soarin's head ached unmercifully as he attempted to unravel the quandary. He puzzled, and puzzled, but to no avail. His thoughts eventually turned back to his day - how he had lost everything. He no longer had a job, a reputation, or even a friend. There was nothing to do now but leave, perhaps change his name and wander Equestria. There was nothing else he could do. He espied the beer within the basket, and sighed forlornly. "A few for the road." Soarin groaned. "Why the hell not?"      





Three beers now gone, and the headache began to subside. Soarin knocked back another, emptying the glass vessel's contents with several deep gulps, not even bothering to taste or savor the thick bold body of his favorite beverage. His head buzzed pleasantly as his blood thinned. Just two more to go, then he'd leave. The Apples had yet to pay him for his work, so he decided that this would be his fee. It wasn't like he needed their money anyway. They were behind on their harvest. They needed every bit they could scrounge. Soarin didn't know why he cared about them, but he did. Perhaps it was the alcohol that fueled his sympathy.

Soarin grabbed another bottle and wedged the edge of the cap between the slats of the table, prying it off. Just as he was about to down it, he could hear the hinges of his door wailing. He didn't care who it was. Being polite or accepted by anyone was no longer a concern of his. "Piss off!" He warned, not bothering to know who his visitor was.

"Are you drunk again?"

Soarin dropped the bottle and turned around to see that little red-headed filly standing in the doorway, those amber eyes reflecting the glow of the lantern like shimmering opals. As intoxicated as the stallion was, he couldn't bring himself to take his animosity out on her. He took a breath to correct his tone and said, "kid, what are you doing here? It's getting late. You have school tomorrow, don't you?"

"Ah wanted to give ya somethin'," replied the filly.

Soarin chuckled. "I don't need anything."

"But Ah want to pay you back for gettin' me to school this morning."

"I don't want anything. Just consider the ride to school a freebee, alright?"

"But Ah broke mah back gathering the ingredients!"

"Ingredients?"

The filly nodded as she approached the inebriated stallion. That was when he noticed the satchel slung around her shoulder. "Ingredients," she confirmed. "After school, Ah came here to show you a potion Ah found in the book Ah borrowed from Twilight, but you wouldn't even look at it."

Soarin reached for his last beer. "This is the only potion I need right now, kid."

Apple Bloom hopped up on the table and took it from him. "No, you don't need this. You look like you had enough."

Soarin rested his face on his hooves with a look of amusement, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Oh yeah? Then tell me, little one - what do I need?"

The filly scrunched her face up in revulsion. "You could start with a breath mint."

Soarin snorted. "Quick with that wit, kid. Don't ever lose that sharp tongue of yours. Now, seriously, give me my drink back." 

"Ah'll give it to ya upside yer head if you don't pull it out of yer butt and listen to me."

The Pegasus rolled his eyes impatiently. "Okay, fine. I'm listening. What is it?"

"As Ah was saying," the filly continued, "since you was in yer weird little funk, Ah took it upon mahself to search around town for the recipe ah needed for a special concoction. Ah had to stop at the herbal supply store, Ah had to scour Granny's spice rack, Ah even had to walk all the way out to Zecora's hut in the Everfree forest for some of the less ubiquitous items Ah required."

"Okay, I'll bite. You called it a concoction? What's this 'concoction' of yours?" Soarin asked, eager to get back to his bottle.

"Ah was gettin' to that!" Apple Bloom snapped. "It's the potion Ah was tryin' to show you earlier. You told me this morning that you couldn't remember what happened last night. It just so happens that Ah found a potion in mah book that's used to treat amnesia. Just one little sip, and it stimulates the section of your brain that retains short term memories."

"I'd rather stimulate my brain with alcohol," Soarin quipped dryly.

Apple Bloom, rolling her eyes, dug through her satchel and produced a vial of radiant purple fluid that glowed as brightly as the lantern on the table, its surface effervescing with lavender froth. "look, Ah went through a lot of trouble to make this for you. Just take it."

Soarin sighed. "I don't even think I want to remember what happened... It's not like it even matters anymore."

"Why not?"

"It just doesn't."

"Ah will not accept that answer. You were hounding me this morning for clues as to what may have happened between you and mah sister, now you just suddenly don't care? Explain!"       

"It's a long story. I don't want
30e37
to get into it, now give me my beer back." The Pegasus reached to reclaim the bottle from the filly's grasp, but she whacked Soarin over his hoof with it, causing him to withdrawal in surprise. "What'd you do that for, you little brat?" Soarin glared at her, rubbing his bruised hoof.

"Ah ain't givin' you yer poison back 'til you tell me what's goin' on with you!"

"Why are you acting like you care?"

"Because Ah do care! Ah like you, Soarin; you're a cool guy."

"Kid, that's really sweet of you, but after I finish my drink, I'm out of here. You, nor anyone else around here will ever see me again." Soarin reached for the bottle again, but Apple Bloom pulled it away.

"Where are you going?" She inquired, a hint of desperation in her tone. "Why do you want to leave?"

"Don't worry about it." Once again, Soarin reached out for his bottle, and once again, Apple Bloom struck him.

"Stop hitting me!"

"Mister Soarin, please tell me what's goin' on with you."

"Oh, so now you're back to calling me 'mister' after flogging me with a bottle?"

The filly sighed as she set the vessel down on the table. "Go ahead and take it, alright? But Ah just want to help you. Can we at least compromise? You got your beer, now you tell me what's going on. Help me help you."

Without giving it another thought, Soarin swiped the bottle and wrenched the cap off. Just as he had brought the neck up to his lips, he looked down at those pitiful amber eyes. His conscience got the better of him. That little girl's eyes were like siege weapons designed to batter down the walls of any and all resistance. He set the bottle down. "I'll give you the short version, kid," he began with a reluctant sigh. "It's pretty much like this: I was looking forward to working here, to having a new start. I thought my life was going to begin all anew. But no. My problems from my past life just keep piling up on me. And as for why I'm leaving - your sister fired me."

The filly's face flared with disbelief. "No way!"

"Way."

"Why? You must have done somethin' real bad."    

"Yeah, I'm thinking that thing I must have done that was 'real bad' must have happened last night. I know this, because I just happened to stumble upon a conversation AJ was having with Braeurn when I got back from taking you to school."

Apple Bloom cocked her head to the side, beaming at the stallion with a suspicious sideways glance. "What kinda things did they say?"

"Said a rich city boy like me doesn't belong here. Said something about how I'm always accosting her, undressing her with my eyes, looking at her like she's a piece of salt lick. Breaburn even offered to ruff me up and chase me off the property for her, but she said she'd rather handle it herself. I walked in on the middle of this little conversation they were having, and then, they were suddenly nothing but smiles and honey, like they were both so glad to see me... Makes me sick!" Soarin spat. "Two faced backbiters!"

"Hey, now you stop that! You talk about mah sister or mah cousin like that one more time, and Ah'll knock ya stupider than ya already are, hear?"

"It's so cute how you blindly defend them," Soarin remarked, his lip curling in a sarcastic sneer.

"Ah will defend them! Ah'll defend them 'til the bitter end! And Ah'm tellin' you straight up that they wouldn't do that. Both Brae and AJ are the types who will let you know to your face if they have an issue with you!"    

"So, you're calling me a liar?"

"Ah ain't callin' you a liar, Soarin! Maybe you didn't hear em right?" Apple Bloom scratched her chin pensively. "Either that, or they were talkin' about that other rich city boy who's been skulking around here... Ah saw him following mah sister around with his head all full of puppy dog eyes - it was when Ah was lookin' around for you earlier; Applejack did not seem to like that boy one bit."

"Other rich city boy?" Soarin quarried, his intoxicated mind working slowly to fit the pieces of the puzzle. "There's another 'rich city boy' around here?"         

"Yeah," the little Apple nodded. "He's some sort of famous, hotshot traveling journalist. Miss Rarity's been goin' on and on about him for weeks now. Ah doubt she's happy about her crush wanting to spend all his time with AJ. And all AJ wants is to be left alone by both of em." The filly smirked. "Makes for juicy gossip, huh?"  

Sections of the conversation between Applejack and Braeburn came to memory with the filly's information: "Rarity's been runnin' me ragged, too, as if it was mah fault that preppy little city boy's been drooling over me. She won't leave me alone! If you want em, you can have em - Ah sure as shoot don't want him! Ah don't want him on the farm, and Ah damn sure don't want him around me!" 

Soarin turned pale as the pieces of the puzzle began to fit in place, slowly coming into completion of his self-portrait as an incorrigible jackass. "This other rich city boy you're speaking of... What's his name?"

"Slenderhoof, or somethin' like that," Apple Bloom shrugged.

"You mean Trenderhoof?"

"Yeah, that's it. Sweet guy, but the way he was staring at mah sister was a bit creepy. He was lookin' at her like she was..." The filly's eyes glanced upward as she thought of an appropriate analogy.

"A piece of salt lick." Soarin facehoofed and collapsed back into his seat. "Pony feathering Luna on a bucking cracker!"

The filly jumped, startled by the obscene outburst. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm an idiot!" 

"Hey, yer not an idiot! Okay, you was a bit quick to jump to conclusions, but that don't make you—"

"I called AJ a two-faced, back biting liar." Soarin hung his head and covered his face, shamed by his own actions. "And then, I compared her declarations of honesty to that of a whore preaching virtue..." 

Apple Bloom's mouth formed an O, her eyes aghast. "Mister Soarin!"

Soarin grimaced woefully at the basket on the table. "She actually was being kind to me, wasn't she? This morning - Applejack said she wanted to talk me about something over dinner. She vaguely mentioned something about the Ponyville day celebration. If she wasn't planning to fire me, what then was she wanting to talk to me about?" Soarin turned and eyed the hat that he had knocked out of Applejack's hoof. She referred to it as his hat before asking him if he remembered... Remembered what exactly? The flummoxed stallion was becoming more confused by the second. Mystery after mystery continued to bombard him until his eye caught that glowing vial of purple fluid on the table. "What the hell happened last night?" He thought out loud.

"Only one way to find out, Ah guess," Apple Bloom replied before collecting the potion with a defiant look on her face. "But Ah ain't letting you have this potion now. Not until you promise to apologize to mah sister!"        

"Would you forgive me if you were her?"

"It's hard to say. Those are some rotten things you said. Ah can't believe you'd just blindside her like that!"

Chagrined, Soarin hung his head. "I'll tell her I'm sorry. I don't know if she'll accept my apology, but I'll tell her."

"Good boy," the filly said, and offered the potion with an extended hoof. 

Soarin stared at it indecisively. Did it even matter if he remembered? His life at this farm was over. What was the point?

Apple Bloom impatiently shook the glass vial around, swashing the fluid inside. "Do you want it, or not?"

The stallion's eyes narrowed in determination. He decided then that had to find out what happened. The mystery would haunt him for the rest of his life if he didn't. He accepted the vial and uncorked it with a pop. The fluid tasted so awful, It took several attempts to swallow it down. The retched flavor was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"You don't find the taste to your liking?" Asked Apple Bloom.

"I was kinda hoping it would taste like grape," groused Soarin, scrunching his face as the foul aftertaste continued the assault on his senses.         

"Yeah, potions never taste good."

Soarin waited for something to happen. Was he just going to suddenly remember everything? He wasn't exactly privy to the ways of magic or science, so he didn't know what to expect.  After only a brief interval, a debilitating pain took him. The stallion doubled over on the table and panted. It felt like someone was reaching inside of his skull and molding his brain like wet clay. That's when all of his memories began to return. Soarin held his head with his hooves, as if to keep it from splitting apart. One after the other, events from the night before flowed into his mind, diminishing his amnesia. His vision blackened when the memory in its entirety returned to him - just as vividly as if he had experienced it stone cold sober.      



                    

Applejack sat back on her haunches only inches away from Soarin. Her face was so close to his that he could smell her breath. It was warm, and had a sweetness to it, like a festive mug of hot autumn cider. 

"Sugarcube," she purred with a seductive grin, her tone like honey dripping from her lips. "You. Promised. Me. A. Dance." 

Soarin found himself straining to see through the drunken haze that was his vision. "You..." He paused briefly as he hiccuped. "You... Why'd you come here? Yer not... At the party, how come not?"        

The mare leaned back and held her nose. It never ceased to amaze Soarin how his breath, when inebriated, could bring any romantic moment to a screeching halt. "Had a few drinks, Ah reckon?" She inquired.

Soarin covered his face like a bashful child and nodded with a smile of drunken idiocy.

Applejack's smile quickly dimmed into a disappointed frown. "Oh... So, Ah guess the dance is off, then?"

"Hey, I still got moves for days!" Soarin attempted a demonstration. Not even he knew what move from his repertoire he was trying to demonstrate, but he tried his damnedest to demonstrate it - which resulted in him falling face first on the ground. "How come you trip me?" He hiccuped. 

"Sugarcube, Ah didn't trip you. And you should probably get to bed." Applejack turned him over and lifted his head up with a hoof. "You gonna be okay?" she asked concernedly. "You don't look so well. What exactly did you drink?"

"The whishky in the bottle. Not taste so good, but hey, 'least it doesn't taste good."

"The whisky in the bottle?" Applejack turned her head and eyed Breaburn's bottle laying empty next to the wine container. "Sugar, that ain't whisky. That was moonshine!"

Soarin let out a belch. "I thought it tashted a bit shiny."

"You drank the whole dang bottle?" The farmer's voice became frantic. "We need to get you to a hospital!"

"I didn't drink the whole bottle, I only had one glass. Rest of it's in the bucket with the wine," Soarin explained. 

Applejack's face relaxed as a sigh of relief escaped her. "Oh, well good. Still though, moonshine's strong stuff. You should be more careful with your health."

"Ah, nopony cares 'bout my health. Not even me," Soarin chuckled.

The farmer stared at him, not sure what to make of his statement. "Hey, why do you think that? Ah'm sure you got family out there that cares about you."

Soarin snorted, restraining another laugh. "Wonderbolts were the closest thing to family I ever had. Ain't got no family now, sweet heart. So it's okay if I die."

"Hey, now don't go sayin' things like that! Is that why you got so drunk? Is it 'cause what that Spitfire lady said upset you?"

"She was simply stating the truth. I have no family. Families are... Well, I don't really know. Never had a real one. But they seem like they would be annoying to have. Always wanting to know where you are, how you're doing, caring about wheter you're alive or dead. All seems rather bothersome, if you'd ask me."

Applejack looked on him with sympathy. The way he was so blatantly trying to mask his pain was heartbreaking. "Hey, you know, if you're gonna be livin' here, yer just as good as family, so don't go around thinking you don't have anyone who cares for you." Her sad expression brightened into a smile as an idea came to her. Applejack gently laid the stallion's head down and turned to approach the scarecrow in the corner. After retrieving its hat she returned to the indisposed Soarin, lifted him up again, and set the hat on his head. "There," she smiled. "If you're gonna be an Apple, you might as well look the part."  

"Why would you want me in your family?" Soarin groaned. "I'm kind of a screw up. I do nothin' but let everyone down. And I'm a screw up. Did I mention that? Also, I'm a screw up."

"A screw up?" AJ chuckled. "You was a lot of things when you made that fancy entrance on that stage, and a screw up wasn't one of em. You were wild, dangerous, exciting and fearless. The way you did all that just for Rainbow Dash's birthday party... It was so amazingly sweet of you! And Ah can't get over how cool you looked when you flew out of that explosion like a bat out of hell! Sugar, you were like a beast on wings! You - you were just amazing! You are the last pony Ah would call a screw up. " The mare's eyes were wild and exuberant as she recalled the aerial stunt. She almost looked like she was out of breath just from describing it.

Soarin tipped the brim of his hat upward and slurred, "I'm glad you liked the trick. Is that why you wanted to dance with me?"  

"Well..." The mare's emerald eyes darted away to avoid the awkward eye contact. "Ah just wanted to get to ya before some other mare could snatch you away. You did promise me a dance after all..." 

"I don't recall promising you a dance," Soarin mumbled drunkenly. "It was payment for the flight suit, wasn't it?"

"Hey, a deal is the same as a promise, so basically, you did in fact promise me that dance. What, you don't wanna dance with me no more?"  

"I didn't say that!" Soarin said defensively. "I was the one that wanted the dance in the first place, 'member?"

Applejack's mouth twitched with an amused smirk. "Out of anything you could have asked for - why exactly did you want a dance with me?"

"I dunno," Soarin smirked coyly. "Probably because a dance would be the perfect excuse to have my arms around you. You know, I was gonna quit this job after the first day, but then I saw you - lookin' all hot and stuff. Made me want to stay. Wanted to be around your hotness some more..." Soarin hiccuped again. "Did I mention that you're incredibly beautiful? And your voice is like audible sunshine..? And you're hot."

A look of embarrassment and surprise spread across the mare's face, which was practically incandescent upon hearing the stallion's declaration. "Oh," she said. "Th-thanks. Ah'm real glad y'all decided to stay." 

Soarin sighed. "It's a shame I won't get that dance."  

"You know, the Ponyville day celebration is coming up in a few days," Applejack stated nervously. She hesitated before speaking again. "I-If you want to dance with me so bad, maybe you can be mah date for..." Her words trailed off when a sharp breath of air escaped through Soarin's lips. His head sagged back, and his hat fell from his head. 

"Sugarcube, you okay?" 

The incapacitated stallion's voice came in a weak whisper. "Just... Tired..." 

"You know what? We'll talk about this tomorrow. You need some rest. Let me get yer blanket for ya."

Darkness engulfed Soarin's vision as he felt a warm hoof gently caress his face. He could feel a pair of lips brushing his ear. The sweet trill of her voice was just as gentle as any lullaby, like a mellifluous note that ferried him to his dreams.

"Sweet dreams, cowboy."    





Soarin's eyes fluttered open as he came to. He lifted his head off the table and groaned.

"Are ya alright?" Apple Bloom asked, standing in the exact same place she had been when Soarin blacked out.

"Yeah. How long was I out?"

"Out? Yer eyes were only closed for a couple seconds."

"Oh." Soarin looked around the barn and noticed that hat he had disregarded with such disdain. 

"Are you feeling okay?"                    

"Yeah, I just..." Soarin began to answer her, but his thoughts escaped him as he got up to retrieve his hat. He brought it back the table with him and just stared at it, his eyes moist with sorrow and regret. "I can't believe I said all those things to her. She was so kind to me. She even went as far as to tell me I was family. I don't understand how she could just accept me like that. I'm a stranger here. I'm not even an earth pony. The only thing I've managed to do thus far is return her kindness with suspicion and scorn."

Apple Bloom looked curiously at the hat and offered, "You don't have to be flesh and blood to be family."

Soarin rotated the hat and caressed the edge of the brim with his hoof. "Then, what is family?"    

"Well, Granny always told me that family is both the most precious thing you could have, and the worst thing to lose."

The thoughtful Pegasus placed the hat on his head and adjusted it. He was surprised by how well it fit. "But what if it's something you never had in the first place?"

The filly shrugged. "It's something you could always gain, Ah guess. A relative is someone you're merely related to, but family can be anyone who's willing to love you unconditionally - and support you even during the worst of times."

Soarin sighed, removed the hat from his head, and looked at it as if it were a precious treasure. "Kid, there would have been a time when I would have heard those words and disregarded them as a load of mawkish, cloying nonsense. You know, the kind of sugary shit that gets printed on a cheap greeting cards? But I think I'm starting to understand. Family." He set the hat back on his head and, with his lantern in hoof, he strode to an old antique mirror that was propped up against a wall. He wiped away the surface of dust with a few strokes of his leg and examined the stallion in the mirror.

The hat was worn and beaten, shabby, torn, and faded. Strangely enough, Soarin liked it. Its blemishes gave it character. He had cast it aside without so much as giving it  second glance, even abused it on a few occasions, and yet, it fit him perfectly, as if it had been made just for him.      

Apple Bloom eyed him inquisitively. "Is that the scarecrow's hat?"

"Nope," Soarin smiled at the rugged appearance his hat gave him. "It's mine."   

"Huh," the redhead mused, "It actually looks kinda good on ya. Gives ya a bit of a roguish appeal."

"You think so?" Soarin gazed once more into his reflection and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Roguish," he said to himself. "I like it. This hat and I understand each other, I think. It speaks for me just as well as I can speak for it. It's not only an accessory, but my own personal metaphor." He removed the hat and balanced the brim on his hoof. "And it's a precious token, given to me by none other than..." Soarin found himself struggling just to get her name past the solid lump in his throat. "Applejack..." A cramp gnawed at his belly as he said her name. He could feel a feverish desire consuming him. Soarin set the hat back on his head, the mirror in front of him informing him of how red his face was becoming.             

"Why did Applejack give you that dirty old hat?" Apple Bloom asked.

"It's a long story," offered Soarin. "I need to see her. I need to apologize. I can't believe how stupid I've been this whole time! I've done nothing but complain, and whine, and mope around." He turned and approached the door, clad in his new accessory, armed with new-found confidence. "My life isn't going to improve simply because I wish it to. It's about time I stop acting like a victim and grow a freaking pair already!"

"Hey, don't leave me in this creepy place all alone!" Apple Bloom exclaimed before hopping down from the table and following the stallion outside. Once she had caught up to him, walking at a brisk pace, she asked, "what are you gonna say to her?"

"I'm going to tell her I'm sorry, and then I'm going to prostrate myself before her and grovel for the honor of being her escort for the Ponyville day celebration."

"What? You? Date mah sister?"

"You say that like there's something wrong with it."

"It's not wrong, it's just weird. Yer a Wonderbolt. Yer supposed to date celebrities and super models and what not."

"I'm not a Wonderbolt. I'm a farmer. I'm a ranch hand. I'm no longer the pitiful, self-deprecating excuse for a stallion I was only moments ago. As far as I'm concerned, that Soarin is dead. I killed him!"

"You mind filling me in on why you've decided to make such a dramatic change?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Does it have something to do with last night?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Stop saying that!"

"Stop asking then."

When the two arrived before the house, Soarin gestured to the second story windows and asked, "so, which one is your sister's?"

"It'd be the one on the right if yer facing it from the the barn. Mah brother's room is the next one over."

"Thanks, kid." Soarin unfurled his wings and hovered over the ground. "You should head on inside. You have school tomorrow."

"No way," the filly rebelled. "Ah gotta see what happens. Ah wanna see how this 'new an' improved' Soarin handles himself in a situation like this."

"You'll find out tomorrow."

"And how will Ah do that?"

"Whether I'm here or not should be a good indication of what transpired."

"But Ah wanna see!"

"No, this is going to be awkward enough without feeling your eyes on me. Can't you just do this as a favor for me? Please?" 

"Oh, alright," the filly sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Just one more thing," Soarin said with a smile. "You've done more for me than you could possibly know. Thanks for the potion. That's quite an aptitude you have there. I know it's a little early to be thinking of this, but, If you ever seek to broaden your horizons and further your education in your craft - say - college?"

At this, the filly's ears twitched. She gawked at the stallion as if she wasn't sure she heard him correctly. "College? Me?"  

"And why not? You're a brilliant young mind. It's the least I can do to repay you. Consider all your expenses paid: housing, books, tuition, the whole package. Whatever school you wish to attend." 

Apple Bloom's eyes brightened with excitement. "E-even The Starswirl Academy in Trodingham?"

Soarin laughed. "You got some years ahead of you to plan for which school you'd like to attend. But sure, if you'd like to go abroad, I'll make it happen."

"You're actually going to do this for me?" The filly asked incredulously. "How?"

"Wonderbolt," was Soarin's vague answer.

"But you ain't a Wonderbolt no more! How are you gonna afford—"

"Kid, don't worry about it. Just trust me."

"But what if you end up leaving?"

"I said don't worry about it. Now, run along." Soarin pivoted in the air and faced Applejack's window, but before he could approach, he felt himself taking on the filly's additional weight when she leaped and threw her arms around him.

"Ah can't believe this!" The ecstatic filly exclaimed. "Ah'm gonna be the first in mah family to attend college!"

Soarin winced at the filly's vociferous display of gratitude. "Kid, be quite! AJ will hear you, and I haven't even thought of what I'm going to say to—" he froze when he heard the clatter of Applejack's bedroom window flying open.

"What the hay'r y'all doin' outside mah window at this time o' night!"

"Crap..." Soarin looked up to see Applejack's disapproving gaze cast down upon him. 

"Apple Bloom, you best get inside! It's way passed yer curfew, young lady!" The irate mare then pointed a hoof at Soarin. "And you!" She barked. "Ah thought Ah told you to scram, you barb-tongued, snake-eyed, cold-hearted cretinous varmint!"

Soarin flinched at the farmer's harsh words, but he knew full well he deserved them and more. He became lighter when Apple Bloom released him and fled toward the door. "Good luck, mister Soarin!" she tossed over her shoulder before entering the house.

Applejack was about to slam her window closed, but Soarin sped toward her and managed to hook a leg under the frame. "Applejack, I need to talk to y—"

"No! Ah tried talkin' to you, and we all now how well that worked!" The furious mare tried to force the window down, but Soarin held it open. It took all of his power to do so. He couldn't help but marvel at the brawn of this mare, who was merely half his size.

"Please!" He grunted through his clenched teeth. "Just listen to me. Five seconds. that's all. If you could grant me just this one boon!" His arms shook violently against the window frame. Every second was taxing to him, and he felt like his strength could fail him at any second.                                                                                             

The mare finally let the window go and huffed, her face red from the exertion. Soarin couldn't be sure if she was granting him the time he was pleading for, or if she had simply given up on trying to over power him. "Five seconds," she managed through her labored breathing. "That's all you get."

Even with her face red, her eyes burning with fury, she was beautiful. Soarin gazed at her, catching his breath. He really wished he had more time to rehearse what he was going to say to her. His new found affection for her burned with an overwhelming force, leaving him bereft of words. Just looking into those furious emeralds kindled his passion in a way that no mare ever could.

"What is it already!" She barked impatiently.

"I... I..." Soarin trembled. He couldn't speak. Where was all that confidence he had a while ago? "Applejack... I'm — I can't even begin to — I'm so — it was a misunderstanding. I — please. I'm sorry. Those things I sad. I didn't mean them. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Sorry 'bout what, exactly?" Applejack asked. "The part about throwing mah kindness back in mah face? Callin' me a liar? Or the part when you called me a whore?" There was a weakness in her eyes then - a chink in the armor of rage she set up about herself that allowed a single tear drop through. That was the part that hurt Soarin the most. It made the stallion panic. Just making her angry wasn't enough, but he had to make her cry, too?

"I never called you a whore!" He insisted. "I just - kinda - compared you to one..." He bit down on his lip, regretting the statement.  

The mare's expression heated with renewed outrage. "So what? You thought you'd just come here, wearing that hat, thinking you was gonna charm me into forgetting those things you said? Yer five seconds are up, cowboy!" She scowled fiercely as she slammed the window and drew the curtains. 

Not knowing what else to do, the desperate stallion placed his hooves on the window and rested his forehead against the glass, which pushed the brim of his hat down and concealed his eyes. "Applejack, please. Tell me what I need to do. I'll do anything to make you forgive me." The solid lump forming in his throat was making it harder for him to speak without sobbing. He resisted the urge to bang on the window until she opened it again. That would only infuriate her further. 

After a few minutes had passed, he finally sighed and descended to the ground below, twisting around and landing with his back against the wall. He sat with his head down, his hat obscuring his face as he considered his options. He couldn't just give up. This was the one thing he refused to let defeat him. The old him would have been in hotel room by now, drinking and sulking himself to sleep. But not this time. There had to be a way through this.

Soarin pulled his tears back, and he relaxed so he could brainstorm more effectively.

perhaps, he thought, I could buy her a diamond. A big, red diamond, as large as an apple... No, a giant ruby cut in the shape of an apple, with an emerald leaf attached to a platinum stem. Soarin liked the idea at first, but he dismissed it after he had considered the kind of girl Applejack was. She didn't seem to value shiny, overpriced trifles in the way that the shallow mares he had dated would. Applejack valued practical things like tools and equipment, but he couldn't just buy her a shovel or a wrench. That would be weird. 

He removed his hat and ran a hoof through his shaggy mane. Think, think, think. What does Applejack value above all else? What would she appreciate more than anything? Soarin sighed and lifted his head. He gazed out at the orchards - that seemingly endless ocean of apples. A smile crept along his face as the answer came to him. She values hard work above anything else! He sprang to his hooves with a determined grin. Applejack's forgiveness was something that he would not purchased through useless pretties, or cheap words, but with the sweat of his brow. If he could harvest enough apples - a lot of apples - a ridiculous amount of apples - maybe, just maybe she'll forgive him...                                





Soarin thought of how he would go about his mission as he devoured the food from the basket. He knew that if he was going to do this kind of work, he needed needed his strength, and he was starving. The ravenous stallion consumed both portions that Applejack had brought him. He didn't even bother with cutting wedges out of the pie. He simply removed it from the pan and devoured it whole. Everything save for the soup from the thermos had turned cold. He would have preferred to eat everything while it was still fresh, but he was weak from hunger, and beggars couldn't be choosers. Soarin wiped his mouth and flushed it all down with his last beer.

With one final gulp, he set the bottle down, then stared into his lantern, pondering over how he would accomplish his job. He could try to buck the apples, but he was likely to injure himself. His fragile Pegasus bones and lack of kicking strength that the Apples had honed through years of farm labor was definitely an issue. "There has to be another way," he mused. "Simply picking the apples individually will take forever." He stroked his chin and hummed to himself. Brute physical strength was simply not his specialty. He was a Pegasus, an ex-Wonderbolt; speed and precision was what he was good at. How could he utilize that?

His eyes scanned the wall until they caught a glimpse of the the scythe's blade in the lantern light. It gave him an idea; a strange idea, but an idea none the less. 

He got up and approached the bladed implement, Inspecting it curiously as it hung from its nail. He took it from the wall and weighed it in his arms before gripping the shaft firmly, giving it an experimental swing. It swished through the air, flashing in the moonlight that peaked through the large hole overhead. "Speed and precision," he smiled as he caressed the flat side of the blade with an approving nod. The idea he had was unorthodox, but it would have to do.

With his hat on his head, the handle of the lantern in his mouth, and his scythe in his arms, Soarin sped toward the orchards, eager to apply his new idea into practice. The scythe-wielding stallion landed at the outer age of the orchard's boarder and searched around.

He picked a random tree, as any would do, and he placed the lantern at its base so that he could see what he was doing. With scythe in hoof, Soarin swung at a particularly low-hanging apple and liberated it from its stem. Careful not to butcher the tree, he swung again, and again, until he was able to cut down several apples with only one swing. 

He took his lantern and moved on to the next tree. He couldn't help but nick a branch here or there, or slice a few apples in twain, but they were acceptable losses. Besides, they'd grow back. With every reaping sweep, Soarin's precision with the blade improved. By the time the second hour was rolling around, it was as if the scythe was but an extension of his body. He poured all of his strength and focus into his labor, thinking of nothing else. By the time the third hour came, Soarin handled himself with the grace, speed and proficiency of a furious tornado of flashing blades. With only three or four revolutions, he'd stop and watch with a satisfied grin as every piece of fruit dropped and hit the ground. He laughed. This was actually kinda fun. He moved on to the next tree, then the one after that, then the one after that, until he finally realized that he had been forgetting to collect the fruit he had cut down. 

This was the part he didn't particularly care for. Soarin had to locate the wagon, hitch it, then painstakingly pull it into the orchards. Collecting the apples off the ground and filling the barrels in the heavy cart was tedious, but it had to be done. Lifting the barrels onto his back and hauling them down into the apple cellar one-by-one was the hardest part of the job. The exhausted stallion was soaked in sweat by the time he had stored the final barrel, but he refused to take a break. If he were to lay down as exhausted as he was, he wouldn't want to get back up, so he trudged on. He filled the cart with the empty barrels near the entrance to the cellar and put his scythe to use once more.

About two carts amounted to a full day's work, but after he had stored the barrels from his second load, he decided that wasn't enough. He needed to work until he couldn't work anymore. Thoughts of Applejack and his desperation to prove himself to her fueled him through the night, pushing himself beyond the physical limits of his weaker former self. Even when he took a nasty tumble down the stairs when he lost his balance, he refused the urge to lay there and rest his eyes. Soarin forced himself up to his hooves and persisted with his task. 





The rooster in the distance finally crowed, it's shrill cry bringing with it the early light of the new day. 

Soarin's blood shot eyes snapped open. He had fallen asleep some how. How long he had been resting, he couldn't be sure. He panicked. "Oh, no... No, no, no, no, no!" Any minute now, Applejack would come out and discover that he hadn't left. He doubted that he had harvested enough apples to appease her. His legs trembled violently as he was just barely able to muster enough strength to lift his weight. His head pounding, his vision blurry, and his flesh so hot, the vapor from his sweat released tendrils of blurred air, he retrieved his scythe in a desperate attempt to make up for the time he had lost sleeping. Soarin tried to fly, but his wings wouldn't lift him. They were too sore. He tried to swing the scythe out as far as he could without the need of his wings, but he only succeeded in missing his target and lopping off a branch. He grunted in frustration as he tried again, but he missed the tree entirely, and the shaft slipped from his grip, sending the blade flying into a different tree. Soarin tried to free the blade from the trunk, but he simply lacked the strength. The exhausted stallion panted and huffed as he desperately threw his body weight backwards in a vain attempt to free the embedded blade, but it was too late. He heard Applejack's voice approaching. 

"You!" Applejack exclaimed. "Did you do all of this!"

"All of... What?" Soarin panted, his spent mind too exhausted to form a coherent sentence. He squinted at her through his blurry vision.

The mare stopped when she was finally close enough for him to see. "What did you do? Have you been out here all night?"

Big Mac's voice could be heard from somewhere, but Soarin couldn't see him. "Sis, Ah did a quick run around."

Applejack turned to face him. "What did ya find?"

"Every tree for about eight acres is completely bare."

"Eight acres!" Applejack's head whipped around. She gawked at Soarin, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"Cousin," Braeburn called out, but again, Soarin was unable to see anything that wasn't right in front of him. "Ah took inventory of the cellar for ya. Every barrel and crate down there is completely full! Greenhorn, did you have somethin' to do with this?"

Both stallions came into view, eyeing Soarin incredulously along with Applejack.

Soarin's labor-induced fever cooked his brain, making him delirious. He didn't know where he was anymore. He looked all around, but he could not obtain his bearings. He began to mutter unintelligibly.   

Applejack approached, her expression impassive. "Are you okay?"

Soarin babbled once more in response before the ground came rushing up to meet him. 
> A family gained
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The whirring of a ceiling fan ushered Soarin into consciousness, its cool and gentle breeze tugging gently at his mane with the tenderness of a light autumn wind. He felt the warmth of soft fabric over his body and a pillow under his head. His chest raised when he drew in a breath through his nostrils, and he released it slowly, a hum deeply resonating within his chest as his eyes fluttered open. 

Where was he..?

The sky beyond the window adjacent to the bed he was laying in was darkening - or so Soarin thought at first. He could hear birds chirping, roosters crowing, and the impatient chorus of the livestock awaiting their breakfast. The sun wasn't going down, Soarin realized. It was rising. He must have been in the Apple family house. It only required a cursory glance of the golden strands of hair tangled within the teeth of a brush on a nearby vanity to realize who's room he was in.

Soarin's head turned, and he discovered that his hat had been deposited on a night stand. The archaic brass alarm clock standing near it ticked with a rhythmic cadence. The old time piece's report was six fifty in the morning. Soarin reached out for his hat, dismayed that his arms burned so fiercely with such minimal effort. When he was finally able to retrieve it, he laid it upon his chest and admired it like the precious treasure that it was, gently tracing its brim with his hoof with an appreciative affection. It was almost funny to him. Soarin was accustomed to riches: Lavish penthouses with views of city skylines bathing in the reds and golds of the sunset, the finest imported wines, so expensive and rare, a single barrel could break the bank of any of those fops that mingled in the VIP boxes at the Wonderbolts' shows... But this - this torn, old, faded, worn head accessory was worth more to him than anything. 

Applejack, are you still mad at me? Have I been forgiven? You couldn't be too angry with me, if you still wanted me to have this hat, could you? The fact that she gave him her own bed to rest it was yet another factor in the situation. She could have hauled him off the property in a wagon and dumped his sleeping carcass in the nearest gutter, but she didn't. She could of bludgeoned him until he woke up only to demand that he leave, but she didn't. Soarin pushed himself up with his hooves, abdomen, arms and shoulders pumping acid with the exertion. He pushed his hat up on top of his head and looked around the room once more. What Applejack could have, should have, or might have done wasn't important. What was important was what she did do. He finally decided it was time to seek some answers.

Soarin limped down the hallway leading from Applejack's room, hobbled his way down the stairs, and found himself standing in the living area. The house seemed to be vacant. "Is anyone there?" Soarin paused, awaiting a reply. A light wind moaning through the eaves of the house was the only response. "Hello...?" 

A raucous, metallic clatter followed by a string of obscene southernisms emanated from the kitchen. Soarin's ears twitched. He approached the source of the noise. When he turned the corner and pushed open the swinging doors, he saw Granny Smith leaning down to recover a frying pan from off the floor. In front of her was the kitchen sink with steam rising from the hot, soapy water bubbling within the basin. "Granny?"  

The old mare dropped the pan into the sink with a bubbly sploosh before she turned to acknowledge him with an expression that was illegible to him. Soarin's heart began to race. Did she know about the incident between him and Applejack? What would she have to say to him?

The old matron received him with a warm smile and said, "Well, butter mah butt and call me a biscuit! Look who's decided grace me with his presence: Its the winged apple-harvesting machine, himself!"

Soarin smiled uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah, that's me, I guess..."

"Sit down dear, ah saved you some breakfast." She pivoted from the sink and approached the oven. "You must be starving after what you been through."

"I, uh... Yeah, I could eat." Soarin took a seat at the table, as he was instructed. Curious, yet cautious, he inquired as he settled into the groaning wood chair, "Did, uh - I don't suppose Applejack said anything to you about last night?" It wasn't the most tactful way to go about things, Soarin knew, but he had to know, and his somnolent brain wasn't formulating any other way to approach the subject.

"Last night?" The matriarch opened the oven door and reached inside to retrieve a tinfoil-covered plate. Balancing the porcelain dish on a hoof, she turned to regard Soarin with a sympathetic smile and said, "Sugarcube, you've been in bed for two days now."

"Two days!" The stallion's eyes went wide with consternation. "Applejack. Where's she been sleeping? Where is she right now? I had her bed for two whole days?"

"Don't you worry about that, sugarcube," Granny assured. "Applejack wanted to make sure you was comfortable. She's been coming home to check on you periodically."

"What do you mean she's been coming home 'periodically?'"

"Well, she, as well of the rest of us, have been so dang busy lately with all them apples you harvested. We've been working feverishly around the clock to get them delivered while they're still fresh. Since you've been bedridden, all she's had time to do when she gets home is check on you - 'fore she'd crash her tired little self on the couch."  

"Great." Soarin's hoof met with his face as he sagged back in his chair. "I practically called her a whore for the unforgivable crime of showing me some genuine kindness, then I claim her bed as my own..."

"What's that ya said?"

Soarin winced. "Nothing." Granny doesn't know... Applejack, I spurn you, and you respond by giving me your bed to sleep in? His brooding was brought to an abrupt halt when a plate steaming with cinnamon-baked apple slices crashed down on the table in front of him, causing him to jolt with a start. 

Granny Smith laughed. "Eat up, young'un. Get your strength back. Don't worry about work today. Just relax and recuperate."

Soarin looked down at the food, and his mouth began to water. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the tantalizingly sweet aroma wafting from the baked fruit roused his senses. "I'm sorry I gave you guys so much work," he offered remorsefully, grabbing for a nearby fork. "I thought I was helping."

"And you did!" Granny insisted. "You nearly caught us up on our harvesting quota. Ah gotta be honest, Ah never thought you'd make it here. All Ah seen you do so far is just shamble around on yer hooves with a look on yer face like yer mare died on the same day yer dog ran off with another stallion...." The partially senile elder scratched her chin with a contemplating hoof. "Is that how the saying goes?" 

Soarin had to chuckle at that. 

Granny all but doted over the stallion as he ate breakfast. She couldn't seem to stop illustrating how appreciated he was around the farm and what a hard worker he was, and, strangely enough, she couldn't stop verbalizing her desire for him to share his feelings. "You know," she had imparted to him as he was eating, "we Apples pride ourselves on how close-knit our family is. We share everything with each other. If anything is ever bothering you, a shoulder, a hug, and an attentive ear is never far away."

She knows something, Soarin realized. "I'll keep that in mind, Granny." He forked another piece of baked apple into his mouth, when he noticed she was watching him intently. She definitely knows something... He set his fork down and reflected her assessing gaze back at her. "Granny, is there something you want to say to me?" he asked, though not unkindly.

Granny Smith finally sighed. "Ah'm sorry yer best friend walked out on you. Ain't hard to see why you never count on others for support. Between that, and those slanderous reports about you, you must be thinking that the whole world is against you right now... But Ah'm not." She then conducted Soarin's attention to a family portrait hanging on the wall in the living room. It could be seen just above the swinging double doors. "We're not," she added.

The memory of reading through that rag that Wave Chill had given him hit with the force of a wrecking ball, but it wasn't just the paper itself: Wave Chill abandoning him, Spitfire's parting rant, how she verbally gelded him, condemned him to a life of misery and failure, her not-so subtle rebuke at Rainbow Dash's birthday party. The shame and guilt he now bared for taking everything out on Applejack. He shot up from the table, his chair hitting the floor with a hollow, woody thud. "How did you--" was all he could manage before he winced in pain, the ache in his sore muscles pumping liquid fire throughout his body.

Granny's smile remained sweet and calm. "Friend o' yers came by yesterday. They said they was here wanting to set somethin' straight with ya, but after Applejack told em you was indisposed -- well, we just started asking about you. It wasn't right of us to pry in to yer affairs, but you left us no choice. You been here several days, and you've yet to divulge any information as to why you up and left such a prominent career to come be a farm hand."

"I told you why I came to work here!" Soarin replied, perhaps a little too sharply.

"You were seeking other employment opportunities?" Granny said. "Yeah, Ah remember you spinnin' that yarn for me the first night you was here. Not to be rude, but you gotta work on that poker face o' yers. You and mah granddaughter have a lot in common, ya know: You two are the worst liars Ah ever seen.

Soarin stood there, tremulous hooves pressed firmly into the table as he looked down at the plate of half-eaten food before him. "Who was it? Who would come all the way down here on my behalf?"

"Hmmm." Granny sat back in her chair. "Blue fella," she replied. "Or was it a mare?" She scratched the back of her head. "Dern this old memory o' mine, ah don't rightly remember their name."

"I see," Soarin replied, armoring himself with the most convincing facade of indifference he could manage. Granny knew things about him. Things he'd rather have kept private. An inquiry about his feelings was inevitable, he could feel it. "May I be excused?" he said at once, desperate for an escape.

"You didn't finish yer breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yer afraid Ah'm gonna start askin' questions, aren't ya?"

Soarin didn't answer.

Granny smiled at him. "Well, yer right. You'll be excused right after you answer one question about yerself." 

Great, Soarin thought bitterly. She wanted him to talk about himself. His least favorite subject... "Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with. I have things to do."

"Like what?" Granny laughed. "Ah gave ya the day off, dummy." She thought for a moment. "Well, Ah do suppose you have a long hard day of sulking in front of you -- not to mention finding a place where you think no one can find you so you can go and cry your little eyes out."

"I don't cry!" Soarin snapped. It took a moment of glaring at the old bat to remember himself. Her smile was so patronizing, it was infuriating. He had already risen to the bait, but it wasn't too late to just let it go. "I'm sorry," he forced himself to say. "Just... What's your question?"

"It's an easy question. A simple yes or no will do." Granny locked her determined eyes on his. "Do you hurt right now?" 

Soarin balked at the trivial nature of the question. He was expecting something perhaps a bit more invasive. "That's it?" He sighed in relief."Yeah, I'm a bit sore, but, as a Pegasus, my muscles heal quicker than--"

"Ah'm not talkin' about yer muscles, young'un!" Granny interrupted. "On the inside. Are you hurting right now?"

"I'm not sure I follow you," Soarin lied, not liking the direction in which the conversation was heading.

"It's about time you learned to let others in, an' lesson one starts now," Granny explained. "Do. You. Hurt? Ah ain't askin' for yer life story. Ah just want you to answer me one simple question: do you hurt right now?"

Soarin looked down to conceal his face from the old nag behind the brim of his hat, tracing the grain of the ancient kitchen table with his eyes to distract himself. After what seemed like an unpleasant eternity of persistent silence, Soarin finally managed to croak a response. "Yes..." He couldn't believe how hard it was to force that one simple word through the lump that was forming in his throat.

"Good boy." Granny sagged back in her seat with a satisfied smile on her wrinkled face. "Ah'll be right here when yer ready to talk, but, yer free to go sulk, if that's what you'd rather do."

Soarin didn't waste a second. Prioritizing above all things the avoidance of eye contact, fearing that it may commence another intrusive inquiry, he twisted about from the table, fled the kitchen, and threw open the front door, fuming.





Soarin sighed as he turned his attention to the cool blue morning sky. He had been bedridden for two days. A brisk flight would do him some good. Perhaps relieving some stress would help him work up the nerve to seek audience with Applejack. He had so many questions, he didn't even know where to start. Who in Cloudsdale cared enough about him to seek him out? Did Applejack forgive him? 

His next thought should have been the furthest thing from his mind, but he couldn't help himself. Applejack, could she, perhaps, still have feelings for him? She was going to ask him out, he knew. She tried him once after Rainbow Dash's birthday party. If only he hadn't been drinking that night... She tried him again over breakfast, but her shyness got the best of her. She was going to try him again over that delicious meal she had cooked for the both of them. If only Spitfire hadn't... No. It wasn't Spitfire's fault. It was his fault; Spitfire didn't make him say the awful things he had said to her. If only he hadn't been so damned stubborn, so secretive, so sullen and paranoid.

"Damn it all!" Soarin shook his head, as if it would aid him in some way to cast the cacophonous, overbearing cluster of thoughts and emotions from his mind. All he wanted to do at that moment was fly. Just fly. Nothing else. He tried to spread his sore wings, but the inflammation was too much. It would seem that the cruel coordinator of his fate had seen to it to go so far as to deny him his most basic pleasure. However, it wouldn't keep him from trying. He flapped; and he flapped; and he flapped some more, his wings beating with excruciating futility. The defeated stallion finally succumbed to exhaustion, his hunger for the sky unsated. His legs buckled out from under him, and his body hit the ground with all the grace of a marionette with its strings severed. The ground pushed his hat off his head, sending it rolling off to his side. All he wanted to do was fly, to cast aside the bitterness of his woes and replace it with the sensation of the morning sky filling his lungs, but it was not to be.

His sides expanded softly as his eyes began to close, but they snapped back open as a group of petite yellow hooves entered his vision. He picked his head up off the ground and followed her legs up until he was looking her straight in the eye. Applejack's expression was inscrutable. "What are you doin' out here?"       

"Am I still fired?" Was all Soarin could manage to choke out. He hoped he didn't look too piteous, just laying there, looking up at her like a puppy under the dinner table whining for scraps. 

Applejack sighed. "No. Now get back in bed. Go on, now."

Soarin let his face rest against the grass. "Thank you."

"'Cause o' that stunt you pulled the other night, Granny won't let me fire you."

"You still want me gone..." 

Applejack regarded him with a cold silence.

Soarin found that it was getting hard to speak. The lump in his throat was back. "I'll quit, if you really want me gone. Granny can't keep me from doing that. But first, please, can we just talk?"

Applejack turned her back to him. "Ah was waiting for you to say that... Where'd ya have in mind? The things Ah have to say to you ain't for no one else to hear but you."

"My barn? If... If it's still mine."

"Let's go, then..." Applejack's voice was icy. She didn't even so much as turn around to offer assistance when Soarin struggled to his hooves. 

The walk was laborious. By the time they made it to the old structure, every muscle in Soarin's legs were practically screaming in protest. Applejack pulled the double doors open and stepped inside. Her behavior was peculiar, Soarin noticed. It wasn't like her to be so silent. There was an unfamiliar coldness to her. Was this how she was going to treat him from now on? 

Applejack was still keeping her back to him. It was a view Soarin honestly didn't mind, but he needed to look upon her eyes at that moment, not her ass. "Close the doors," she instructed, her tone ominously calm.

And so Soarin did, and it was no sooner than when the doors had thudded shut when all hell broke loose. 

Her hooves, petite as they were, were stronger than iron when they pressed into his neck and slammed him hard against the wall. The barn shook. The chains hanging from the rafters rattled. The large sheers fell off the wall. "What the hell were you thinkin', you winged jackass!" Her stern gaze met with his, green eyes burning like emerald flames."You got any idea how close you were to killing yourself!"  

Soarin suddenly forgot how sore he was. "I--"

Applejack jerked him back then slammed him against the wall again. "You moron! Is that a damn brain you got between yer ears, or did you toss it out so you can use your hollowed out skull for a chamber pot! Am Ah gonna have to tie you to your bed every night so Ah don't have to worry about you doing something a howler monkey with a chromosome deficiency would have the sense not to do?"

"Actually--"

Applejack slammed him against the wall again. She began to cry as her interrogation became progressively more personal. "Why didn't you tell me about all the things you was goin' through? Why is it that every time Ah ask you a question about yerself, you always find some convenient way to evade it? Do you just not like me, or somethin'?"

"Applejack, about the other night, it was just--"

"Apple Bloom filled me in. Ah don't care about that no more. Just answer mah question before you make me do somethin' Ah regret."

"If you don't care, then why are you so angry?" Soarin managed.

Applejack slammed him against the wall again. "Quit evading the question!"

"I'm not trying to be evasive!" Soarin shot back.

"Then answer me! Why do you refuse to let anyone in! Why is your sense of self-worth so diminished that you think there is no way anyone could ever care for you! "

"Because nobody ever has!" Soarin finally broke down. "You saw what happened to me at Rainbow Falls, didn't you? I've been treated like that all my life! It's like I'm just a tool for everyone's convenience! After I've served my use, I'm tossed away like garbage. That's the only way I've ever been able to get by in life. I just had to keep thinking of ways to make myself useful, because the second I'm not, the second I show that I can't be used in some way, no one wants anything to do with me. That's why I worked so hard a few nights ago. It was the only thing I could think of to make you forgive me!"  

Applejack released him and stepped back with wide, attentive eyes. 

Soarin sagged and slid down the wall. He couldn't tell if her look of sympathy was genuine, or if it was just obligatory, but he decided that he didn't care anymore. He was past the point of no return now. "I had to show you that I could still be useful. It felt like I was being thrown away again. Maybe you're not still upset over what I said, but I am. I still haven't done enough to make up for it. You were honest with me. You were the one pony to ever show me any real kindness without expecting or demanding something in return, and all I could do was regard you with suspicion." He hid his face in his hooves. "This place was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I came so close to just throwing it all away."

Soarin didn't even know how to feel now. Proud, he supposed. He finally did it. He finally opened up. But now, he felt nothing. Weak, emotionally drained, devoid of essence... Numb. "So," he croaked. "What happens now?"

"What happens now?" Applejack sat next to him on the floor and embraced him. "Now you can start healing, sugarcube." They were silent for the longest time, neither one willing to let the other go. 

Soarin suddenly remembered a question he had asked that she had yet to answer. "AJ?"

"Hmm?" Her sweet little hum was like music.

"You said you weren't upset over what I said to you. What did you mean by that? You were furious with me that night, remember? I still have a bruise on my chest from where you shoved me."

Applejack was silent for the longest time. Soarin could feel the heat from her face, and he realized she was blushing. "What you said didn't bother me so much as..."

"So much as?"

"The words themselves didn't hurt me. It was the fact that ... well, that you were the one who said em. If anyone else would have said what you said? Ah don't know. Ah could ignore em. Words are just wind when you think about it. The fact those words came out of your mouth just gave them power, ah suppose..."

...

"Why's that?"

Applejack looked up at him, the shy, coy demeanor souring into... Soarin couldn't say. Impatience? Annoyance? After a roll of her eyes and a forgiving smile, she nuzzled herself into his shoulder again and muttered under her breath, "Got-dang, yer thicker than molasses."

"Sorry?"

"Yer a dummy," she chuckled before she disentangled herself from him and pushed herself to her hooves. "But yer mah dummy." She offered him her hoof, accompanied with a sweet smile.

Soarin almost ignored the gesture, but he thought better of it. Refusing her help at this point may give cause to infuriate her all over again.

They sauntered along the pasture together until they happened along Soarin's hat. He had seemed to have forgotten about it in his exhaustion. Applejack was in the process of reclaiming it from the ground when Soarin directed his attention toward the house. Apple Bloom, Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Braeburn congregating in front. When the company noticed Applejack and Soarin approaching, they wasted no time in rushing out to meet with them.

"Good to see ya out 'n' about, apple slayer," Braeburn chuckled, slapping Soarin over the back with a heavy hoof in camaraderie. The blow made Soarin wince.

Apple Bloom locked her limbs about Soarin's leg, gimping his gate like a concrete boot. "Ah was so worried about you, Mister Soarin!" She smiled up at him so sweetly, it was almost diabetes-inducing. "Yer still paying for mah school, right? Make sure you put me in yer will before you try to kill yourself again, okay?"

"Did you really harvest all them apples with that old scythe?" Big Mac had to know. "Incredible!" He too had a deposit to add on the array of physical affection. For the massive red lummox, it was a punch in the arm. The prospect of being crippled was becoming a reality as Soarin swallowed the pain like the pillar of masculinity he wished he was.

Soarin had never known such warmth. All he could do was just puzzle at them, their smiles, their compliments, their mirth. So, this is what a family is?

Granny Smith placed a frail hoof upon Soarin's cheek and drew him down so she could kiss him on the forehead. "Mah offer still stands, young'un. Ah'll always be here for ya." The cold numbness that Soarin had been feeling was melting away. He had felt alone for so long now, he wasn't sure what to make of it all. The Wonderbolts had never praised him, or showered him with affection, or loved him in spite of his mistakes - not in the way this family did. For one second, the fear of loss, his old enemy, was beginning to rear its ugly head. It clawed at him, screaming for him to push them back before his bond with them became an artery that would become too painful to sever, but he suppressed it. He built a mental cage within the deepest confines of his mind and locked it away. "Thank you, Granny," he whispered, overcome with emotion.    

"Sugarcube?"

Soarin blinked the mist from his eyes and turned his attention to Applejack, who stood at the ready with his hat in hoof. "I like your family," he sniffed.

"Ah certainly hope so." She set the hat carefully atop his head, adjusted it, and winked. "After all, you are a part of it."

> Another Chance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Soarin had no recollection as to how or when he had happened upon the strange place in which he now found himself. The ground below him was veiled in a thick white mist which concealed a surface that felt every bit as rough and hard as unmortared cobblestone. The heavy fog seemed to span infinitely in every direction, an endless pale ocean of ghosts. Every step upon the barren terrain was accompanied by a repetitious echo that steadily faded until the sound of the next step overlapped it.     

Soarin kept walking. It was all he could do. It seemed like the farther he traveled, the higher the mist would rise. He tried to turn around, yet the anomalies persisted. The mist that was once knee level was now at his neck. The perplexed Pegasus walked until the mist had completely enveloped him. He'd eventually emerge from it if he kept moving forward, or at least that was what he was telling himself.

Eventually the fog began to thin, and it was then that Soarin noticed the figures all around him, grey, formless things at first. Their silhouettes became more recognizable with every step they took. They seemed equine, but when they stepped through the veil of mist to reveal themselves they were black and featureless, all but the sky blue uniforms they adorned. They formed an oppressive circle around him, flanking him from all sides as they closed in. Soarin decided to take to the sky in retreat, but when he looked up, there was another blocking his path. Hovering above him was a shadow whose outline was unmistakable. "Spitfire?" he called out to her. "What are you doing? What is this place?"   

The shade raised her hoof in an authoritative gesture. 

Soarin noticed that the shadows encircling him were advancing toward him, their ranks becoming tighter until they formed a black inescapable ring. "What are you doing?" he demanded.  

Spitfire's wraith let her hoof fall, and the shadows puddled into black blots on the ground, elongating, crawling up Soarin's limbs like inky snakes. He tried to get away, but the black tendrils the shadows had formed ensnared him, their grip unyielding. The black expanded across his body, enveloping him, clinging, tightening, its hue transitioning into blue, like the twilight of the night sky surrendering to the break of a new day. Soarin tugged and tore at it, but it seemed to be stretched tight over his bones. It was as if it was his own skin he was trying to remove. Soarin could only continue to claw in desperate attempt to liberate himself. "I'm not a Wonderbolt anymore," he cried. "I don't want to go back!" The material of the suit shrank, tighter and tighter, constricting him until his body looked as if it had been desiccated and mummified in latex. The opening of the suit around his muzzle expanded over his mouth until it formed an airtight seal that threatened to suffocate him. His pleas became nothing more than frantic muffled cries. The eye holes of the hood began to close, and the last thing he saw through his wide, terrified eyes was the shadow of Spitfire looming over him.

Soarin's eyes snapped open. His coat was heavy and damp with perspiration. The sweat-soaked sheets of his bedding were twined all around his limbs and body. It would seem that he had been thrashing about in his night terrors. He laid there, his eyes growing heavy as sleep threatened to take him again. He disentangled himself from his cotton restraints and pushed himself up from his bed for fear of the other horrors that may have been lurking the ether of his dreams.       




The makeshift shower was a crude thing. Crude, yet effective. A hose winding up a long iron pipe that had been staked into the ground behind the barn fed water into an overhead bucket that had been punched at the bottom numerous times with a screw driver. The water dribbled through the improvised showerhead and onto Soarin, who sat back and let the cold water run over him. The water would stop running after a minute or so, until the nearby leaver was given a few more pumps to draw from the reserve deep under ground. The bucket was quick to fill, but slow to drain, making it an effective device for when all one had was a well at their disposal for means of bathing.     

Soarin watched the fading twilight of the blueblack morning sky lighten into a serene, star speckled indigo as the cold water sluiced the sweat from his body. It made him cringe as it reminded him of his nightmare. Doing his best to push the unpleasant dream from his thoughts, he reached for the bottle of shampoo on a nearby bench, lathered up, and pumped one more bucket full of water to rinse it away before he'd be off to join his family for breakfast. 

Family, Soarin mused. It was strange to think of a group of rural earth ponies as family, but, by Apple Bloom's definition, that's what they were. It wasn't the word that boggled him as much as the definition. The concept of 'unconditional affection' was something he had never known, even back in the day when he would have called the Wonderbolts his family. The Apples were the first to ever make him feel like he actually belonged. It was a good feeling. He liked them: Braeburn with his boisterous enthusiasm and contagious optimism, Big Mac with his stoic yet kind demeanor, Granny with all her wisdom and her warm smile, little Apple Bloom with her cunning wit and playful spirit, and then there was Applejack, the sweet little southern belle who managed to set his passions ablaze: humble, hardworking, well-mannered. She was sweet and shy with her affections, yet she could be bold and passionate when she asserted herself. Soarin could not recall a time in his life when he was so infatuated. He opened his eyes when the water finally stopped running over him. Why daydream about her when he could be having breakfast with her? 

Draping the towel around his neck and dawning his treasured hat, Soarin began the walk to the house to break his fast with the Apples - but the sudden squeaking of the pump from his shower captured his attention. He looked over his shoulder, and the sight he beheld wouldn't have surprised him any more if it was King Sombra himself juggling flaming cupcakes. "Fleetfoot?"

The water dribbled down from the holes in the bucket and onto Fleetfoot's silvery mane. She bristled the moment it touched her, her four hooves spreading out and gripping deep into the soil around her. "Celestia's teats, that's cold!"

"Careful," Soarin said dryly, "wouldn't want you to melt."

"You're funny," Fleetfoot quipped once she was over the shock of the gelid water assaulting her senses. "You could be a jester in Celestia's court if this farm hand thing doesn't work out. You're so good at making a fool of yourself, I say it's high time you made it a profession." She sighed and sat back, letting the water run over a body that was honed into physical perfection through years of grueling training. While muscular wouldn't have been an accurate word to describe her, one could observe from a simple glance that she was solid as granite from head to hooves, thin and taught like a bow string. However, as easy on the eyes as the athletic mare may have been, her temper, her blunt honesty, and her barbed tongue were quick to drive off even the most determined of suitors.  

Soarin watched, tapping his hoof impatiently as he awaited an explanation as to where she had come from and why she was using his shower. Fleetfoot craned her head back and let the water wash over her face and down her chest. Rivulets trickled down from the tips of her feathers and glistened in the morning light like cascades of tiny diamonds. "Can I get you some shampoo?" Soarin offered with an exaggerated courtesy.

"If it'll rinse the stench of leather and whisky off of me," Fleetfoot replied as she scrubbed the junction at her wings. "Though I must admit I'm growing fond of the smell." 

Leather and whisky? Soarin puzzled until the two smells commingled and conjured in his imagination. Braeburn's face immediately popped up. "Wait... You and--

"Braeburn," Fleetfoot announced unabashedly. "I gotta give it to him, he's handy with knots." 

"He... tied you up?"

"Other way around. His wrists were raw as lashed hide before he realized he wasn't getting away."

"Okay, I don't want to hear this."

The last of the water trickled down, and Fleetfoot smiled at him maliciously through her sodden hair, her eyes like amethysts shining through a silvery veil. "Ah, why not? Not interested in learning a few new pillow tricks?"

"How long have you been skulking around here?" 

Fleetfoot approached Soarin and ripped the towel away from him. "I spent the night with Braeburn, okay? I was hardly 'skulking', as you put it," she conveyed as she dried her mane. 

"And how did you manage to accomplish this without alerting the other Apples?"

"We got some blankets together and hauled the wheel cart out in the middle of the orchards," Fleetfoot replied.  

"On the freaking wheel cart!"

"I doubt we'll be doing that again."

"You shouldn't have even done it the first time," Soarin admonished. "We use that thing to transport food, you know..."

"Right? Damn near got a splinter in my ass. Next time we'll just use your barn."

"Hell no!"

"Stingy," Fleetfoot spat.

"You still haven't told me why you've come here."

"Clean the shit out of your ears. I wanted to bang that cowboy I met at Rainbow Dash's birthday party. You think I'd let a piece of ass like that get away without at least getting me a free sample?"

"Free sample?" Soarin scoffed. "Sounds like you took the whole damn cake."

"And it was delicious," Fleetfoot purred.

"Well, congratulations on a mission accomplished. Now go away."

"Braeburn isn't the only reason I'm here, moron. I dropped by a few days ago, but you were indisposed at the time. Were you in another on of your butthurt-induced alcohol comas?"

Soarin squinted, perplexed. Granny had mentioned something about a visitor asking for him, but she forgot their name. With everything that had been going on, he forgot to ask Applejack about the visitor's identity."Wait, so you were the one who came by while I was bedridden?"

"I just freaking said that!" Fleetfoot threw the towel in Soarin's face, which made a loud, soggy slap upon contact. "Luna's ovaries in a bucking basket, you're slow! Was I speaking Klingon? Did I stutter?"

Too nonplussed to be angry, Soarin let the sodden towel slide off his face and drop to the ground. "Why?" was all he could think of to say. Out of everyone in his former team, Fleetfoot was by far the cruelest; she had practically tempered the way of being bitch into an art form. The vile filth that constantly spewed forth from her mouth toward fans, the board, the press, the students at the academy, and even members of her own team had all but made her a legend.

"I needed to clear the air with you on a few things."

"Like what? And what all have you said about me to Applejack and Granny Smith?"

"Nothing that wasn't true," Fleetfoot said, shrugging. "I told them about what a whiny little pussy you are. I told them you were a self-loathing, antisocial lush with a victim complex who lets everyone treat you like their whipping boy. That Apple girl, what was her name, Applebuck or something, she just wouldn't stop asking questions about you. By the time I was finished telling her everything about you that I cared to know, she was in tears. She said something about how she should have given you another chance, or something. I'm not exactly sure what she said, I was too busy staring at that cowboy's ass to listen."

Soarin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You acted as my wingpony?"

"Wingpony?" Feetfoot laughed. "I was merely answering her questions. Like hell if I'd ever help you get laid. What, you trying to bang that girl - the cute one with the green eyes?"

Soarin decided to change the subject. "What was it that you wanted to straighten out with me?"

"Why don't you want to talk about her..?" Fleetfoot smiled when Soarin was hesitant to answer. "Awww, does Soarin have himself a little crushywushy?"

"Fleetfoot!" Soarin snapped. "That's none of your business. Would you just get to the point already?"

"Alright, alright, If you insist. " The mare gave Soarin a thoughtful look and said, "So, Soarin, that newspaper. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. What do you think of it?"

"It's a bunch of crap," Soarin replied, surprised that the wound that slanderous rag dealt still felt as fresh as it did. "Nopony from the Foalstreet journal was even there the day I quit the team. The paper kept mentioning that their information was supplied through a 'reliable source.'" 	

"And who do you think that source was?" Fleetfoot asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Soarin spat her name like a curse. "Spitfire, obviously."

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes, as if she had expected the answer. "Sorry, but no. Wave Chill and I were both there when the media assaulted Spitfire with their incessant questions. All she told them was that she was pulling the team out from the Equestria Games due to circumstances beyond her control. Your name wasn't even mentioned."

Soarin balked at that. Wave Chill had told him the exact same thing the day he had brought him that newspaper. "Then who told them? Where'd they get all the ridiculous accusations?"

"I couldn't tell you, to be honest," Fleetfoot replied. "You know how the media works, especially the Foalstreet Journal. They're probably slandering you to sell more papers. They're telling everyone that their information is coming from someone else in order to avoid allegations of slander, should you decide to take legal action. It's some loophole BS they've been using for years."

"Wait a minute, they are slandering me? They're still doing it? What else are they saying about me?"

Fleetfoot looked as if she wasn't sure how she should reply to that. "It's just the Foalstreet Journal, dude. Get over it. They'll eventually get bored of dragging your name through the mud and move on to their next victim."

Soarin was taken aback by the news, but there was something else that was bothering him. Something about the way Fleetfoot was standing up for Spitfire came off as suspicious. Her explanation almost sounded like it was rehearsed. It didn't set right with him. "Why did you feel the need to come down here and tell me this?" he insisted. "Do you think I'm just going to believe that you came down here to console me out of the goodness of your own heart? Since when do you care about anypony but yourself?"		

Fleetfoot's eyes narrowed. "You know what, I don't give a shit if you don't believe me. I already told you that I came down here for Braeburn, not you. I figured I'd clear the air with you on this while I was down here. You blame Spitfire for all of your mishaps, just as she blames you for all of hers. I figured you'd be cursing her name for the rest of your days over this if I didn't step in to enlighten you. So pardon me if I decided to do one nice thing for you. I'll not make that mistake again. None of this drama would have happened in the first place if you just had the balls to stand up for yourself from the very beginning. Maybe Spitfire wouldn't have treated you like crap if you'd just showed her that you wouldn't put up with it." 

You want me to stand up for myself? Soarin thought, scowling. Fine. I'll start with you."You reap what you sew, Fleetfoot. As long as I've known you, you've been nothing but a nasty, foul mouthed, short tempered, derisive bitch, bent on making everyone around you as miserable as you are. You've always looked down on me and insulted me without provocation, so don't go acting all surprised that I won't trust you. You're one of the reasons why I quit the team in the first place. Take a look around you." Soarin gestured to his surroundings with his hoof. "This is who I am now, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually happy. I don't care about the Wonderbolts anymore, and I damn sure don't care about you. I'm not putting up with you anymore. Now, unless there is any other business you'd like to conduct with me, piss off." Soarin had never spoken to Fleetfoot like that before. He'd never spoken to anyone like that before. He wasn't sure where that rant came from, but It felt good to finally be able to tell her off. 

Fleetfoot tried to keep her face a mask of indifference, but her eyes betrayed a hint of surprise. "That's the last time I ever do anything for you," she sneered, unfurling her wings. "You should cut the Eastwood act before your mouth writes a check that your ass can't cash. That country boy crap might charm that back woods tart of yours, but you and I both know you're just a pussy with a cowboy hat. She'll realize that soon enough, then she'll be off looking for a real stallion." And then she took to the sky without another word. 

"Hurry on back to the lab," Soarin shouted after her. "You don't want to be late for getting your bolts tightened." He wasn't inclined to believe Fleetfoot. She'd never given him a single reason to trust her. Spitfire had gone out of her way countless times just to spite him. It wasn't unreasonable to think that she was somehow pulling the strings behind all this defamation to kick some dirt in his face for losing her the chance to participate in the games. 

His stomach suddenly rumbled a reminder that he hadn't had breakfast yet. Sighing, he decided that he was too hungry to dwell on the issue. It wasn't like it mattered anymore. Soarin quit the Wonderbolts, he was being slandered, all of Cloudsdale most likely hated him, and it was evident that he was going to have to suffer more of Fleetfoot's uninvited visits so long as Braeburn was there. The only option to his disposal was to just let things run their course. It didn't matter what was being said about him. He had a place where he belonged, a family that didn't make him feel like he was useless. That was all that mattered to him. 



  

Apple Bloom's voice was the first thing Soarin heard when he entered the house. "But why not?" she was saying in a whiny voice.

"Darn it Apple Bloom, Ah done told ya that Ah don't want you going there again. You shouldn't have gone the fist time." Applejack could be heard chiding her in the stern sisterly voice she would use from time to time. "Need Ah remind you of the time Ah had a run in with a pack of Timberwolves?"	 

"But Ah won't be goin' in there alone," Apple Bloom complained. "Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo would be there too."

"No, no, no, and a thousand more times no. This conversation is over little lady, ya hear?"	

Soarin rounded the corner and pushed through the double doors leading into the kitchen. It looked like everyone was accounted for. Braeburn assisted Granny Smith in piling stacks upon stacks of pancakes onto a large plate while Big Mac, Apple Bloom, and Applejack sat at the table which was already set and supplied with a plate and silverware for each seat. Two separate dishes for butter and syrup were set near the center for all to reach. Applejack and pancakes, Soarin thought with a smile. That was just what he needed to improve his morning. 

Apple Bloom was the first to notice him. "Hey, Soarin!" she said in a suspiciously cheerful manner. "You think you can help me out with something?"

"Hey now, don't you go roping Soarin into your little escapades," Applejack cautioned her before she turned to him. "Hey there, cowboy," she greeted him in a tone that was suddenly sweet in contrast to the authoritative way in which she had been speaking to her sister.

"Hey yourself." Soarin took a seat at the table across form the quarreling siblings and asked, "What were you two going on about?"

"Ah wanna go back to the Everfree forest to look for mah lucky bow, but AJ won't let me." Apple Bloom crossed her arms indignantly over her chest.	

"You wanna go back?" Soarin asked. "You've already been there?"

"Couple times. Some of the ingredients Ah gathered for that concoction that cured yer amnesia came from the forest." She harrumphed. "Applejack won't even let me go back to get mah lucky red bow that Ah dropped. Didn't even realize the darn thing fell off until Ah got back home."	 	

Soarin eyed the red bow on Apple Bloom's head. "You're wearing it, aren't you?"

"Ah got this bow from that hats and bows closet. It ain't mah lucky one."

Soarin screwed up his face. "You have a hats and bows closet?" 

"Don't everypony?" Applejack asked.

"Not that I was aware of..."

"Can Ah at least get Soarin to go find mah lucky bow for me?"

"Ah said no, AB. Soarin ain't yer errand pony. You should know better than to ask him to go to a dangerous place just to fetch some head accessory."

"But it's mah lucky bow!"

"What makes it so lucky?" Soarin wondered.

"Ah don't know, it just is. Good things tend to happen to me while Ah'm whearin' it. Ah dabbed it once it a special cinnamon perfume to make it smell all pretty. Ah noticed after that Ah suddenly became incredibly lucky. Ah found bits on the ground wherever Ah went, Ah got good scores on tests Ah didn't even study for, vending machines would give me two of everything that Ah purchased, and to top it all off, Rumble started talking to me during lunch. Rumble! It was the bow that done it, Ah just know it!"

"Why can't you just dab the bow you're wearing now in that perfume of yours?"

"That's what Ah told her to do, but she won't listen," Applejack interjected.

"Ah tried that, but it just ain't been the same. For a while, Ah thought it was maybe the perfume that was lucky, but after some experimenting, Ah found that you have to have the bow - that specific bow - combined with the perfume in order for it to work its magic." 

"I'd like to help you, but if AJ forbids it--

"And Ah do," Applejack interjected, shooting Apple Bloom a stern sideways glare that was accented with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry, kid." Soarin could only give a helpless shrug.

"Pony feathers," the filly cursed under her breath.

All was silent after that but for the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the den and the sharp rasping scrape of Granny's steel spatula on the hot griddle. Soarin stole an awkward glance at Applejack and noticed that she was beaming at him, as if she was waiting for him to notice her. It was too early in the morning to think of something witty or charming to say; better he remain silent than make a fool of himself. Applejack suddenly cleared her throat in a loud, conspicuous manner. He had no choice but to look at her now. 

She smiled at him prettily. "Are we gonna have to do this every morning?" She patted the vacant seat next to her with a hoof. "Come over here. Why you wanna sit all the way over there by yer lonesome?" Soarin smiled shyly. There he was again, an awkward little colt in the school cafeteria who's crush just invited him to come over and sit with her. 

"So," Applejack said to Soarin as he took his seat next to her, "you ready to get back to work?"

"I think so." Soarin leaned forward in his seat, extended his wings, then gave them an experimental flex. They were still sore, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it was the day before. "Yeah, I can work."

"Can't wait," Applejack winked at him as Granny Smith set a pot of coffee and a pitcher of apple juice on the table beside the platter of pancakes.

"Can't wait for what?" Soarin asked as he reached out for the coffee, but Applejack managed to claim it before he could. She filled his mug for him and then poured one for herself.   

"To see you work, silly," the mare replied, sliding the old metallic coffee pot back to the center of the table. "Ah gotta see you and that scythe in action."	

"Ah'll bet you looked just like one of them samurais," Apple Bloom mumbled, her little face already smeared with bits of pancake and sticky syrup, "Swingin' that blade all around at the speed of light." She swallowed. "All you need now is an x-shaped scar on yer cheek."

"A scythe is hardly a sword, though," Soarin laughed. 

"Ah still wanna see!" the filly insisted. "Hurry up and eat breakfast. Ah wanna see this harvesting trick o' yers before Ah gotta head off to school." Granny Smith, Applejack, Big Mac and Braeburn were quick to voice their desire to see him perform as well. 

And so breakfast with the Apples was pleasant. The words Soarin shared with Applejack between bites came easier and easier. The last time he had breakfast with her, he either avoided her questions, or managed to evade them by answering her with a question of his own. The conversation was so one sided that Applejack seemed abashed that she had been talking so much. But this time was different. They were practically finishing each others' sentences. He even managed to score a few cute giggles from her whenever he displayed the closest thing to wit he could manage. 

After the last pancake was finished, the coffee and apple juice all consumed, and a pile of soiled dishes hastily left behind to soak in the basin of the kitchen sink, Soarin led the Apples out to the edge of the orchards, where the vast ocean of apple trees met with the pasture. Big Mac, in an almost ceremonious manner, with all the starry eyed Apple family looking on in anticipation, placed the scythe in Soarin's hooves. The Pegasus hefted it, weighed it, balanced it. Funny. He then looked to his family. "Alright," he said. "Point me to a tree, then count to three, er, make it five. My wings still feel a bit stiff."  

Applejack was the first to speak. "How 'bout that one over yonder?" she suggested, pointing to the nearest fruit wielding sentinel from where she was standing.	

"Over yonder," Soarin agreed before tossing the scythe in the air. Up it went, and under and over it spun. Soarin caught it deftly, perpetuating its rotation, spinning it from left to right, then he was off, speeding toward the tree. He skirted it, slashing, spinning, one, two, three times. By the time he was finished, all the apples had been liberated from their branches. Just before the final apple could hit the ground, Soarin managed to catch it upon the flat of his scythe. He flew over to Applejack and offered it to her, as if the blade was a serving platter. "What was my time?" he asked. 

"T-tarnation," she stammered, too awestruck to move to take the fruit being offered to her. "You - that... Ah wouldn't believe it if Ah hadn't seen it just now."

"Can you do it again?" Apple Bloom pleaded, all eagerness. "Please?"

Soarin scratched the back of his head, the apple he had captured rolling off the flat of the blade and thudding lightly on the ground. When he looked to Applejack, she nodded. "Do it again," she urged.  			

"That one," Apple Bloom pointed at another tree. "Can you throw in another one of them twirly tricks o' yers while yer at it?"

"I guess I could cook something up." Soarin thought for a moment, then he came up with something. Before taking to the tree, he slung the shaft of the scythe over his shoulder and spun it diagonally across his back and around his midsection. He kept it in motion by again spinning it left to right, then once around the back of his neck, and then he was off. This time he managed to chain two trees in a breakneck figure eight formation, cutting, swinging, slashing away. Soarin landed with a triumphant smile on his face. A gentle breeze blew. The tranquil rustling of leaves could be heard far and wide, like the lamentations of a humbled foe who used to mock his efforts. "So," he said, "do you approve of my harvesting technique?"

"Technique?" Applejack's voice was a breathless whisper. "That was..." Her legs began to shake. She had to lower herself down on her haunches to keep them still. "T-that was art."

Big Mac approached one of the trees that Soarin had harvested and picked up one of the apples for inspection. "You managed to slice most of em by their stems. Your precision is amazing." He selected another apple, one that had been accidentally sliced during Soarin's dance and added, "looks like you nicked a few, but that's okay; the ones that are damaged can be mashed down into sauce or strained for cider." 	 

Granny Smith gave Soarin a punch in the arm. "If Ah had a few more helpers like you, we'd have the whole orchard harvested in a matter of weeks."

Soarin turned to her and said, "I don't know about that. It's pretty exhausting. I doubt I'd be able to keep up the speed I had just used for the entire day." 

"There's that," Applejack pointed out, sliding an arm around Sourin's shoulder, "and there's also the fact that there ain't no pony like Soarin." She threw her other arm around him and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "Ain't that right, you apple harvesting machine you!"

"I... Suppose," Soarin winced under the rib-cracking pressure of the earth pony's embrace.

"Ah'll admit that Ah was worried about our harvest quota this year, but because of you Ah just know we'll make it!" 

"AJ, I'm.... I like you and all, but I'm still a bit sore."

Black clouds were beginning to enshroud the boarders of Soarin's vision when Applejack finally released him. "Sorry 'bout that," she offered with a sheepish smile. "You okay?"

Soarin tried to hold back his manly tears as he gave a nod. "I'm just happy that you're happy," he managed between sounds that were half grunts and half coughs.

"Sugarcube, Ah'm more than just happy, Ah'm ecstatic. Ah've been dreading our annual profit figures for months now. It got so bad that we had to beg Braeburn to come live with us until we could find some decent help. But then, the clouds part, the angels sing, rays of light shine down on the farm, and you come along to pull us up from the depths of financial ruin." 	

Soarin hadn't realized how dire the state of the farm was. All he could do in light of Applejack's fervent description of him being such a savior to her was blush like a maiden as he looked down and brushed the ground with a hoof. He wasn't accustomed to being doted over.

"Alright, everypony," Granny Smith announced to all in attendance, "we've all seen Soarin's harvesting abilities. We all think it's amazing, but we can't afford to fritter about all day and watch as only one pony does all the work. It's back to business as usual. Apple Bloom, it's about time you got ready for school. Big Mac, Braeburn, and the winged apple slayer here are in the orchards today. Applejack, you best get goin'. The farmer's market opens in an hour."

Everyone nodded before they broke away to carry out their assigned tasks. Applejack may be the boss, but Granny seems to be the one who calls the shots, Soarin reflected as the elderly mare was passing him by. 

She turned to him to give him a quick wink. "You'll do just fine 'round here, ah reckon," she told him.

"Thanks, grandma. Er, uh, Granny. Sorry."

Granny Smith regarded Soarin with the warmest of smiles and said, "You can call me grandma, if you'd like."

Soarin scratched the budding stubble of his chin as he watched the elder saunter off. So, this is what it's like to have a home and a family,  he thought, elated.   

"Hey, what was Granny just whispering to you?"		

Soarin started as he turned around. "What?"

"Granny," Applejack was looking at him curiously. "What was she whispering to you just now?"	   						

"Oh, I uh, accidentally called her Grandma. I apologized for it, but she told me she didn't mind if I called her that."

"Huh." Applejack turned her eyes toward her grandmother. "Yeah, she likes you, alright. Yer the first non-blood relation she has ever given that privilege to."

"I guess I should feel lucky to have you. You guys, I mean. You. And her."

"Yer cute, you know that?" Applejack laughed. "Anyway, Ah better get to setting up mah stand at the market, 'fore those darn carrot peddlers steel all the good spots. Don't work yerself too hard, okay sugarcube?" She started to walk away, but then she stopped, presumably to impart one last thing to him. "You know," she said with out looking back at him, "the Ponyville day festival is tomorrow night. If yer gonna go, you might wanna start thinking about who you wanna bring with ya." And without waiting for a response, she left him there in the pasture to think about her words.

She wants me to ask her out. The realization that she had given him another chance set Soarin's heart to fluttering.   

"Hey, apple slayer," Braeburn shouted to him. "Orchards don't harvest themselves."

"I'll be right there." Soarin hefted his scythe, rested it across his shoulder, and galloped off to fall in beside his new co workers, knowing that he would be spending the rest of the day wondering how he should go about asking Applejack to be his date for tomorrow's festivities. 
> Closure
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	"That sounds strange," Big Mac commented as he and Soarin labored tirelessly through the orchards. "Do you often have dreams like that?"

"Not like that one, no." Soarin gripped an apple's stem with his teeth and flung it into a barrel along with the others. "You know how when you're having a nightmare, and there is always a small part of you that knows it's a nightmare, yet you still can't help but be frightened by it? Well, that wasn't how this dream was. It just seemed too real. I'm just glad it's over and done with now."

"Don't be so sure about that," Big Mac cautioned, giving Soarin a wary look. "Dreams can be just that. Dreams. But sometimes they can be something else entirely." The powerful earth pony grounded his front hooves into the soil and let loose with a powerful back kick that rendered a tree bereft of its fruit. 

"Like what?" Soarin asked, watching the apples rain down around his earthen comrade.

Big Mac began picking the freshly-bucked apples off the ground, and deposited them into a half empty barrel. The two had one more barrel to fill quota before lunch time. "Omens," he replied matter of factly, "warnings, prophecies, things like that. Ah woudln't be so quick to just discredit a freaky dream like that, if Ah were you."   	

Soarin wasn't ready to go so far as to say that he was capable of clairvoyance, but he decided to humor the earth pony's suggestion with an open mind. Stranger things have happened, he supposed. "So, what kind of warning or omen or prophecy do you think this dream contained?" He selected a random tree and readied his scythe.

"That's somethin' Ah can't answer. It was yer dream, it was meant for you to figure out." The large earth pony placed a pensive hoof under his chin and added, "If Ah were to take a guess though, Ah'd say it's a warning. You say the Wonderbolts were the shadows that attacked you?"

Soarin turned and gave him a nod before tearing into the tree, his scythe reflecting the glare of the sun with every slash in a rapid blinding pulse.

"Well... Maybe it has something to do with yer past. You were a Wonderbolt."  

Soarin breathed deep after stripping the tree. He landed, his wings furling back into his sides, and he began the process of depositing the harvest into the barrel. "Can you elaborate a bit more?"

"No, Ah can't. it's like Ah said, It's yer dream; Ah can't interpret yer dreams any more than Ah can read yer thoughts. You'll figure it out when the time comes, Ah'm sure." 

My past, Soarin thought. The Wonderbolts are my past... My past consumed me... But what does it mean?

The midday sun was blazing overhead when Soarin filled the last barrel. The wheel cart that he rinsed down thoroughly with a pressure washer before he could bring himself to touch it again was filled with half the day's harvest. A few taps with a mallet and the final barrel was sealed. "Well," Big Mac said as he watched Soarin heft the barrel onto the cart, "Ah suppose that's it for now. What say we head on to the house and see what Grandma whipped up for lunch?"

"Shouldn't we take the barrels to the cellar first?" Soarin asked.

"We can do it after. Ah'm hungry. Braeburn should be just about finished with the golden delicious trees. He'll probably beat us home." 		. 	

Soarin was all a bundle of smiles and nerves as they trecked through the pasture, and it wasn't just because it was lunch time. It was finally the time he had been waiting for. He had been planning out all day how he would ask Applejack out, the words he would use that would woo her out of his dreams and into his arms. In his eagerness he might have flown, but he decided to walk with Big Mac instead. Flying ahead of him and leaving him behind would have seemed rude. 		

The front door of the house squeaked on rusty hinges as Big Mac opened it. Soarin followed him inside, rounded the corner, and it was just as Big Mac had said. Braeburn was already in the kitchen. "You boys got here just in time," Granny announced cheerfully. "Braeburn, be a dear and take the plate to the table."

"So, what's for lunch?" Soarin asked. And where's Applejack? She was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't like her to miss a meal. 

"See fer yerself, green horn." Braeburn set a large platter stacked high with sandwiches down on the table. It was peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Not the most extravagant meal Soarin had ever had, but it was always a welcome child hood favorite. He reached out for a sandwich and took a bite. 

"This jam is amazing," he said at once. There was a kick to it, like a burst of static electricity intermingling with hints of cider and cinnamon. He never had anything like it.

"That's a family secret special recipe," Granny pointed out proudly as she took her seat next to him. "That there is our Zap Apple Jam. It's made right here on the farm. it ain't got no preservatives or none of that corn syrup stuff city boys like you are probably used to. We can only make it once a year, so don't let any of it go to waste."  

As if Granny had to say that. Soarin was already licking the jam off his hoof before helping himself to another sandwich. "Is there anything you guys make that isn't amazing?"	

The house suddenly shook when the front door slammed. Angry hoof stomps could be heard thundering up the staircase. "Applejack?" Granny called out. "That you, sugarcube?"

"Not right now, granny," Applejack's voice hinted a tone that was wrought with ire.

The concern in Soarin must have been contagious, as Granny looked at him and said, "Well, what are ya waitin' fer? Go to her"

Soarin was surprised by the demand, but now wasn't the time to be flummoxed. Wordless, he nodded, got up from the table and pushed open the double doors. Skipping the stairs, which would have only slowed him down, he leaped up from the center of the living room and vaulted fluidly over the second story railing. He managed to catch her just in time. Just as she placed her hoof on her bedroom door, Soarin was there, placing his hoof over hers to stop her. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothin'!" Applejack shouted, her face beat red. Soarin was taken aback by her tone. She was quick to take a breath and calm herself. "Ah..." She had to breath again. "Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"I'd be a hypocrite for getting upset," Soarin replied. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"It's Rarity again. Today, she just... She pushed me too far!"

"What'd she do this time? Is she still mooning over that Trenderhoof guy?"

"More than ever. You should see the new theme Rarity is using for the festival. She's calling it 'simple ways.' Can you believe that? She's prancin' around acting like some sorta dang backwoods inbred clown. Ah know that she's trying to be like me, but is that really how she sees me?" She looked down, letting the brim of her hat obscure her face. "Is that... That ain't how you see me, do you?"

"No." I see you as the most beautiful mare to ever walk this unworthy planet on four legs. "I think you're cute and classy." 

The compliment seemed to be just the thing to placate the miffed mare. "Those are words Ah don't hear too often." she looked back at the saddle bag hanging off to her side. "Classy, huh? Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Rarity's gonna see just how classy Ah can be."

"What do you mean?" Soarin noticed a tail of blue fabric hanging out of her bag. He pointed at it. "And what's that?"

Applejack smiled slyly. "Oh, it's just a little somethin' that's gonna fix Rarity's caboose fer good. Talkin' to her ain't workin', So Ah'm just gonna have to fight fire with fire."

"Okay," Soarin chuckled nervously. "But what is it."

Applejack turned her head, ever so slightly, and purred, "That's for me to know and you to find out, cowboy." She pushed her door open, entered her room, and said, "Anyway, Ah gotta start gettin' ready. Ah'll be sure to apologize to granny for bein' so snippy."

"Getting ready for what?" Soarin asked.

"You'll see," Applejack giggled. "See you at dinner." And then she closed the door between them. Baffled, Soarin could only stare stupidly into the grainy texture of the wooden door in front of him. Why so mysterious...?  		





The midday sun blazed overhead as the three stallions resumed their labors. This time Soarin volunteered to trade Braeburn's place to go it alone at the gold delicious trees, so that he could be alone with his thoughts. There were two things that he was unable to get off of his mind: The presumed message his dream may have carried, and Applejack's strange behavior. The two subjects warred with each other for dominance within his chaotic mind. His nightmare eventually won that battle. Every time he thought of his dream, he would find himself stealing a glance at Cloudsdale, the city of his birth. The town was constantly shifting directions under the mercy of the wind, yet it always seemed to stay within the proximity of Ponyville. He would sigh wistfully every time he looked its way. My past consumed me.

Perhaps Big Mac was on to something when he said his dream may have been a warning. He liked living on the farm, but Cloudsdale would always have a place in his heart. Not all the Wonderbolts were rotten to him. Misty Fly, Fire Streak, Blaze, High Winds, they were the ones he could consider friends. And then there was Wave Chill... "Waves." Soarin couldn't help but wonder what he was doing right now. It was true that Wave Chill abandoned him, but he never would have said farewell to him if Spitfire hadn't been standing over him making him say it. He couldn't grudge his best friend for wanting to stay on the captain's good side.

My past is consuming me. The message in his dream was becoming more clear as the day progressed. His cart was nearly filled, and the sun was just beginning to set. Having such a splendid view of his home from Sweet Apple Acres was making him heartsick. He tapped the top of a barrel shut with a mallet, lifted it onto his back, and placed it in the cart. What would be the harm in visiting? 

Every time he thought of Spitfire and all the indignation she had ever put him through, he'd become angry, or depressed, or both. He didn't want to be like that anymore, he decided. He didn't want to 'curse Spitfire until the end of his days,' as Fleetfoot put it. Maybe that's what everything meant. If the Wonderbolts represented his past, and the darkness their bodies were formed from represented the negativity he felt toward them, maybe it was a sign that it was about time he tried to get some closure. He had a new life now. A better life. He didn't want to spend the rest of it looking back on his old one, regretting the things that were never said. He doubted that he and Spitfire could ever be friends, but that didn't mean they had to be enemies.

Soarin's mind was made up by the time he was finished transferring the barrels from his cart into the apple cellar. If he could seek closure with his past, perhaps it would cease to haunt him. Spitfire was nothing if not predictable. When it wasn't academy season, she'd always do her PT in the morning, her synchronization drills with the team during noon, and in the afternoon she would go over academy enrollment applications and other paper work that the board would set in front of her. The sun was going down, whatever business the captain may have had that day was most likely done with, and she'd probably be where she always was at this time when she wasn't touring.




     

Soarin was grateful for the dark, moonless night that shrouded him as he stealthily made his way toward the Wonderbolts academy. In light of the rumors that were going around about him, who knows what kind of hostilities he would be forced to face should he be discovered. He decided to take the back way, which was closer to the estates. There was a gate that was secured for the night with a padlock, but Soarin merely leaped over it. He had always pondered upon the usefulness of a locked gate in a city populated by Pegusi.

Ducking and dodging the security personnel with relative ease, Soarin was successfully able to make it to the private living quarters. He strode down the path between the homes with a photographic memory of the ground's layout. Spitfire's estate was the largest one at the very center. His own was directly across from hers. Maybe it was simply nostalgia that drew his eye, he couldn't help but take a quick a glance at it. He was dismayed to see that it had been vandalized, possibly by students or former students that knew it once belonged to him. The windows had been smashed. Insults that covered such colorful topics ranging from his lack of testicular fortitude, to his mother's virtue, were scrolled all over the property. "Classy," Soarin sneered, reading the invectives. "Burn in Tartarus, you greedy bastard..." That one seemed a little over the top. Just what the hell were the papers saying about him now? He had to force himself to look away. Subjecting himself to acknowledging the monument of disgrace that was once his home was maddening beyond belief. 

He approached the front door to Spitfire's house, his stomach clenching. In his mind, that soul crushing voice that would tell him he couldn't do anything right, and suck out whatever confidence he may have had, sounded like Spitfire. She was the evil spirit in his head that turned every task before him into an insurmountable obstacle. He swallowed hard before forcing his hoof to tap the door. He waited, but there was no reply. He knocked again, which bared the same result. Somehow that was almost a relief. It gave him an excuse to turn around and go back home to the one place where he'd be welcomed. But he could't bring himself to leave, not after he had come so far. He hadn't realized it until he was standing there in front of Spitfire's home: He had to do this. He needed closure; he needed to write the end to this chapter of his life.

Soarin knocked, much harder this time. Once again there was no reply. "Dammit, Spitfire, are you freaking deaf, or what?" Seeing no other option, he decided to try the door. It was unlocked. Steeling himself, he entered Spitfire's domain, cursing her all the while for making him trespass just to talk to her. 

The front door led through a large lobby with a spiral staircase at the center and two lacquered wooden doors on each side. The floor felt smooth as polished marble as his hoovesteps echoed upon the immaculate white tile. Soarin had a feeling he knew where Spitfire would be. He ascended the staircase, which took him to a similar looking room. There were two doors on each side, only this time the flooring was covered with thick lavish rushes. If he remembered correctly, Spitfire's study was through the door on the immediate right. He had been in her house a couple times for homecoming parties the captain would throw for the Wonderbolts returning home from long tours.	

To his left, framed scroll-work, ornate paintings, and photographs new and old of Wonderbolts from every generation lined the walls inside the study. To his right there was a large pane that led out to a balcony that offered its occupants a splendid view of the city of Cloudsdale - especially at night, when the moon's light shone brilliantly upon its ethereal surface.  Books concerning vast topics such as Wonderbolt lineage, Equestrian history, art, culture, philosophy, refurbished writs and accounts of ancient long dead historians,  and even a few well-known works of fiction adorned a massive wood shelf that spanned floor to ceiling and wall to wall. And sitting in a large cushioned recliner, basking in the glow of the flames crackling in a cobblestone fireplace at the far center of the room was her. Spitfire didn't even so much as bother to look up from the book she was reading to acknowledge him. "What are you doing in my house, Soarin?" she said, her tone icy with contempt.       	

Soarin took a deep breath before he spoke. "I came here to talk to you."

Spitfire licked the tip of her hoof and turned a page in her book. "And so you decide to just barge in to my home and invade my privacy?"

Soarin's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, kinda like the time you let yourself into my home uninvited, before you accused me of sleeping with Rainbow Dash."

"That dilapidated piece of crap barn is your home?" Spitfire reached out for the glass of undoubtedly overpriced liquor that had been sitting on a small round table at her side, and gingerly tipped the rim back between her lips. "Well, congratulations," she said, contemplatively swirling the fluid around in her glass. "It's more than what you deserve." 	      

Soarin rose to the bait, bristling at the unprovoked insult. "And might I ask what that piss is that you're drinking?" 				

"It's brandy."

"It's piss," Soarin corrected her. "Aged liquor tastes like crap and you know it. Pretentious shmucks like you would quaff down fermented toad piss and rubbing alcohol if you were told it was fine wine. You'd probably ask for seconds after bleating on about the vintage."

If Spitfire was miffed by the sally, she didn't show it. "As if a beer swilling blue collar such as yourself could appreciate a fine wine."

Soarin was about to fire back, but he remembered the reason for which he came. "I didn't come here to trade quips with you, Spitfire."

"As if you'd have the wit to come up with one."

"Spitfire, enough. I came here because I want to talk. Is just a minute of your time without you condescending to me too much to ask?"	  

"One minute?" Spitfire finally looked up from her book, the fire near her casting shadows upon her face that accentuated her austere visage. "Okay, Soarin. I'll give you one minute. Then, you'll get out of my house, and never come back. Deal?"

"Deal." Carefully, Soarin approached and took a seat on the recliner across from her. They sat there, studying each other as the fireplace roared between them. "Spitfire," he finally began, "I want to make amends with you. I've come here because I... I don't know. I want to understand you a little better."

Spitfire raised her eyebrow. The burning log in the fireplace popped loudly. "Understand me?"		

"Spitfire, you have to admit that you've treated me rather unkindly over the years. I need to understand why. I rack my brain for reasons for your, well, for lack of a better word, hatred for me. I honestly can't think of a single thing I've done to you. I understand that you're angry about the Equestria Games. I get it. But this goes back way before a week ago. You've despised me from day one. I just need to know why."

The captain sat back in her seat, then suddenly clapped her book shut with a thunderous thud. "You want to know what my problem is with you?" She took another drought from her brandy glass, keeping her eyes locked hotly on Soarin's. Then she put the glass down. "You never deserved it," she said in a voice that was almost too low to hear.

"Never deserved what?"

The captain folded her hooves over her closed book, as if to deliver her rebuke in a sophisticated manner. "You never deserved to be a Wonderbolt, Soarin."

"Care to elaborate?" Soarin regretted that request the moment it passed through his lips. No doubt he was in for a scathing lecture now.	

"Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to just become a reserve? I had to hold down three part time jobs just to raise enough money to be able to pay the entrance fee for the academy. If that wasn't enough, my applications were rejected for three years in a row. When I was finally accepted, I still had to hold two of my jobs as I attended in order to keep up with tuition costs and ends meat. Seven years I spent in the academy. Seven years, Soarin, before I was finally noticed and made a reserve. It was another five before I could be sworn in as a full fledged member. It was a living hell. The best years of my life were sacrificed to accomplish this dream that I hold today." 		

"And what does any of that have to do with me?" Soarin asked. "You sacrificed, you slaved, you persevered, you let nothing stop you, and here you sit, the captain of the Wonderbolts. Bravo. But where do I fit in to all of this?"

Spitfire's face soured. Soarin had never seen so much rancor, so much acid, in the scowl the Wonderbolt captain was giving him. "You make me sick," she said in a tone that was as dark as it was personnel. "All the blood, sweat, and tears that I put it to become a Wonderbolt. Then there was you. You never took anything seriously. You laughed your entire way through the academy. It was all just a big party to you and your friends; going out and getting smashed every night, screwing any skank that batted her eyelashes at you!"

Soarin had to bite back his rage. It was true that he liked to cut back and have a drink with Wave Chill every once in a while, but he didn't get 'smashed every night.' And the accusation about all the girls he had been with. There was of course a one night fling here and there, but he wasn't even close to the portrait of hedonism Spitfire was painting him as. Regardless of the accusations, Soarin stayed silent, listening attentively to his former captain's rant.   

"Your line and performance scores were mediocre at best," she went on, "and yet, after attending the academy for only one year, which your parents paid for, you spoiled little piece of shit, the board decided to let you skip the reserve and induct you right off into the greatest team of flyers Equestria has ever known. And do you know why? Why you got a free ride, when the rest of us had to practically kill ourselves just to get into the reserves?"

Soarin looked at one of the pictures on Spitfire's wall. An old black and white picture of Squall Queller, his grandfather, standing proudly with his barreled chest, his leather jacket and his aviator shades. His wide, beaming smile of pearly white teeth was centered perfectly between his prominent cheek bones and strong squared jaw. Standing directly aside him receiving a noogie was a young Wind Rider, a teenager that his grand father had mentored, and went on the become the current holder of the coveted long distance flight record. "I think I can take a guess, now that you have me thinking about it."

Spitfire must have known what Soarin was looking at. "And for once in your life, you'd be right. Your grandfather was one of the greats..." She sat back in her seat, sneering. "If only the board could have known how far the apple had fallen from the tree."

Despite himself, Soarin almost laughed at the irony of the metaphor his former captain had just used.  

"The board figured you'd be some kind of second coming, and through all that nepotistic crap, they made you a Wonderbolt. They practically begged you to join. You, Soarin, a screw up, a nothing, the worst disgrace to the uniform I have ever seen or heard of, born with a silver spoon up your ass, laughed your way to the top - while it took me fifteen years of hard work and sacrifice." This time she reached for the bottle of brandy instead of the glass, uncorked it, and took a deep pull.

The dawn finally broke for Soarin. It was all clear now. A truth that he never could have anticipated rolled unbidden off his tongue in his state of disbelief. "You're jealous."	

Spitfire suddenly hurled the now empty receptacle into the fireplace. The flames leaped and roared so fiercely that Soarin had to shield his eyes from the intensity of the heat. "You're damn right, I'm jealous!" Spitfire roared, extending a hoof toward him with a tear in her eye. "Why should a spoiled little up-jumped no talent hack like you get a free ride when I had to throw away my childhood, my teen years, and the best part of my adult life?"

She's drunk, Soarin realized at once. Drunk on the misery she always kept bottled up inside of her over the childhood she so willingly threw away, as much as that overpriced liquor she had been quaffing.

"The other Wonerbolts hated you just as much as I did!" Spitfire threw her hooves into the air. "They were all beside themselves with excitement at first, thinking you would be Squall Queller the second, but no. All you brought them was shame and disappointment."

"Can you blame me?" Soarin asked defensively. "I only attended the academy for one year. The rest of the team were veteran flyers."

"You didn't have to accept the board's invitation!" Spitfire spat. 

"What would you have done, Spitfire? My parents filled my head with hopes and dreams of becoming a Wonderbolt since I was a foal. The board insisted I was ready. What would you have done if you were just handed over your dream on a silver platter?" 		

"Your dream?" Spitfire laughed derisively. "Your dream that was just given to you? Your dream that you just threw away like it was nothing?"

Soarin puffed up from his seat. "Because you and the team treated my like shit!"

"Because you are shit!" Spitfire roared back. "Even the fans are finally realizing that." 

"No thanks to your lies."

There was a sudden change in Spitfire's demeanor, her furious scowl softening into a suspicious glare. "What lies?"

"The lies that you told to the Foalstreet journal. Something about how I quit, losing the Wonderbolts the Equestria Games just to spite the team and all of Cloudsdale over a financial dispute. Ring any bells?"	

The captain gave him a blank look. "If you're accusing me over the things that ass wipe of a newspaper is saying about you, you're dumber than I thought you were."

"That a fact?" Soarin glared at her.

"Yes, that's a fact." Spitfire returned to her book, plodding her hoof along for the page she had been reading. "Now get out of my house. Get the hell out of my life. If you truly want to make amends with me, then apologize and get out."

Soarin swallowed hard. He needed this. Closure. It's why he came all the way up here. Even if that meant giving Spitfire the last word. Even if it meant apologizing for things that were not his fault, and sitting there as she spat embellishments and lies about his academy life. Even if she did lie to the press, an accusation that Soarin was beginning to doubt, he needed to do this. "I'm... Sorry." He had to force the words out, but there they were. "I'm sorry, Spitfire. Okay?"

"I know you are. Now go door-to-door and apologize to everyone in the team, then, to all of Cloudstale, then, go kill yourself so you can go to Tartarus and beg forgiveness from your grandfather. Then, you can look for your father while you're down there, so he can apologize to you for raising the spoiled, ungrateful piece of shit that he brought into the world."

Soarin was so surprised by that last part that he quivered with wordless fury. There was no comeback, no quip, no insult or rebuke that could soothe the deep cut that her words dealt him. His father. She just had to bring his father into this. What kind of monster uses somebody's dead father as ammunition for an insult?

"Why are you still in my house?" Spitfire asked him in a tone that was as cold and casual as if she were inquiring about the time, her head down as her eyes scanned the text of whatever it was she was reading, her burst of outrage gone as quick as it appeared.

Soarin felt numb as he stood up and made his way to the door. Just as he was leaving, the parting words came to him, in all their cold, venomous fury. "Spitfire," he said icily, turning his head to look out at the city that despised him, through the ostentatious crystal glass pane. "I hope the day comes when you lose everything you've ever worked for. I pray that the day comes when your happiness turns to ashes in your hooves, and the only one you have to turn to is me. I hope you come crawling to me on your belly, too weak to stand, with tears of desperation in your eyes, and when - if - that day should ever come, I'll spit on you. I'll spit on you, and I'll laugh as I watch you wallow in your own self pity and regret."  

"You were spitting in my face every day that I was forced to watch you gallivant about in that proud uniform," Spitfire replied. "What's once more for old time's sake?"

Outraged beyond words, Soarin shoved the door to Spitfire's study open. "Don't slam my door," Spitfire shouted after him. Soarin slammed the door as hard as he could, stomped down the stairs, exited the house, and spared a last glance at his former home, so enraged that the lump in his throat threatened to choke off his breath. His final business in Cloudsdale was concluded, it seemed to him. There was no point in ever coming back. Spitfire and her loyalists all hated him for something that he had no control of. His fans and students alike hated him for the unforgivable crime of moving on in search of a happier life. He gave, and he gave, until he had nothing more to give, then he was thrown away.  


	

Soarin was quite through dinner, and he ate little. He picked at the fries that had been served with his sandwich as he did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone. Getting to see Applejack was the one thing he was looking forward to, but even that was denied of him. He had heard it from Big Mac that she and Rarity had made up and decided to go out to the hay burger for dinner. Soarin should have been happy by the news. It was good to hear that Applejack's plan had worked, whatever it was, and that she and Rarity were friends again. He should have been happy, but he wasn't. He choked down one last hoof full of hayfries and finished his cider. "Thanks for dinner," he said as amiably as he could manage.

Granny gave him a knowing look of concern. "There's plenty more. You sure you had enough?"

"I couldn't eat another bite," Soarin insisted. "I think it's about I headed off to bed. I can barely keep my eyes open." In truth, the last thing he felt like doing was sleeping, but he had to come up with an excuse to retreat before questions concerning his antisocial mood would arise. He hated falling back into his old habits, especially when Granny was always so sweet to him, but he simply hadn't the will or energy to talk about his troubles. Not tonight. 

Soarin thought of his dream as the bucket that was his makeshift shower head rinsed the lathered up soap from his fur. Spitfire would never grant him the closure he needed. He remembered the way he held his hoof out to her as the shadows seized him. She made no move to help him. She just watched as his past literally swallowed him. 

The bucket dripped down its last drop, but Soarin stood there, staring into nothing. How could someone hate him so much over something he had no control of? It wasn't fair. He had no more say in the decisions the talking suits at the board made than he did in choosing the color of the coat he was born with.  	

Soarin laid awake in his pile of straw. He didn't want to sleep. He especially didn't want to dream, but what else was there to do but lay around? His thoughts were plagued by thoughts of his father and grandfather. Was he truly nothing but a big disappointment to them? He was wishing that he could have been old enough to remember his grandfather before he passed away. He looked so strong, and confident, and gallant in the picture on Spitfire's wall - everything that Soarin feared he would never be. It was doubtful that anybody ever called Squall Queller a piece of shit.    

A sudden rapping at Soarin's door caught his attention. Granny, he thought. She wanted to talk to him about his mood. Having been allowed the space to vent, he felt that he may have been ready. He was sick of being alone with his thoughts, besides. Soarin lit his lantern that he liked to keep close by at night, the orange glow illuminating the dark confinements of his barn. "Who is it?"

"It's, uh. It's me, sugarcube," Applejack's voice rang out softly. "Ah ain't bothering you at this hour, Ah hope."

Soarin's heart skipped a beat. "Not at all," he said at once. "Are you coming in?"  	

"Get in there!" Soarin heard a second voice hiss from behind his barn's door. "You've been talking about him all day. You had better not be getting cold hooves!"

"Would you just give me a second to prepare?"

"Prepare for what? You've had all day to prepare. You look fabulous darling, now march in there."

Soarin squinted at his door. He picked the lantern up in his teeth and leaped down from his hayloft.

"Ah ain't never worn mah hair like this before. What if he don't like it?"

"Darling, if he can resist you as gorgeous as you look, he's either gay or he's a eunuch."	

"Who's with you?" Soarin called out to her after carefully placing his lantern on the floor.	

"Could you at least give us some privacy?" Applejack whispered.

"Of course, darling," said the other voice. "Just as soon you walk your fabulous little self on in there."

"And how can Ah be sure that yer not gonna just hang around and eaves drop?"

"I suppose you can't," the mysterious voice giggled.

Soarin was just about to open his door, since Applejack seemed reluctant to let herself in. But as soon as he touched it, it began to creak open. From the narrow opening, Soarin spied those beautiful green emeralds that he was all too familiar with. "H-hi sugarcu— Whaa!" The door flew open. Applejack let out a cry of dismay when an unseen force suddenly shoved her from behind, reeling her into Soarin's chest. He tumbled onto his back with her on top of him. 	

"Rarity!" Applejack yelled.

A smiling ivory white unicorn peaked in at them through the barn door's opening. "You can thank me tomorrow, darling," she giggled before she turned around and scampered off, as if to retreat before Applejack could think to give chase.

"Oh, Ah'ma do more than just thank you, Rarity Unicorn!" Applejack spat over her shoulder as Soarin studied her, her golden hair held back by a diamond encrusted hair brooch, the blue dress that hugged her curves in a way that showed how flawless her figure was. Applejack looked as if she had already forgotten what she was angry about when she finally looked down at him. Her face reddened. "Ah'm so sorry!" She dismounted from him in an awkward flail of limbs. "Rarity just completely ruined mah entrance. Ah was gonna mosey on it and try to strut a little, but she shoved me, and you were right there in front of me, an—

"It's okay," Soarin said, trying to calm her. "It's alright. You... What are you wearing?" He picked himself up and just looked at her.

The light from Soarin's lantern seemed to make Appleack's hair shimmer. She blushed under the foundation on her face, between those freckles of hers. "You," she tried to say, but she started over again. "It's what Ah'm wearin'. You know, tomorrow? Ah was wonderin' what you would think. About me. Wearin' this. Tomorrow. At the... Ponyville day festival?"

"There are no words that exist that can accurately describe how beautiful you are at this moment," Soarin said stupidly. 

The compliment made Applejack smile a shy little smile. "Ah was hopin' you'd like it," she said, relieved. "Ah was lookin' forward to showing this little number off to ya ever' since Ah tried it on, but then Ah got to yer barn, and mah confidence just abandoned me." All the sweetness in her voice left when she added, "Then Rarity shoved me."    

"How could you think I wouldn't like it?" Soarin wondered.

"Ah'm glad that ya do." Applejack shot him a smile. "Ain't ya got somethin' to ask me?"

Soarin suddenly remembered. "I do. You, uh. Applejack, you..." He seemed to forget the speech he had rehearsed in his head earlier that day. It was a good one too... he thought sadly.

"Sugarcube?" Applejack said sweetly.

"Yeah?"

"Quit bein' a butthead and ask me out."	

So much for the cute shyness. "Wanna go out?" were the only words that would come.

Applejack played at being thoughtful over his invitation. "Gee, Ah don't know." She knew she had him, now she was just being a tease. "You gonna dance with me like you said you would a week ago?"

Soarin nodded.

"You gonna buy me drink If Ah ask for one?"

Soarin nodded.

"Well, hey," she said, "sounds like a good time to me." She placed her hoof gently under Soarin's chin and kissed him on the cheek. "You show me a good time tomorrow, and there'll be more where that came from."

Soarin ended up walking Applejack back to the house. They must have said goodnight a hundred times, but a conversation would always somehow come back up. Applejack told Soarin about her day, and what she did to 'fix Rarity's caboose,' as she put it. She apologized for not being there at dinner like she said she would be, but she wanted to have some girl time with her friend, now that she had finally reclaimed her senses. Soarin almost told Applejack about his day. He almost told her about the things Spitfire said, the truths she revealed, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He simply told her that he had a good day at work in the orchards, and that he had hayfries for dinner. 

As he walked back to his barn, a mirthful bounce in his step, he remembered his dream and the conversation he tried to have with Spitfire. It somehow wasn't bugging him anymore, and it was then that he was beginning to realize what his dream truly meant: let go of the past. Just let it go. Every time he would look back at it, every time he'd try to fix it, it would just make him miserable all over again. In his nightmare, he pleaded to Spitfire for mercy, but he was granted none. It was eerily similar to what happened today. Letting go of his past was something that was going to be easier to say than do, Soarin knew, but as long as he had Applejack and her family, he felt that anything was possible.

Soarin took his lantern and leapt up to his hayloft. Thoughts of Applejack in that dress filled his mind, and he knew that he would be dreaming of her tonight. He sprawled out on his straw bed, yawned, and turned out the light.  
> Soarin's Cavalier Carriage
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	If there was one thing Soarin was not in short supply of it was money. There was no need for him to ever spend his money when he was a Wonderbolt; housing was provided for him, and when he wasn't having his meals for free in the academy's mess hall, he would be wined and dined at charity banquets and fundraisers for the modest price of simply making an appearance. The day of the Poneyville celebration was the first time he could remember splurging so much. He wasn't one to flaunt his wealth, but his first date with Applejack needed to be perfect, and he would spare no expense to make it so. 

He looked himself over in the mirror. His black shirt was custom tailored to cuff perfectly just above his hooves. The sleeves fit snug to compliment the shapely sinew of his long forefronts. It was buttoned all the way up to the collar, from which hung a silk purple tie. To match his tie, he had purchased a pair of shades with purple transparent lenses fashioned from thinly honed amethysts. The frames themselves were made of silver, which matched the new silver chain that jingled loosely around his wrist. Soarin was beginning to find silver to his liking. It was a metal that was aesthetically pleasing, yet, subtle. "A little something modern," Soarin said. He then donned his custom made western styled waist coat over his long sleeved shirt. It was adorned with golden buttons dyed a deep purple to go with his shades and his tie. "A little something country," he added, wondering what Applejack would think of his ensemble when she saw him.

"I've never seen you so fantastic, mi amore!" critiqued the flamboyant stallion who owned the boutique. His name was Fernando Fabuloso, a suave and elegant stallion of middling age who was a well known savant in the fashion world. His shop was closed on the day Soarin had come to him, but a tap on the apartment window above his Canterlot shop, and an amiable 'hello' was all Soarin needed to get him to open it. "Soarin, mi amore!" he had squealed out from his window with an eagerness that was startling. "My shop is closed to the public today, but my doors are always open for you! Come, meet me downstairs, and we shall make you fabulous!"  The boutique owner was a long time friend who Soarin had modeled for on several occasions. For a time, when one would travel through the streets of Canterlot, it wouldn't be uncommon to see Soarin on a billboard wearing one of the boutique owner's signature suits. He scrutinized the former Wonderbolt through his decadent pink shades and said, "But it's missing something, no?" He stroked his oiled goatee in a thoughtful manner. 

"What's it missing?" Soarin smiled at the boutique owner in the mirror. "You've already outdone yourself." He traced his hoof along the edge of his collar. It felt smooth as silk, though it was made from cotton that was imported from a country who's name he couldn't pronounce. "I don't think I'll be needing anything else. This is perfect."      

"Soarin, mi amore, there is no such thing as perfection. Only improvement." Fabuloso moved to his sewing machine with a dancing stride that was half a skip and half a saunter. He drew a purple ribbon from a drawer in his sewing station, then levitated a plane black fedora hanging on a nearby peg over to him. A few snips here, a few pumps on the pedal of his sewing machine there, then he turned and presented to Soarin a black velvet fedora sashed with a purple band to go with his outfit. "Magnifico, no?" 

"What's wrong with my other hat?" Soarin gestured to his treasured cowboy hat that he had left laying on the shop's front counter.

Fabuloso looked at it in reserved revulsion. "Oh, amore, you can't wear that old thing; it would clash with your outfit. This hat, however..." He levitated the fedora over to Soarin and set it gingerly atop his head. "Ah," he said gleefully, "now, you are complete! Look, Amore. Behold, for the only stallion who could ever compete or compare with your marvelousness is the one who stands before you in the mirror!"

And so it was true. Soarin had never been one to gloat, but he liked the way he looked. The fedora seemed a bit excessive when it was presented to him, but, looking at his reflection in the mirror, he realized that it suited him. He titled it to the side, smiling. "Fabuloso," he said, "you've done it again. How much do I owe you?"

"You just pay me whatever you feel is necessary."

"But," Soarin objected, "the gold buttons on the coat. The Silver chain. The glasses. This outfit could easily go for a couple grand if you patented it."

"Amore, your handsome face and gorgeously masculine physique has brought me more business than I could ever hope for. I'd still be sewing stitches out of the back of my old shop in Manehattan if you hadn't made the decision to sport my suits at all the formal events you attended."

"Formal events were the bulk of my duties. It wasn't like Spitfire would let me race in any of the derbies." Soarin frowned as he could feel an old wound reopening. "All I was allowed to do at derbies was stand there, smile for the cameras, and sign autographs." Deep down, Soarin knew he shouldn't complain about past grievances. He had decided to leave his past in the past, but old habits died hard, and the harder he tried to forget something, the harder it was to stop thinking about it.  

"Ah, yes, but you looked magnificent while doing so!" Fabuloso insisted. "You wield an autograph pen as gracefully as a swashbuckler with a rapier while dancing upon the surface of water!"

Soarin cracked a smile at that. "You're a silly bastard."

"And you are a handsome one, amore." Fernando winked behind those pink and gold shades, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "If the time should ever come that you'd prefer to play for the other team, just make an appointment and Fernando will pencil you in."

"I'll hold you to that," Soarin said with an assured smirk that said 'not in a million years.' "Seriously though, how much do I owe you?"

"I told you, pay me whatever you like."

Soarin drew his brand new checkbook from his saddle bag. A quick trip to the First National Bank of Canterlot was among the many errands he had ran that day, to run a quick inquiry of his bank account, register his change of address, withdraw a few bits should he need cash, and obtain a new checkbook. He got the pink checks with the cute puppies on them, because why the hell not? Soarin filled out the check, folded it, then placed it on the counter top where his hat had been laying. "I'll just leave your payment right here, Fernando."

"Leaving so soon?" Fernando asked, eyeing the folded check suspiciously. "How much are you paying?"

Soarin turned his head just before pushing on through the glass door that lead through to the smoothly paved brick and mortar street outside. "I think the price is fair. I still have a lot of things to do today, and not a lot of time to do them in. Till next time, amigo." 

"But what about--

Soarin exited the shop before Fernando could see the figures scrawled out on the check and object to it.  He was already half a block away when he heard the words "Ay Celestia Mio!" coming from fernando's shop.  

Smiling, Soarin unfolded his wings and he was off to seize the rest of his day.





"What's the surprise, already!" Scootaloo insisted, her wide, adorable eyes glistening like two purple droplets of morning dew. "The anticipation is going to kill me!"

"I hope not," Soarin goaded, his antique mirror conveying to her his teasing grin. "You'll never know what the surprise is if you die."

"Can't you give us just a little hint?" Sweetie Belle pleaded. Sweetie had the biggest doe eyes of the group, and that little filly knew it. She could have weaponized that pitiful look of hers, and it would have been outlawed by the EUP mandated Poneva Convention the following day. 

"Nope," Soarin smirked at her reflection in the mirror as he stroked a dollop of pomade through his slick blue mane. "And quit looking at me like that, before you give us all The Beetus."  		

The two fillies, clad in the ensembles they'd be showcasing for Rarity's fashion show, persisted with their vain pleas until Apple Bloom's sudden dynamic entry presented a deflection from the topic. "Ah'm here, y'all," she announced enthusiastically after bucking the doors of Soarin's barn in. She entered the hovel with a bounding leap and struck a pose, placing one hoof behind her head and winking. "How do Ah look, ladies?"

"Not as good as me," Sweetie Belle snickered. 

"Should be good enough to get Rumble to notice you," Soarin put in as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, secretly grateful for the opportunity he had just been provided. He hated using Apple Bloom's crush as a distraction, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could take Scoot's and Sweet's doe-eyed pleading. 

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo's little heads perked at that. "Rumble?" they repeated inquisitively.

Apple Bloom's face turned beat red, the little molten ambers that were her eyes suggesting threats of mutilation should Soarin pursue the path that he was on. He turned and zeroed a devilishly charming smile on the filly through the thinnely shaved stones of his glasses. "You know, you're cute when you're angry," he said, donning his fedora, then tilting it to the side. "Maybe I should take you as my date instead of your sister."

Apple Bloom was not amused. The flustered filly looked as if she was being crushed under the weight of her friends' probing stares. "Hey!" she managed with a sudden hint of evasive delight. "That surprise Soarin promised us should be arriving soon!"

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. "Oh, way to dodge the subject, AB." 

"What's this about Rumble?" Sweetie Belle wanted to know, hiding an impish smirk behind her hoof.

Soarin had to restrain a chuckle. It never ceased to amuse him how taboo it was for children of Apple Bloom's age to have a crush. "Actually," he said, deciding to intervene, "she's right. It'll be here any minute now." Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle suddenly looked at him as Wave Chill once would at the mention of groupies outside of his hotel room. "Head over to the main entrance of Sweet Apple Acres, where the main road connects to the path that leads to Ponyville. I'm gonna go ahead and fetch Applejack, and we'll meet you all there."

"C'mon Soarin, what's the surprise, already?" Scootaloo whined.

"You'll see it when it gets here," Soarin repeated for what must have been the hundredth time now. "If you're not there in time though, you might miss out on it." Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo looked at each other in urgency. The next thing Soarin knew, they were tripping over their dresses in their haste to the rendezvous point that had just been divulged to them. 

Apple Bloom conducted herself with a little more dignity than them, walking to the exit in a defined, albeit quick manner. "Soarin," she tossed over her shoulder with a smile that was every bit as cold and sweet as winter molasses, "you ever tell anypony from mah school that Ah like Rumble, Ah'll draw you with a peeling knife and quarter you with granny's wood axe."	  					

"Noted," Soarin replied apathetically, only half listening as he polished his glasses on his lapel. "I can't promise you anything though, so I'll just have to make sure your college fund is in my will before said gutting and dismemberment should occur."

"Ya dang well better," Apple Bloom shot back before chasing after her friends.

Soarin gave the sharp-dressed stallion in the mirror one more glance: new shirt, silk tie, purple shades, cool hat, and he hadn't a reason to feel anxiety about the circumstances due to the fact that his wallet was corpulent. He unfurled his wings and took flight through the hole in his roof. He hovered above his barn for a moment to watch Apple Bloom scurry along the grassy pasture with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. Rumble better watch out, he thought, crossing his arms over his chest. That one is going to be a little firecracker when she grows up. His eyes transitioned to the Apple family house across the field. Just like her sister.

Soarin had only time for one deep breath and a few last minute thoughts as he approached the house. He had a new life, a new family, a new job, and possibly a girlfriend, if he played his cards right tonight. Everything needed to be perfect. He needed to be smooth, he needed to be cool, he needed to be witty, he had to be everything that Applejack thought he was on that fateful night she fell for him. 'Wild, dangerous, exciting and fearless' were the words she used to describe him. Could he be cool while he was consciously trying to..? No, cool wasn't good enough. Not for Applejack; he needed to be alpha status; he couldn't just be 'cool.' He had to be as cool as his grandfather was. That's right, he had to be Squall Sweller cool. He had to be 'mother bucking-jumping-sharks-and-starting-up-jukeboxes-with-a-bump-from-his-hoof-cool.' He was dressed for it. He had the money. He had the moves. He had the connections. He had the plans. The planets were aligning in his favor, he could feel it. Soarin decided that, tonight, he was going to be awesome, and damn any negative notion in his mind that told him he'd be otherwise.	 	

Granny Smith was sipping tea when he arrived. Her eyes met with his from her antique rocking chair which creaked to a halt the moment he walked in. "Whoa, who's that sharp-dressed stallion?" 

Soarin smiled, lowered his glasses to reveal the jade of his eyes, winked. "I believe it's AJ's date."

Granny Smith cocked an eyebrow. "What's with that shit eating grin? Ah'm gonna be attending the festivities as well, hotshot. That makes me yer date, too."

It was as Soarin expected: the old mare didn't trust him alone with her granddaughter. Not yet. She'll likely disguise her reasons for wanting to tag along with them, but the crux of her objective was most likely centered around ensuring that Soarin's motives were nothing less than pure. He considered this momentarily and decided that it didn't bother him. "Works for me," he finally replied, and without so much as missing a beat he added, "Ponies might see the three of us together and think I'm dating a pair of hot twins."  

"Oh?" Granny Smith cackled in amusement as she rocked her chair back. "Ah think Ah'm startin' to see why mah granddaughter likes ya; yer sweet. Full of crap, but, sweet." Granny and Soarin both shared a laugh at that.

Soarin espied the grandfather clock standing like an ancient, oaken monolith against the wall, ticking its loud rhythmic ticks."So, where's AJ?" he wondered. "I kinda figured she'd be ready to go by the time I was here. I have a surprise waiting for her."	  

"Cool yer jets, Romeo." Granny took a sip of her tea. "Girls take forever getting ready for anything - especially dates. You don't know the first thing about girls, do ya?"

"Granny," Soarin replied, "the only thing I can honestly claim to know about your sex is that I don't know a damn thing."

Granny chuckled. "A common limitation with your sex, Ah suppose. 'Least yer honest about it though. Good boy."

Granny and Soarin conversed as they waited for Applejack to come down stairs. The old mare shared a few heartwarming gems about her when she was a child, but then the discussion seemed to take a more serious turn when she started going into details about her granddaughter's love life. "Seems that the kinda stallions Applejack has always attracted were the type who were only interested in one thing. It's darn near impossible for a pretty girl like her to avoid those types.  Applejack was havin' none o' them, though. Call her closed minded if you want, but mah sweet granddaughter has her morals and her priorities in tact. Anyone who has ever tried to pressure her into doing something she wasn't ready to do, or had no intention of doing, she wouldn't hesitate to show em the door." 

Granny's teacup clanged atop the porcelain saucer when she set it down. "So now you know a little more about mah granddaughter. She prizes her farm and her family above all else, so if you ever want to leave this place, Ah'm sorry to say, you'll be hittin' the road on yer own. Ah don't know how far yer plannin' on takin' this relationship with mah granddaughter, or if it's even gone far enough to call it that yet, so just know this: You hurt her, you cross any line that she draws with you, yer out of here. Ah ain't tryin' to be mean, Soarin. Ah'm simply letting you know that Ah trust you, and so does AJ, and Big Mac, and Apple Bloom. Don't ever do anything to betray that trust, son."

It had seemed that Granny had drawn the line in the metaphorical sand. Soarin's long history of blunders had made him a natural pessimist, but this one thing, this 'trial' of courting Applejack was one thing he wasn't going to fail. "Braeburn once told me that he could ask me a million questions and he still wouldn't know a thing about me at the end of the day. I could shower you in all the promises you want, but I doubt cheap words would sway you into thinking differently of me. "	

Granny smiled a sweet, trusting smile. "It's good to see that you're learning. It's true, simple words don't mean much around here, but this was a talk we needed to have. Ah just need to make sure we understand each other."

Soarin nodded, then his ears twitched when a sudden sound coming from upstairs caught his attention. The most graceful mare he had ever seen descended the stairs, her golden hair and bronzed fur freshly bathed and perfumed filling the room with an intoxicating aroma that conjured images of a rustling apple orchard on a cool autumn night. That shy smile of hers only seemed to intensify her allure. "How do Ah look, sugarcube?" she asked in a timid manner, stepping off from the last stair with an almost feline grace that she must have practiced in a mirror until it was honed to fluid perfection. 

Soarin's heart fluttered. You're supposed to be cool tonight, he had to remind himself. "Hot enough to melt butter," he said in a tone that was as smooth as velvet.  

Applejack smiled, flushed, averted her eyes. She had to clear her throat to distract herself. "Ah'm sorry Ah took so long to get ready."

She feels awkward all dolled up like that, Soarin figured. It was either that or she was well aware of how cute she was when she played at being coy. Let her play any angle she wants. She's beautiful no matter what she does. "Like the grand finale at a fireworks show, you were worth the wait."

AJ looked at him and said, "Well, yer one to talk, Ah can't believe how good you look. You look like you could be a model, or a movie star."

"And yet, I doubt anyone will notice me when I'm standing next to you." Soarin couldn't believe it. He was on a roll. He was actually being smooth, and so far his awkward idiosyncrasies hadn't subjected him to the mouth raping his hoof would habitually inflict upon him when he tried to be witty.  "And don't worry about how long it took you to get ready, I doubt you've made us late." Soarin looked at the clock one more time. "In fact, I have a surprise waiting for us. It should get us to the festival in no time."

"Surprise?" Applejack tilted her head.

"Oh, that's right." Granny Smith climbed down from her chair and dusted herself off. "You was sayin' something about a surprise earlier, weren't ya?"

"That's right," Soarin announced. He strode to the front door, pushed it open, and with a chivalrous gesture of his hoof, beckoned Granny and Applejack exit. "It's right this way, ladies."

The dwindling afternoon sun was rippling, orange and yellow, like a giant sphere of molten gold above the mountains as Soarin, Applejack, and Granny Smith sauntered along the grassy pasture. The distant crags seemed to be enveloped in a shroud of purple. It was about that time of day, the brief moment when the light from the waning sun set the mottled clouds before the horizon ablaze with purples and pinks. Not truly day, nor truly night. It was dusk in its infancy. The rolling hills and rustling trees of Sweet Apple Acres have yet to fail at making this time of day anything less than picturesque. 

"Pretty, ain't it?" Applejack commented, knowing exactly what Soain was looking at.

"You sure are," he replied. "Those mountains out there aren't bad either."

Applejack chuckled. "You planing on being this smooth the whole night, cowboy?"

"I plan on getting progressively worse through the evening," Soarin admitted. "I'm at my peak right now, but I'll start running out of gas soon. Then I'll have to result to corny one-liners I may have stolen from a couple of movies."

"Like what?" Applejack said, genuinely curious.

"Like this." Soarin adjusted his glasses and said, "I could be all, like, 'give me some sugar, baby.'"

Applejack guffawed. "Where'd ya learn that one?"

"Some shitty B flick," Soarin replied. "Though I fear I'll never be as cool as the guy who actually said it."

"Speaking of sugar, though." Applejack fell in closer beside Soarin until their sides were touching. She batted her eyelashes at him prettily when he looked down at her. "Ah just might have a little somethin' sweet for ya at the end of the night," she purred.

"Y-yeah?"

"Maybe." Applejack teased him with a sly smile before slipping in some distance between them again. "Maybe not."  

"You've gone from shy to flirt in thirty seconds flat."

"A personnel best," Applejack proclaimed.  

"And how long does it usually take for you to..." Soarin suddenly realized that Granny wasn't at his other side. He looked back and noticed that she was falling behind. Soarin looked at AJ and gestured back to Granny, feeling chagrined that he was too busy flirting with his date to notice her struggling. 

They slowed to match her speed and asked her what was wrong, but when they did she just shrugged and said, "don't worry about me. Just givin' you kids yer space....... Ah may be...... Tagin' along on this date o' yers, but...... That don't mean Ah'm gonna be a.... Third wheel."		    	       	

A lie, Soarin knew. The old mare was having trouble keeping up with them. The hitch in her stride and her exerted breaths between sentences were impossible for her to hide. A brisk walk across this pasture might as well be ten miles for her... Soarin offered her his arm.

"Ah don't need no help," Granny asserted, though not unkindly.

"Granny," Applejack insisted, "let him help you."

"It's as you said, Grandma," Soarin put in, "you're my date as well. Come on, let me score some points with you here. I'm still trying to decide on which one of you I'm going to be kissing by the end of the night."

Granny had to stop to laugh. "Oh, son, as weak as mah knees get whenever yer around, this ol' girl's kissin' days are over." She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. "Alright, you win, hotshot. Give me that limp-wristed noodle you call an arm."

It appeared that the surprise that Soarin had promised Applejack and Granny Smith had arrived on time. Soarin's own personal stretch carriage was waiting them. It was decadent and long, shining black and chrome in all its ostentatious glory. Applejack and Granny Smith's eyes widened at the site of the thing as they approached. Thumping music could be heard resonating from inside of it, powerful sub-woofers rhythmic with concussive blasts of heavy bass that shook the very leaves from the encompassing trees.  

"Whoa Nelly..." Applejack gawked at it in astonishment. "What is that thing, some kinda trailer home?"

"It's my carriage." Soarin had to smile at Applejack's incredulity. "It's a custom job, complete with enough seating for a twenty pony entourage, heated seats,  air conditioning, state of the art sound system, mini bar, and, my personal favorite, a crystal disco ball.  I used it whenever I wanted to make a flashy entrance at parties. It's been collecting dust in a Canterlot storage unit for the past couple of years though. Figured this would be the perfect excuse to take it for a little spin." Soarin waited for Applejack to say something, but she only gaped at the carriage in silent awe. "Bit for your thoughts?"			

"An' to think," She finally said, "Ah was impressed with that carriage Twilight whipped up to take us all to the grand galloping galla that one night."

"I just hope you like it," Soarin said. "My dates deserve the best. Right, Granny?"

"Ah don't know about this." Wincing, cringing, Granny Smith tried to fold her ears down. "That music's awful loud... An'.... Just plain awful!"

"Yeah, I think that's your grand daughter and her friends playing with the sound system. No doubt they're having themselves a little party in there. Let's join them, shall we?" 	

The drivers that Soarin had hired were leisurely laughing and congregating around the carriage. A few of them were smoking from strange looking metallic pipes that lit up every time a pull was taken from them. One of the drivers, a strapping stallion who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, noticed Soarin and his date approaching. He cocked his head back and blew a torrent of white smoke that coiled itself into a voluminous, sweet smelling cloud before dispersing lazily into the air. "Oi, look alive, gents," he announced to the rest of his team in an accent that was thickly flavored with the rustic, deep southern regions of Trottingham, "our client has arrived. It's time for some worky-work!" 		

"You guys ready to make some money?" Soarin called out to him as he lead Granny and Applejack on toward the carriage.

"Aye," the stallion laughed, "I'm also ready ta take a first class trip to the Chrystal Empire and shag the princess, but your plan seems a bit more realistic, eh?" The stallion's bawdy jape scored a chorus of cackling laughter from his subordinates. "What're you bloody lot laughin' at?" He snapped at them. "Get ta' hitchin'!" The younger stallions promptly fell into two queues before the carriage and hitched the yokes around their necks to their harnesses. 

Soarin decided at that instant that he liked their boss. He was casual enough to crack jokes, but he could be tough as well. "You have your drivers trained well," Soarin commented.

The head driver took his place front and center of the two lines and replied, "Aye, a cohesive team is important in this line o' work. Lazy pullers means a bad reputation. A bad reputation means no work. An' if we ain't workin, we ain't earnin'... Which is bad." The cockney stallion took one more pull from his pipe before depositing it into a velvety bag which hung around his neck. 

Granny watched him apprehensively and inquired under her breath, "what's that funny-lookin' cigar that boy's smokin'? Ah ain't gettin' in no carriage driven by a crazy limey all hopped up on some kinda wacky tobacky."

Soarin laughed. "We'll be fine, grandma, it's just a vape pipe."

"What's that?" Applejack wondered.

"A thing that the cool kids do, I guess." Soarin offered as he approached the door to the carriage. A simple bump to the side panel with his hoof prompted a chorus of hydraulics to whine and whir as a mechanical door slid open. The music inside was thumping with the dulcet electronica of an underground rave DJ Soarin had met in his travels. The seating was a spacious, thickly padded ring-shaped bench that extended to each corner of the carriage - velvety, black, and very comfortable, made from the finest synthetic materials designed to simulate the soft, sinking comfort of a cloud. The inside of the decadent transport was dimly lit, though everything glowed under the black light emitted from the clear disco ball hanging from the ceiling. The ivory-toned Sweetie Belle glowed under it like the full moon on a cloudless night. Scootaloo was laying back against the soft cushions, sipping from a straw that extended from a tall, frosty glass soda bottle she had pilfered from Soarin's mini bar. Apple Bloom was in the process of chewing a copious mouth full of sweets as she happily bobbed her head to the music."Glad to see you're enjoying the hospitality!" Soarin had to yell over the music to get their attention. Their eyes suddenly snapped up to him, six little orbs shimmering under the cast of the black light.

Scootaloo reached for the console controls that extended like a podium from the center of the carriage's floor and gave the volume knob a twist. The music faded until the sub-woofers throbbed with dull, rhythmic vibrations. "Soarin, dude," Scootaloo exclaimed, "this carriage is bumpin'! I had no idea you rolled like this."

Apple Bloom mumbled her concurrence through a mouth that was stuffed with gourmet jelly beans. Her bulging cheeks looked as if they were set to bursting if she were to cram anymore.	    

"These seats are, as my sister would say, fabulous!" Sweetie Belle threw herself back into the soft black cushions, sighing pleasurably as she let them swallow her. "What's this material called? I want a bed made of this stuff!"  		     

Soarin smiled at Apple Bloom, then he smiled at Scootaloo, then he said, "it's stuffed with the entrails of naughty fillies who help themselves to my refreshments without asking."

Apple Bloom stopped chewing. Scootaloo stopped sipping. Sweetie Belle threw a victorious hoof in the air. "Woot! I live."	

"Just kidding, girls," Soarin laughed. "Help yourselves to whatever your little hearts' desire."

Scootaloo took another sip from her rootbeer. "You had me going there for a second." She then reached for the container of Jelly Beans Apple Bloom had been quaffing down.

"See, Ah told you he was cool," Apple Bloom managed between mouth fulls. "An' these jelly beans are amazing!"

"I want some, too," said Sweetie Belle, reaching out for her share.

They seem content enough. Soarin looked back at Granny and Applejack. "Ladies?" He held a hoof out for Granny to take. She accepted his help, though she did it warily, stepping slowly, looking all about her surroundings as she entered the carriage, not knowing what to make of anything within. The technological feat of state-of-the-art engineering that was Soarin's transport seemed to overwhelm her with an expression of what he could only deduce was culture shock. The old mare took her seat at the opposite end of the carriage from where the three fillies had been sitting. 	

"Ah appreciate how sweet yer being to Granny."

Soarin looked back at Applejack and extended a hoof to her. "You were expecting me to be hostile to her?"

Applejack took his hoof, but she lingered there for a moment, as if to hang on to the moment. "Ah wasn't sure what to think. When she insisted that she was going with us, Ah got a tad bit fearful that you'd get upset or object." She blinked. "Can't tell you how glad Ah am to finally go out and have some fun with you. That's what this night's gonna be about, having fun, and getting to know each other."

"We'll be doing plenty of both." Soarin smiled at her confidently. "I promise."

Applejack's grip became a little firmer. A light gust of wind blew between them as she drew his hoof up just below her chin. "Soarin, Ah just need to know one thing. Ah might not get another chance to ask you this in private tonight."

Soarin remained silent and attentive.

"This might sound strange, but, who are you? Ah mean, really? Ah've seen so many sides of you now, ah don't know which one is the real you. You always seem to be so quite and sullen all the time. But the night of Rainbow Dash's party - and, well, tonight, the way yer acting right now. It's like yer a completely different stallion. Which one is the real you?"

"You're going to get to know the real me tonight," Soarin promised her. "That's not a question that can be answered with words. I was mopey because I was miserable, but I'm ready to let go of all that. I'm ready to start enjoying life, to start looking on my future with a smile instead of dwelling on my past with a frown. Now, come on, it's time I showed you the real me."

That unsure look of Applejack's warmed into a smile. "Ah'm lookin' forward to gettin' to know this 'real' you."

"Your carriage, mah lady?" Soarin tried to say without laughing.

Applejack rolled her eyes. "You call me that one more time an' the date's off," she said with a jocular grin as she let Soarin lead her into the carriage.  
> We Were Strangers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Soarin sat at the bar and watched as Applejack enjoyed the party with her friends. He had been nursing the same drink for about twenty minutes now, enjoying the steady, modest buzz that it brought him. She is so beautiful, he thought, a feeling of euphoria welling within him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was happy. He was content. No amount of money could ever buy what he was now feeling. Why is this happening? Why are things going so... Right? It truly was an incredible feeling. It was that feeling that comes so rare in life, the overwhelming sensation of being in love. He drank down the last swallow of his pint and set the tall empty mug down on the counter top.  

"Would you like another one, sir?" asked the bartender.

Soarin twisted around on his stool to face him and slid a few shiny bits his way. "No, thanks." One drink to calm his nerves was all he wanted. He refused to delude his wits with alcohol. He had already tried to dance while drunk in front of Applejack before. Never again. It made Soarin cringe when he thought back to how pathetic he looked that night, wallowing in his self pity, yammering, sobbing, half-mad and rambling drunk. He refused to let himself forget the way he acted that night; he never wanted to forget who he used to be, so as to never make the mistake of becoming that sad, sorry sot again. 

"This seat taken?" came the sultry song of a Trottingham accent. It was dulcet, bell-like, completely unlike the crude, cockney lout who had led his team of carriage pullers. 

Soarin observed a grey, classy-looking mare taking the stool next to him. He noted her purple bow tie that was fastened around her neck with a white collar. Her eyes were purple and narrow, giving her somewhat of a scholarly appearance. "Looks like it is now."

The mare giggled. "Oh, you're a funny one." Even her laughter sounded sophisticated.

Soarin half-smiled. "Only when I'm not trying to be." 

"That a fact?" She gave him a sideways glance, mulberry eyes illuminating with seduction. "I like your shades... Makes me wonder what your eyes look like."

Soarin lifted his glasses for her. "Hate to disappoint you, but they're nothing special."

"I beg to differ. I quite like them." The mare smiled hopefully. "Buy a girl a drink?"

Soarin was afraid this was where the conversation was going. He lowered his glasses and turned toward the bar. "I don't think that would be a good idea, miss." 

"Oh..." The mare with the accent said in a dejected tone. "I'm terribly sorry. I suppose you're here with somepony?"

"Yeah, I am. Sorry if I'm coming off as rude. "

"Oh, not at all. I should have known that a gentlepony of your class would be taken..." She sighed. "Story of my life." There was a moment of awkward silence between the two before she spoke again. "Well, anyway, she's a very lucky girl to have you. I'm sure a stallion of your caliber would settle for nothing less but the most elegant of--

"Whoowee, Ah'm havin' more fun than a fox in a hen coop!" Applejack, from out of nowhere, plopped her rump down on the stool at Soarin's side, spun around several times, then stopped to face him. "Hey, Soarin, why don't you come cut a rug with me? Ah' been waitin' for ya practically the whole dang night!" 

"S-sure," said Soarin, startled by Applejack's sudden intrusion. 

"But first, you gotta buy little ole' me a drink," proposed the freckle-faced southern belle, with an irresistible bat of her eyelashes.

"Sure."

The girl with the accent let out an irritated sigh, stood, then walked away.

"What'll ya have?" Soarin asked.

"Gee, Ah don't know." Applejack propped her head up with her hoof, resting an elbow against the polished wooden counter top. "What do ya think Ah'd have?"

"I can't tell you what to drink."

"No," AJ responded, a playful gleam sparkling in her eyes, "but, based on what ya know about me, what do you think Ah'd like?"

Soarin had to think on that one. What kind of drinks did girls usually order? What kind of drink would a girl like Applejack order? After giving the riddle some consideration, an idea suddenly hit him. "Sir," he said to the barkeep, "I think I will have another pint." A sense of self satisfaction came over him as he deduced the solution to Applejack's guessing game. "And an Appletini for my lady friend, if you'd be so kind," he added with all the self assured finality in the world.

Applejack had a mocking smile on her face when the bartender placed the drinks in front of them. "Gee, just when Ah thought Ah had you guessing."

"Hey, what can I say?" Soarin shrugged. "I have a gift."

Applejack swapped her fruity little confection for Soarin's beer. "You got a gift, alright." She tipped the frosty pint against her lips and quaffed it down in just a few deep gulps. She sighed pleasurably as she wiped her mouth. "Whoowee, that hit the spot!"

"That was mine," Soarin complained.

"Nah, yer drink is sittin' right there in front of ya."

Soarin frowned at the little green umbrella drink in front of him. "No self-respecting stallion would ever drink one of these."

"You know," Applejack pointed out, "you can tell a lot about someone by what drink they order at a bar. By what you ordered for yourself there, it tells me that you occasionally like an umbrella inside you."

Soarin flicked the rim of the glass, filling the air with a high note as the ice shavings danced around in the cloyingly sweet green fluid. "As long as it's a closed one."	

Applejack let loose with a hearty laugh. "A'right smart ass, let's see if them hooves are as quick as that mouth 'o yers." Without waiting for a reply, she took Soarin's hoof, yanked him off the bar stool, and dragged him toward the stage. 

Soarin noticed all her friends smiling and sniggering to each other while they watched AJ drag him along like a leashed dog to a veterinarian's office. They made him feel self conscious, but his perturbation lasted for only a second. Soarin reminded himself that he could indeed dance. He had nothing to be afraid of. He hadn't lied when he told Applejack that Spitfire made him take dancing lessons. Whenever he and the captain were forced to smile and pretend to like each other for the cameras at the Grand Galloping Gala and other social events, they were seen dancing with each other. It was ironic that Spitfire forced him to take dancing lessons to keep him from embarrassing her, only for the outcome to be reversed in that she was never able to keep up with him.

The music was symphonic, yet upbeat, which was perfect for Soarin to show off his more advanced hoof work, but he needed to be careful; dancing with a partner required a certain harmony. Steady synchronization was never something that he and Spitfire were ever able to establish. It always seemed that he had to pick up the slack in order to make them both not look like complete idiots. He had to constantly pull her this way or push her that way while trying his damndest to make it look like she knew what she was doing. When you were a Wonderbolt, and the public was watching, you were pressured to do everything perfectly. 

Soarin held his hoof out to Applejack. She smiled and graciously accepted it. Soarin waited for the appropriate moment in the music to initiate his advance. The very moment he established a feel for the rhythm, he gently twisted Applejack's hoof, up and over, causing her to spin once before losing her balance, which Soarin had anticipated. He improvised by deftly catching her and dipping her back before pulling her up. She looked at him as he held her close, wide eyed. "W-what was that?"

"I told you I could dance."

"A-Ah don't think Ah'm as good as you," she admitted with a sudden hint of intimidation in her tone. 

"Just relax and let me lead you. It'll just be harder if you tense up." 

"Okay." Applejack exhaled. "Let's try that last move one more time."

Soarin obliged her, but this time she was able to catch herself and move with the momentum the spin provided for her, instead of clumsily tripping over it. They stood there, frozen in time, hooves interlocked as they leaned away from each other. It was the precise position that particular move was meant to end in. Applejack's satisfied grin stretched practically ear-to-ear. "Did ya see me?"

"I did," Soarin said, too charmed not to laugh. She was so cute when she was all excited like that. "You're a natural."

"What other tricks you got up them sleeves of yers?"

"I could tell you." He pulled her in with a graceful spin and held her close. "Or I could just show you." 

And so Soarin was the moon and Applejack was the tide. She moved beautifully with the subtle hints he gave her. She rolled with the steady smoothness of sea foam rolling over a rocky shore, as if guided effortlessly by a gravitational pull. He spun her, he swayed her, he moved her back, he eased her forward. Her hair had somehow become undone, but she never stopped to fix it. She had even lost her tiara, but she didn't seem to notice. A sheen of sweat was covering them both by the time their fourth song crescendoed to a climax. They found themselves facing each other, smiling and short of breath. "You're... You're amazing!" Applejack managed to exclaim through her labored breathing.

Soarin was about to return the compliment but a sudden eruption of applause interrupted him. They both looked around and suddenly remembered that there was a world that existed around them. Ponies in attendance had formed a circle at one point to watch them dance. Applejack's friends were in the crowd. They seemed to be cheering the loudest. The apple farmer was looking down at the ground, blushing and smiling with that innocent modesty she was so prone to.  

If there was a ever a time to kiss her. And how could he not? She looked so happy. The time seemed so right. Soarin placed his hoof under her chin. "Hey."

"Y'yeah?" She looked up at him in a shy manner that made her seem so vulnerable.

Looking at her, something caused Soarin to hesitate. The moment did seem right - at first. He could kiss her, he supposed... In front of all these ponies... He turned his head to survey all the onlookers. The spirit was willing, but he doubted that all the looky loos would make it a pleasurable experience for Applejack. He reminded himself that he was used to being in the public eye. Having no privacy came with the territory for a Wonderbolt, but AJ was another story. He hadn't planned for this scenario. "You want to, uh, get another drink or something?" he suggested.

Applejack released her apprehension with a relieved sigh and said, "A drink sounds real good about now." She took his arm and let him lead her away from the dance area.

Ah, come on! Sweetie Belle could be heard shouting from somewhere in the crowd. Some of the disappointed onlookers, acquaintances of Applejack, Soarin surmised, grumbled as they began to disperse and go on about their business.

"Water," Soarin said to the barkeep when he took his seat.

"Water sounds good," Applejack agreed.

"Water? I don't mind ordering another pint for you."

Applejack wiped away the flecks of intermingled sweat and residual hair product that was now running down from her scalp. "Nah, Ah think some water would do me some good." She leaned in a relaxed pose over the counter top and huffed with a satisfied grin. "That was one heck of a display you just put on. Ah can't remember a time when Ah had so much fun." She glanced at him from behind a golden lock that had managed to liberate itself during their pirouette. "You up for round two after this?"

The bartender set down two bottles of water between them, followed by a mysterious third bottle. "Compliments of a gentlepony who wishes to remain anonymous," the barkeep said before sauntering away to serve his other patrons.

"We can go round three and four if you'd like."

"Why not five?" Applejack suggested before she guzzled her water down.

"It's not good for you to drink it all so fast," Soarin advised. "It could come back up if you're not careful. Especially when a body has been as active as yours just was."

"Ah'm sorry, are you mah date, or did Ah hire you to be mah personnel trainer?"

Soarin smiled. "I'll be whatever you want me to be." He was then surprised when she took his hoof.

"Ah just want you to be you. Ah really mean it when Ah say Ah'm havin' the time of mah life. Ah never knew Ah could dance like that. You really are incredible, you know that?" She looked away from him, and then she began to blush as she admitted, "Ya know, getting to know you over this passed week has been like a dream. Ah just feel like... Like Ah could wake up at any moment."

"Sir?" The bartender tried to interrupt, but his interjection went unheard.

Soarin eyed her curiously. "A dream?"

"Ah mean..." She paused and coyly stroked the back of her neck. "It just don't feel real. It feels like this passed week has been just one long dream... From the seats at your shows, you seemed like this big star that just burned too bright for anyone to be able to touch. Ah admit that Ah was a bit intimidated every time you'd come up to mah little stand at the gala to buy a pie from me. But there's this whole other side of you that Ah couldn't have anticipated: Yer sweet, down to earth, and you ain't afraid to roll up yer sleeves and get yer hooves dirty."

"Sir?" The bartender tried again.

The Grand Galloping Gala. Soarin was taken by a sense of nostalgia. We were strangers back then. He remembered back to the first time he saw her, standing there with that hopeful look in her eyes, occasionally frowning at a passerby who refused to even look at her. If only he could go back to the past and relive that moment, just so he could look at her through the eyes that he had for her now.  

"Ah would have always thought that a working class pony like me would have been seen as someone who was beneath you, but you've shown me how wrong Ah was," the farmer admitted. "On top of that, Granny loves you to pieces, and Apple Bloom absolutely adores you. Even Big Mac has taken a shine to you. Mah friends-- 

"Sir!"

Soarin finally granted the bartender his attention, which came in the form of an irritated glare. "I already tipped you," he snipped, eager to get back to the conversation. 

"It's not about the gratuity, sir." The barkeep gestured toward the untouched third bottle on the counter he had placed in front of him.

"Who's it from?" Soarin sighed impatiently. His time with Applejack was more valuable to him than riddles, especially when their conversation was finally starting to go somewhere.  

"It's as I've said, he wished to remain anonymous. I'll tell you this, though." The barkeep placed his two front hooves on the counter top and leaned over in a secretive manner. "He was a sullen lookin' fella. Didn't get a good look at him. He was wearing a raincoat with the hood drawn."

"A raincoat?" 

"Yeah, he looked a tad bit out of place. He just gave me this bottle and pointed toward you while you were dancing with your lady friend. Told me to give it to you when you came back. He gave me a, uh, mighty generous tip in return for making sure this bottle made its way to you."

Soarin squinted suspiciously at the receptacle. "How much did he pay you?"

The barkeep smiled. "Not sure yet. It was a pretty sizable bag of bits. I'm looking forward to counting them all out once my shift is over, though. No pre-packaged frozen dinners for this stallion tonight." 

Applejack scooted her stool closer to Soarin so that she could get a better look. The bottle was brown with a long neck, and whatever label had been on it had been carefully peeled away to reveal a lingering pattern of dried adhesive. Nothing about it seemed particularly special. Soarin rolled the amber vessel around in the light that a nearby hanging lantern provided. The glare made it difficult to see, but there was definitely something moving inside. Soarin twisted off the cap, turned the bottle over, and tapped the bottom until a corner section of the object inside protruded from the mouth. 

"A letter?" Applejack wondered.

Wordlessly Soarin removed the scrap of rolled up paper from the bottle and read the words scrawled across it.  

Meet me at your barn as soon as you read this. Come alone.
Spitfire

There was a sudden heaviness in Soarin's gut. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow. She threw my apology back in my face. She said she never wanted to see me again. What in Tartarus could she possibly want! But something was wrong. He seared a glare into the bartender. "You said it was a dude who brought you this bottle."

"It was," the barkeep insisted. "He was tall, and had kind of a deep voice. Also had a bit of a five o'clock shadow going on. Talked kinda like a surfer. Does that sound like a dame to you?"

"Surfer?" It was Wave Chill. It had to be. 

"What's the letter say?" Applejack reached for it.

Soarin pulled it away before she could take it from him. "It's... It's private." He bit his tongue. There was no doubt a better way he could have said that, but for the life of him he couldn't find a way to articulate it.  

"Oh," was all Applejack said. The hurt in her voice was all too evident. 

Soarin looked down at the letter again. "Hey, I have to check on something really quick, alright?"

Applejack looked at him. Soarin could have sworn he saw a tear well up in her eye before she forced herself to look away. 'You're still keeping secrets from me?' Soarin knew that's what she was thinking. It was all over her face.

"Where are you going?" Applejack asked.

"I'm going to... I just have to check on something really quick, alright?" It wasn't right. He could feel her slipping away from him. He finally had her, and now he was losing her. He could have shown her the letter, but if he did, he knew she would insist on coming with him. The abusive way in which Spitfire tended to treat him... She would undoubtedly be livid if he brought Applejack with him after reading that the letter clearly stated to come alone. The things she would say to him... The scolding he would receive... He couldn't bring himself to allow Spitfire to humiliate him in front of Applejack. She would never look at him the same way again. The thought to simply ignore the note's summons crossed him, but he feared that would evoke Spitfire's wrath even further. She'd most likely view that as a provocation to come look for him herself. It might be difficult to get a new start in Ponyville if it starts off with Spitfire emasculating him in front the whole town. "Hey, AJ, I promise, I'll be right back, okay?"

Applejack mooned down at the counter. "That's fine. You go do whatever it is you gotta do." She sighed,  then said to the bartender, "I'll have a shot of whisky, please."

"AJ, don't do this."

The farmer knocked the shot back. "Just go, okay? Go do yer little secret thing you can't tell me about." She looked up at the barkeep. "Make it a double this time."

"At once, ma'am."

"AJ, I'm begging you. Don't just drink and shut me out like this."

Applejack knocked the glass back against her lips, shuttered, then coughed. "Getting drunk and shutting others out? If that don't sound like someone Ah know."

Soarin could only look at her. The words stung, true as they were. Sighing, he finally turned around and looked up at the sky. Moonlight illuminated the thin pale clouds like gleaming snow. It was so bright that the night sky looked more of a dark blue than a proper black. The air was cool and crisp with a pleasant, light wind that carried with it the ambient symphony of crickets and wooden wind chimes. After sparing his date one more glance he spread his wings and took to the sky. 

And so he flew as fast as he could with the desperate hope that AJ would be willing to forgive him, if he was quick enough to get back to her. Soarin feared he'd never have an opportunity like tonight. He was supposed to dance with Applejack, drink with her, make her laugh, have fun with her friends, and the night was supposed to end with a kiss. The end of this night was supposed to mark the beginning of Soarin's happily-ever-after. His life, however, would never be so simple, he knew. His life was not a story, a poem, a song, or a fairy tale. The only two things that existed within the 'fairy tale' that was his existence was his woe and the wicked witch that was at the source of it: A witch that would not burn away in flames or melt when doused in water. Spitfire was a witch - of that Soarin was certain. A witch that everyone perceived as the hero, with no vulnerabilities.     

> Honoring Tradition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Soarin's nightmare haunted his thoughts as he glided along a powerful headwind. Big Mac had lied to him. His dream was not a warning; it was merely a prelude of things to come - absolute and unchangeable. No matter how hard he would try to get away from his past, it would always loom over him, ready to shove him headfirst into the gutter every time he tried to pick himself back up. 

He had suddenly found himself caught in a downdraft. It was as if even the wind itself was conspiring against him. Instead of fighting against it he let himself fall into a sharp dive. He eventually felt a break in the wind, where he leveled himself and rode out the momentum his descent had given him. 

He could see it now, his old barn, an ancient sentinel of rotted wood in the distance. Soarin gritted his teeth, unable to remember a time in his life when he was in such a black mood. He didn't even bother aiming toward the hole in the roof. He slammed into it and made another, landing at such a force that he made a small crater filled with splinters and bits of broken floorboard. "Show yourself!" He yelled blindly into the darkness, thrashing his way wildly out of the hole, kicking up dust and debris in every direction. 

There was a slight sound at first, a creaking of floor boards as small, graceful hooves glided across them. "Aren't we testy," Spitfire taunted as she drew near. The moonlight shining through the holes and cracks of the barn finally revealed her, the pale rays kissing her exquisite curves and setting a flame the fierce molten orange of her eyes. She sat back on her haunches, completely undaunted by Soarin's display of fury. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up."

Soarin scowled at her. "What do you want from me?" he snapped. "I was in the middle of the best night of my life, Spitfire!"

The captain turned her head ever-so-slightly, her eyes narrowing slyly in that smug way they did just before she would deliver a retaliatory remark. "Is that any way to speak to someone who's doing you a favor?"     

"A favor?" Soarin scoffed. "We've nothing to say to each other. You've never made that more clear to me than you did the other night."

"Funny you should mention last night," Spitfire said. "That's pretty much what brought me here."

"What are you talking about? You told me to leave. you told me to go kill myself. What more could you possibly have to say to me?"

"I figured I'd have to spell everything out for you," Spitfire sighed. "I've recently discovered something that I think you should be made aware of."

"And what is that?" Soarin's eyes were now beginning to adjust to the gloom of his barn. There were two figures standing in the background that he hadn't noticed until that point. He squinted, straining his vision to its limit in an attempt to identify them. "Who's that with you?"

"It's because of one of them that I had to come down here." Spitfire snapped her stern gaze toward one of the figures. "Wave Chill," she barked, "front and center!"

"Y-yes, ma'am," the Wonderbolt's voice quivered as he shuffled forward. 

"Wave Chill?" Soarin called out to him. "What's going on?"

"Yeah, Wave Chill." The Captain unfolded her wings and elevated herself. She hovered in the air to look down upon them like some sort of contemptuous goddess ready to pass judgement. She crossed her arms in an authoritative manner. "Your best friend here would like to know what's going on. Why don't you tell him?"

Wave Chill finally stepped into the light, donning that peculiar raincoat the barkeep had mentioned. It was shiny red, and the hood was inexplicably drawn over his face. 

"The bartender told me someone in a raincoat gave him a message," Soarin said. "That was you, wasn't it?" 

"I... Yeah, it was me. Spitfire sent me," stammered Wave Chill, his tone racked with nerves.

"Why are you still wearing that coat?" Soarin quarried. "The public isn't going to hassle you here."

Wave Chill pointed his muzzle down. "I guess," he admitted.

Spitfire cleared her throat impatiently.

Wave Chill stiffened for a moment - then he moved to remove his hood. 

"What's wrong with you?" The raincoat-clad stallion was so slow in the act of removing the garment that Soarin decided to remove it for him. He approached and pulled the hood away to reveal a face that had been battered and welted beyond recognition. Soarin sucked in a sharp gasp of air through his teeth. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I happened to him," Spitfire announced coldly, without the slightest hint of pride or regret.

"You... You just think you can do whatever you want to anyone you want, don't you!" Soarin roared in outrage.

"No," Spitfire replied. "I know I can do whatever I want to anyone I want - but let's stay focused on the topic at hoof."

"Soarin," came the familiar voice of the other figure. She hovered in from out of the gloom to reveal herself. "I think you should hear what your buddy there has to confess, before you end up saying something the Captain makes you regret." 

"Fleet Foot?"

"S'up, dumbass?" She replied in an upbeat, jovial manner that didn't quite seem appropriate for the situation. 

"Oh, great, you're here, too?" Soarin facehooved. "To think, I could be stealing smooches from the closest thing on this planet to a goddess in mare form, but instead, I get to spend my evening with you douche bags. How does one stallion come to be so lucky?"

Spitfire ignored the harry. "Why don't you tell him why we're here, Waves?" 

Soarin noticed the peculiar way his old friend avoided eye contact. "What's wrong with you?" He pieced and puzzled over this sad, beaten stallion who trembled before him. He seemed only a mere husk of the friend that he once knew. He shook, he stammered, he mumbled. The Wave Chill that Soarin knew was fun loving and optimistic; he was cool, he was kind, he was daring, he was energetic. What was it that could have sucked so much life out of him? "Waves?" 

The sullen stallion murmured something. 

"What?"

"It's... it's all my fault, Soarin."

"What's all your fault?"

"I'm... Soarin, I'm sorry."

"Out with it, already!" Spitfire commanded. "The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can go home!"	

It looked like Wave Chill was reaching into his coat for something, but when he drew his hoof out from the folds of the slicker he produced nothing. Soarin pondered over that until he spoke. "Soarin," he finally said, "we've been friends for a long time and, no matter what Spitfire says, I'll always consider you to be my friend. I just wanted to start out by saying that. These last few days have been hell for--

"Wave Chill!" Spitfire bristled. "Get on with it. Don't make me say it again."

The stallion flinched under the captain's ire. 

Why is he being so submissive? Soarin wondered. It wasn't like Wave Chill to let anyone treat him in such a way. Not even the Captain. Soarin could remember a time long ago when Spitfire went a little over board with the verbal abuse on Wave Chill during a formation drill. It had almost resulted in blows being exchanged between them. It took the efforts of six burly academy associates to keep them from fighting. Wave Chill was put on administrative suspension for an entire month afterwards. The first thing he did when he returned from his hiatus was smile and thank Spitfire for the vacation. 

"Soarin," he began again, "the one who went to the press. The one who told them you left the team high and dry over a financial dispute." He looked away, revealing a grotesque hoof shaped bruise where his eye socket had been cracked. The eye itself was a hideous thing to look upon: large, black, glistening, like a skinless rotten plum. "It was me."

"It was..." Soarin just looked at him uncomprehendingly. The words couldn't seem to find purchase within his mind. "You... What?"

"You see that?" Spitfire interjected. "It was all this idiot's fault. So you can stop blaming me for all the BS the papers are saying about you."

Soarin blinked. "Wave Chill... She's - she's making you say this, isn't she?"

The sullen stallion remained silent.

"She's making you say this, right? She..." He pointed a desperate hoof toward his former Captain. "She's making you say this! She beat you until you agreed to it. Or she threatened to discharge you if you refused... Right?" He took Wave Chill by the collar of his coat and forced the one good eye he had left to meet with his. "Right?"

"I was going to tell you sooner," Wave Chill confessed. "Remember when I gave you the paper a few days ago? I was going to tell you right then and there that it was my fault, but Spitfire showed up and I... I just froze."

"How!" Soarin demanded. "You and Fleetfoot both told me you were there with Spitfire when they were hounding her for an interview."

"I went directly to their headquarters a few days later," he explained. "All I told them was that there was a financial dispute. Their ratings shot through the roof when they mentioned you in the paper, so they snowballed it. They started adding bits and pieces of their own story to turn you into their cash cow. They kept crediting an 'anonymous source' for the information to avoid allegations of defamation. Those bastards at the Foal Street Journal have probably been working the same underhoofed angle for years now." 

"Your speculations aren't important," Spitfire interrupted. "The facts are all that matter."

Wave Chill whipped around to face her. "The 'fact' is that I did it for you, Captain! The press wouldn't leave us alone. It was driving you crazy. It was driving all of us crazy. Someone had to do something!" He returned to Soarin and added, "I figured the media would just pick on you for a couple days, then move on to their next target. I just wanted them to leave us alone, Soarin! I never would have thought--

"That's quite enough, Wave Chill. you've said what you needed to say," interjected Spitfire. "Soarin, you came to Cloudsdale the other day to blame me for all your problems. I can't believe you actually thought I'd go so far as to waste breath talking about a little worm like you to the press." She cast a smoldering glare down upon Wave Chill. If there ever was a mare who could scold and rebuke with nothing but her eyes. "Now you know who's at fault for everything." 

"How did you even know that Wave Chill was the one who went to the press?" Soarin demanded.

"I went straight to the source: The Foal Street Journal headquarters. I asked around until I finally found the bastard reporter who conducted the interview for the headline - who, in term, led me to Wave Chill. Waves was reluctant to confess at first. It took a little..."

"Convincing?" Fleetfoot put in helpfully.

"Sure. 'Convincing.' We'll call it that. After that little bit of pleasant business was over, I managed to get him to confess everything to me. Am I leaving anything out, Waves? Or perhaps Soarin would like to hear your confession again. It looks like he's having some comprehension issues. We shouldn't be surprised, him being a borderline retard, and all."

Wave Chill said nothing, though the shame in his eyes illustrated his thoughts far more eloquently than words ever could.

Soarin hung his head. "How could you do this to me?"

Wave Chill placed a concerned hoof on his shoulder. "I never meant for any of this to get out of control."

"No, you only meant to use me as a diversion," Soarin dejected as he swat his hoof away. He then looked to his captain. "So, tell me again what the point of this was?"

"So you can stop blaming me," Spitfire replied. "How many languages must I say it in? I don't speak moron. Can you speak Moron, Fleet Foot? I may need an interpreter."

Fleetfoot's eyes snapped to her capatin at the mention of her name. "Wot?"

"Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Yeah, kinda," Fleetfoot yawned. "I wasn't really paying attention, though." She looked at Soarin. "Hey, idiot, where's Braeburn at? I just bought this new ball gag, and I've been wanting to try it out."

Soarin's eye twitched before he returned his attention to his former captain. "So, let me see if I can get this straight. It's like you said, I'm a moron; I'm having a difficult time understanding this: You were just soooo concerned over what I thought about you, you decided to drag your butt all the way over to the Foal Street journal, you started chucking hooves and throwing bows until one of them gave up their source, then you beat the ever living holy hell out of your subordinate, dragged him down here, and forced him to confess to me, all so I wouldn't think bad things about you?"

"I don't like your tone." Spitfire gave him a dangerous look. "Are you trying to drive at something?"

Soarin's eyes narrowed accusingly. "I think you know what I'm getting at."

"You're thinking?" Spitfire exclaimed in mock concern. "Don't hurt yourself. Neither of us want that."

Soarin refused to rise to the bait. "You just wanted to see the look on my face, didn't you? You've told me countless times that you couldn't care less what I thought about you. The only one in this barn who truly doesn't care what anyone thinks is freaking Fleetfoot over there!"

"Yup," Fleetfoot mumbled through a shiny red ball gag that she, at an unknown point, had inserted into her mouth.

Spitfire glared at Soarin in a manner that seemed to say, 'How dare you.' "After everything I went through for you, you just throw out more accusations. Are you finished? Or do you have more supposed reasons as to why I did this, you ungrateful little prick?" 

"You're a cold, hard, vindictive bitch!" Soarin spat. "You just hate me because my life was easier than yours. You pretty much said so yourself. You're going to continue to take every opportunity you can smear dirt in my eye over your self-inflicted misery, aren't you?"

"Anything else?" Spitfire asked. "Or do you have anymore insane ramblings you wish to hurl at me?"

Soarin could only look at her. He felt his sanity slipping away into a void of such severe hate that it threatened to desensitize him to any other emotion. Never in his life had he known such loathing, such animosity. He didn't even care about what Wave Chill had done to him. He looked at Spitfire, and only Spitfire, because she was all that he could see. She was the root of all his issues. If he could only go back in time and tell his younger self to stay away from the Wonderbolts, and that somewhere, in a little town below the clouds, there existed a quaint little hamlet, with a quaint little farm, where the most beautiful blonde who ever existed would be waiting for him to come into her life. 

Soarin clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could. He could feel a tear trying to work its way through, but he fought it back with all his might. Applejack, she was the adhesive that was holding him together. She was all he had left, but even now, he feared he was losing her And it's all Spitfire's fault.

Spitfire regarded her former teammate with nothing more than a haughty look of contempt before turning around and making her way to the exit. "Soarin," came her parting words, as she sauntered in slow paces toward the barn door, "you're just a washed up who's glory days are behind him. You've gotten by your entire life with nothing but pure luck, and now that your luck has finally run out, you desperately look for someone to blame for all your misgivings. Whether you stop blaming me, or continue to blame me, it's all up to you." She stopped at the door. "Although... I have to admit, there is a small part of me that's enjoying this - seeing you receive your long overdue comeuppance." 

Soarin looked down at the ground in a cold, black fury - grasping desperately for a rebuke, some ultimate last word. A real crusher that he could manage to go out on, but "Spitfire, just, just die already," was all he could manage.  

"Just die already?" Spitfire cackled. "Careful not to cut yourself with that sharp wit of yours." 

Soarin could only brood in his silence. So, this is what my life is going to be? Just one kick in the ass after the other?

*WHACK* 

A flat, fleshy smack resounded from the entrance of the barn. Soarin's ears twitched at the sound before his eyes honed in on the source of the noise. Spitfire could be seen reeling backwards from out of the darkness until she crumpled in a daze. 

"Ah'm gonna give you the whoopin' yer moma should'a given you, you nasty bitch!" Applejack was a golden streak of vengeance shooting out from the darkness like a bat out of hell. Spitfire scrambled to get to her hooves, but the berserking apple farmer was on her. She buffeted her head left to right with a rapid succession of hard jabs and crosses before throwing her body into a powerful hay maker that connected with the front of the Captain's muzzle. The force sent the Wonderbolt reeling back again."

Spitfire managed to sprawl to maintain her balance. Blood was now flowing from her nose like a broken nozzle. "Bitch!" She screamed in implacable fury as she charged forward, her teeth bared like a rabid badger.

"Captain, wait!" Fleetfoot charged in and managed to tackle Spitfire to the ground. "Captain, calm down!"

"Let me go!"

"Let her go!" Applejack urged her. "Ah wanna knock her pretty, preening ass down again!"

"You're gonna die, you inbred bitch!" Spitfire thrashed and roared a filthy slew of expletives, slurs, threats, insults, and oaths as she fought to free herself of Fleetfoot's grasp.  

"Spitfire!" Fleetfoot took an elbow from her flailing captain in her attempt to restrain her. "Princess!" She shouted before taking another. "Princess Twilight!"

Those two words seemed to take the fight out of her. Her eye swelling, her nose bloody, her mane tussled, she ceased her flailing and beheld the Princess of friendship falling in beside Applejack's company. Spitfire scrambled to her hooves and prostrated herself. "P-princess!"

Twilight Sparkle looked at her incredulously. "I wouldn't believe the things you've said this night if I hadn't heard them with my own ears."

Soarin's eyes were like two wide saucers. Spitfire. She bleeds. Someone actually hit her. There was something about the thought that brought him a strange comfort; Spitfire was mortal; she can be hurt. She can bleed...

"Princess," Spitfire's voice trembled, "there is a history here that you know nothing about. I implore you to--

"I've nothing to say to you." Twilight Sparkle looked on her with eyes that were deadly serious. 

"And if the next thing that comes outta yer mouth ain't an apology for Soarin, Ah'm gonna whale on you again!" Applejack added.

Spitfire's eyes betrayed her outrage. It was restrained, but it was outrage all the same. 

"Do it," Twilight said. "Then you may be dismissed."

"You... You can't be serio-

Applejack cuffed her on the ear with a quick right hook. "What did Ah tell you!"

The princess's horn illuminated. "Applejack, enough!" A glowing aura of restraint shimmered around Applejack's leg. 

"Let me go, Twi!"

"Do you promise not to hit her again if I do?"

"No!"

"Then I'm not letting you go." Twilight looked again at Spitfire. "I'm sorry about that. She really doesn't seem to like you." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm inclined to feel the same way if I don't hear that apology."

Spitfire looked back at Soarin with an unfathomable amount of hatred in her eyes. She took a breath, smiled a patronizing smile, and said, "I'm ever so sorry, Soarin. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Soarin frowned at the obviously disingenuous remark.

"Ah didn't believe that one bit!" Applejack reached out with her free hoof and struck her again.

"Applejack!" Twilight froze her entire body. "Enough is enough."

"Ah, come on Twi, she had that one comin'!"

The princess gave the captain a look that cautioned at her dwindling patience. "Let's try that one more time, shall we?"

"An' if it ain't the most sincerest damn thing Ah ever heard in mah life, Ah'm gonna put you in a body cast!" rang Applejack's hollow threat as she struggled against her magical constraints. For all the fruit her efforts bared, she may as well have been encased in stone.

Spitfire bit down so hard on her lip that it began to bleed. Either that, or it was blood from the blunt force trauma Applejack had inflicted. Soarin couldn't be sure. The captain turned to face him and, after a long silence, she managed to force out one word that he never thought he'd ever hear from her. "Sorry."

Soarin gave her a blank look. You're forgiven? It's okay? I'm sorry, too? What was he supposed to say? None of those things would have been the truth. Soarin could only look at her and say, "I know you are."

The captain shook with silent fury before turning to the Princess and grunting a request of excusal through a row of clinched teeth.

Twilight stepped aside and levitated her hot tempered friend, still magically paralyzed, out of the way. "Fly safely."

Spitfire stomped her way out of the barn with a smirking Fleetfoot following closely. Wave Chill and Soarin looked at each other for a while. No words were exchanged. Waves, after a while, nodded, turned, and dragged himself along toward the exit. Applejack glared at him, while Twilight Sparkle looked at him as if she wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure what it should be. Just before he left, he turned back to Soarin, reached into his coat, and produced a small rectangular device. There was a determined look on his face as he clicked it, and out rang Spitfire's voice.

 "Although... I have to admit, there is a small part of me that's enjoying this - seeing you receive your long overdue comeuppance."

Wave Chill, without making his intentions clear, slipped the device back into his coat, turned, and took toward the sky.





"So, you were listening in the entire time?" Soarin asked as he strode along between Applejack and Twilight Sparkle through the orchard. The night was still young, and the recent events and revelations had left him with a need to clear his head. The two mares in his company were nothing if not eager to join him. 

"We arrived around the time when that friend of yours started spilling his guts out to you," Twilight Sparkle explained.

Soarin kept his eyes forward while he digested the information. "How did you know where I was?"

"Twi noticed you taking off suddenly," Applejack replied. "She took to the sky after you, and took note of which way you was flyin'. It was a pretty simple guess as to where you was headin'."    

"And so you two decided to chase after me," Soarin concluded.

Applejack stepped in front of him. "What, you thought Ah was just gonna let you shut me out again?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do." It was all Soarin had to offer, emotionally drained as he was.

"You could'a let me in, you idiot! You could'a shown me the note. You could'a let me come with you."

"I... I wanted to."

"Well, then why didn't you?"

"I was afraid, okay? We were having such a good night together. I didn't want it to be ruined by... By allowing you to see the way Spitfire treated me. I've never had the courage to stand up to her. I thought that if you saw what a coward I was, you..." 

Soarin's words abandoned him when Applejack caressed him tenderly on the cheek. Her smile glowed with sincerity as she said, "You thought Ah'd change the way Ah felt about you? Darlin', Ah don't think that's too likely to happen."  

Soarin was astonished. "You're just going to forgive me that easily?"

"Fascinating," Twilight Sparkle broke in. "I never thought that a Wonderbolt could suffer from such a lack of self confidence. I'm no doctor, but I've read a few psychology books on the subject. Issues such as yours commonly stem from a lack of parental encouragement at a young age. They can also be triggered by traumatic eve..." She fell silent when she realized that the looks she was receiving from her two companions were not those of interest. "You know what?" she said with an awkward smile. "I just remembered that I promised Rarity I'd be a judge for her fashion show. It should be starting any minute now." The Alicorn gave Applejack a look as she spread her wings. 'You got this?' her eyes seemed to say, to which Applejack replied with a smile that seemed to say, 'yup.' The princess nodded down at her just as the moon was silhouetting her image, and then she was off, her wings beating audibly through the air as she made her way back to town. 


The two walked for a long time without talking. Applejack smiled at him, but Soarin pretended not to notice it. Why does she look so happy? he thought. She should be furious. All I've been doing lately is screwing up. "You're really not angry?" he finally said, half afraid of what the answer might be.


"Oh, Ah'm angry, alright!"

Soarin braced himself for a scathing lecture. He would have been lying to himself if he thought he didn't have it coming.

"Ah'm angry at that mangy, good-fer-nothin' captain o' yers. That friend o' yers, too, the jerks! Where do they get off treating you like that?"  

She's not mad at me. A relieved smile began to tug at Soarin's lips. "I still can't believe you did that. Nopony so much as even talks back to Spitfire, let alone hits her... Or beats the crap out of her."

"Well, Ah ain't got no regrets for what Ah done. She should be thanking Celestia that Twilight was there to stop me from completely rearranging that pretty little face o' hers." Applejack then leaned against him and said, "No one talks to mah Soarin like that." 

The intimate contact left Soarin red-faced. "'Your' Soarin?"

"That's right. Mah. Soarin. You got a problem with that, cowboy?" Applejack suddenly grabbed his hoof and pulled him in the direction of well-beaten path that branched off from the one they had been walking. "Now come here, Ah wanna show you somethin'."  

"Uh... Applejack?" Soarin said, as he attempted to keep up with her loping strides, "where are you taking me?" He noticed the vegetation around him thickening. The trickling sound of a creek or perhaps a brook was coming into earshot. 

Applejack's eyes reflected the playful, mischievous look of one with a plan as she led him up a grassy rise. "Ah been wantin' to show you this for a while now. It's just up this way." 

Soarin and his date eventually made it to the top of a hill that overlooked the farm in all its nocturnal glory. The sound of cicadas and frogs filled the orchards behind them, whilst hundreds of fireflies pulsed like little golden beacons in the night air. Looking out farther, Soarin was able to see the festival lights of Ponyville. At night, the small town's lamplit streets seemed to provide it with a glow. The town was not bright or lively like the neon lit metropolitans he had been accustomed to. This kind of glow was much softer, warmer, more intimate. Much like a hearth, it was rustic, yet it possessed a simplicity that emanated with warmth and comfort.        

"Ah just wanted to show you this." Applejack took Soarin's hoof and tempted him with that shy little smile of hers, her cheeks flushing crimson around those cute little freckles. "Ain't the view beautiful?" 

Soarin thought, then shrugged. "No, not really." Applejack was giving him a look just before he pulled her into the view. "Now it is," he smiled cleverly.

"Oh, cowboy," Applejack cooed as she pulled Soarin into a hug. "Yer just too much, you know that?"

Soarin returned the embrace. He took a moment to enjoy the steady rustling of the orchard behind him and said, "So, this is it, then? You and me?"

Applejack looked up at him. "Do you... Do you want this? You and me, Ah mean?"

"I can't believe you have to ask that." Soarin looked around. He looked down on the farm. He took in the sweet autumn scent the wind carried. He peered out at that little town below the clouds. He then looked down at her, into those bright, beautiful emeralds. This was his home now. Soarin had a place to call home.

Applejack cupped his face in her hooves. "You know, this is where Granny first kissed pawpaw. Right up here, in this very spot."

She refers to her grandfather as 'pawpaw?' That's just too cute. Soarin rested his hooves on her shoulders. "Who am I to go against tradition?" 

Applejack spared him one last smile before she closed her eyes and waited for him. Her freckles were bleached white under the redness of her blushing face. "Can you even comprehend how beautiful you are?" Soarin said under his breath, his heart melting. He must have kissed over a thousand mares in his lifetime, but as far as Soarin was concerned, this was going to be the first kiss of the rest of his life. He intended for it to be slow and sweet. He wanted to enjoy their first kiss as if it was a fine wine.

The first thing he did was pull her in closer. He then placed his hoof gently under her chin and guided her muzzle upward. Applejack quivered slightly, her neck yielding as much give as an over tightened bowstring. This is her first time, Soarin realized. He brought his lips in just close enough so that they would brush her ear and he whispered, "Just relax and let me lead, alright? Just like when we were dancing."

Applejack shivered from the contact. "Dancing," she stammered. "Okay." 

Soarin could feel her body loosening in his arms. "Alright, just like that." Soarin closed his eyes and lowered his head. Her lips felt warm against his when they finally kissed. He entertained the thought of gratifying her with a light moan, but that hardly seemed like proper etiquette for a first timer, especially with one so sweet and innocent as his Applejack.

The two stood atop that hill and kissed until their lips chapped. They held and caressed each other until their lips properly remoistened, and they kissed again. The moon was at a higher position in the sky by the time they stopped, and yet they still weren't completely done with each other. The happy couple walked back to the house, with Applejack's arms firmly cinched around Soarin's. They had arrived at the doorstep, and it was there where sweet words and more kisses were exchanged. After they had finally managed to break away form each other, Applejack opened the front door and said, "Well, ah'd invite ya in, but, ya know." Applejack gestured toward one of the second story windows, from where the prying eyes of the Apples were peering down at them. They disappeared the instant Soarin's gaze met with theirs.

"They're not always going to be like that, are they?" he asked.

"Ah'm sure they'll go back to minding their own business." Applejack sighed as she added, "Eventually."

"A nosy family comes with the territory," Soarin shrugged "See you at breakfast, then?" 

"Perhaps." Applejack gave him a wink and whispered under her breath, "But, Ah just might wake up a little early so Ah can come bring you some dessert."

Soarin blinked at her. "Damn girl, you just go from zero to sixty, don't you?"

Applejack stroked her mane awkwardly and offered, "Uh, sorry 'bout that. Ah'm new to this whole flirting thing."

"Not bad for a beginner," critiqued Soarin.

The brief stroll across the pasture was a pleasant one, though Soarin wished more than anything that he was bringing Applejack back to the barn with him. He breathed in the country air and surveyed the surroundings of his new home with renewed appreciation. All the crap that used to bother him was already feeling like a distant memory. He placed his hoof upon the door of his barn, and looked back at the house one last time. Applejack was standing in the window of her bedroom, watching him, smiling down at him. When she noticed Soarin looking back at her she blew him a kiss, which Soarin caught with his hoof, and he playfully placed it over his lips. Applejack giggled and waved goodnight before she closed the window and drew the curtains.

Soarin kneaded around the old stack of hay in search for a comfortable place to lay. He would need to remember to go shopping for himself now that he had decided his living arrangement was permanent. It certainly wouldn't hurt to break in that new checkbook of his and buy a new bed, not to mention a few other choice comforts for his abode. Perhaps he could find a new hobby to invest in while he was at it.

When he finally found a sweet spot he could lay in comfortably, he curled up with his blanket and blew out his lantern. He had all the money he could ever need to fill his life with material crap later. For now, he was in love, he had a family, and he was happy. Those were the three most important things in his life, things that money just couldn't buy. 
> Right Where I Need To Be
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tiny bell overhead announced Soarin's arrival as he entered through the shop's door. The owner, an over-the-hill, overweight stallion with thick grey hairs sprouting from his ears, twisted around from the rack he was stocking to greet them. He adjusted his glasses and smiled once his eyes had finally focused. "Ah, Soarin!" he said excitedly. The shop owner liked Soarin, as his constant patronage and generous gratuity lined the small business owner's pockets with enough gold to put him on the path to retirement. "That monster of a projector screen you ordered arrived this morning."


"Sweet," replied Soarin. He stopped to inspect a nearby shelf containing a few films that piqued his interest. "When do you think you can have it delivered to my place?"


The shop owner scratched his head. "I make local deliveries only," he offered apologetically. "Sweet Apple Acres is technically outside of the city limits."


"That's too bad," Soarin shrugged as Apple Bloom entered through the door behind him, a threadbare sack hanging from her mouth. She dropped it, and a wave of clinking shiny bits spilled out. "And here I brought all this money for nothing."


"I'll get the cart ready," announced the shop owner, suddenly all eagerness. Then he hastefully disappeared through the back door behind his counter with an alacrity that was almost comical.


Soarin and Apple Bloom perused the shop together as the owner readied the package for delivery out back. The store was a small electronics retail outlet based in the central section of Ponyville. The windows were covered in promotional posters old and new, and a sign displaying the business hours was posted on the glass door. Florescent light bulbs flickered above several dusty shelves lined with films and records, while an old radio behind the front counter filled the air with the archaic sounds of the golden oldies. To call the store a hole in the wall would have been an understatement, but like the rest of Ponyille, Soarin liked the down home charm the place exuded. 


"Oh, Soarin, can we get this one!" Apple Bloom held out a popular teen movie she had taken from a nearby shelf.


Soarin inspected the cover art, which depicted a pair of grayed out hooves holding a bright red apple. He read the title out loud. "Midnight?"


"Ah heard it's real good," Apple Bloom insisted.  "It's a love story about a young vampire fruit bat pony, who falls in love with a mortal mare."				 


"Sounds like another teenybopper horror drama," Soarin sighed, directing his gaze to the horror section. "Seriously, who in Applewood made the decision to turn vampire movies into soap operas?" He then scoffed, "Vampire fruit bat ponies... I'd rather watch something with real vampires in it." His eyes stopped scanning when he finally found what he was looking for. "Ah, Castlemania." Soarin drew the film from the shelf and showed it to Apple Bloom.


"Real vampires?" The filly's nose wrinkled with disapproval. "Ah'll bet these vampires don't even sparkle."


Soarin's eye twitched. "Alright, how about this: you get your stupid, kiddy, feel good, snuggleywuggley vampire movie, and I'll get mine. We'll watch them back-to-back and see how they stand against each other."


"Deal," agreed Apple Bloom. 


Upon reaching their agreement, the two brought their respective movies to the front counter to pay. Soarin became suspicious when he realized the elderly shop owner wasn't back yet. "Huh, wonder what's taking him so long?"


"He's old," Apple Bloom offered, just before a loud crash followed by a slew of curses could be heard resounding from behind the shop. "Ah'm gonna look for something to read. This could take a while." The filly eyed a rack of film related magazines. She selected one that catered to aficionados of foreign animation and plopped down on the floor with it splayed out in front of her.


Soarin turned his attention to an old arcade cabinet in the corner of the store. The art on the side of the machine featured a cobalt cybernetic mare with a cannon for an arm. Mega Mare, It was a classic straight out of his childhood. Soarin was just entertaining the thought of sinking a couple bits into the old machine, when something on the old radio behind the counter caught his attention. The old ragtime track that had been playing reached its end, and the DJ, a surprisingly upbeat sounding stallion, announced that it was now time for some news.


"Because two frogs are not enough and four is too many, it's Three Frog here coming at you with the news! How y'all doin' tonight, Ponyville? 


Now, let's see... Weather conditions seem to be fair across Equestria as the seasons are coming to what looks like a steady transition. Expect light winds with highs in the mid sixties and lows in the low fifties. The Pegusi are bringing the first Autumn showers next week, so be sure to have your umbrellas at the ready and-- blah blah blah, who cares? This isn't what you wanted to hear, is it? Well, if it is, too bad, because ol' Three Frog's got something special for you. 


This recording has been circulating the airwaves for nearly four hours now. The broadcaster's identity is unknown, but authorities believe the recording originated from a derelict radio tower in Cloudsdale. For all you Wonderbolts fans out there who have yet to be made aware of this, you may find this recording especially interesting. What you are about to hear is completely unedited. Mamas and papas out there, you may want to cover your kids' ears for this... You've been warned... Play the tape."


Soarin listened in shock as a recorded collection of Spitfire's various expletive-strewn rants and ravings assailed the airwaves. Some of the things said seemed to confirm quite a few scandals surrounding the rumors of strife and corruption within the team. There was a colorful section where she could be heard refusing a request from a world renowned charity to visit a sick child in the hospital, referring to the whole situation as a waste of her time. The most telling part of the recording was near the end, which was a very recent event Soarin had been privy to. It was from the night Applejack had beaten the crap out of her. 'You're gonna die, you inbred bitch!' came out clear as a bell, followed by a barrage of racial slurs such as 'Muck Raker' and 'Ground Pounder.' Soarin was amazed that they were even allowed to play this over the heavily regulated public radio. 



"How in tartarus did--" Soarin was beginning to say, but then he remembered Wave Chill had a recording device hidden under his coat that night. How long has he been secretly recording her? Was this some kind of retribution?


Soarin jumped with a start when the shop owner let the door close behind him. "Alright, the cart's ready for--"


"Quiet!" Soarin snapped. 


"Yes, for all of you who are wondering, that was indeed our beloved Captain Spitfire you just heard. Several media outlets have reported that the Wonderbolt captain hasn't been available to make a comment. Gee, I wonder why... Personally, I'm not sure what to make of all this, but I am interested in knowing what all of you have to say. For anyone out there who would like to shed their input on the situation, feel free to send a letter to Three Frog HQ so I can read them on the air. Until next time, fillies and gentle colts, this has been Three Frog, your bearer of bad news, saying stay classy, Ponyville. I'm out!"


"Was that.... Was that really Spitfire saying all that nasty stuff?" Apple Bloom came in. The filly's eyes were wide with disbelief, an aghast hoof over her gaping mouth. "I-Is she really like that?"


Soarin didn't know what to say. He had never bothered to tell Apple Bloom about the real Spitfire. He had spent the last few weeks trying to forget about her.


"Did I miss something?" came the flummoxed shop owner.


"Nah, they'll probably play it again," Soarin said. "Every radio and news station in Equestria probably has it recorded."


"Recording of what?"


"Don't worry about it," Soarin replied, waving his hoof dismissively. "Sorry for getting snippy with you. That was uncalled for."


"Oh, it's okay," said the shop owner with a forgiving smile. "I have your package loaded on to the cart and ready for delivery. Whenever you're ready I'll lock up the store and bring it over to your place."


Soarin noted the shop owner's tired visage. Just loading his order up on the wagon was enough to exhaust him. He didn't want to be held accountable for a senior citizen collapsing in the street from over exertion. "You know what? I thought about it, and I think I'd rather just bring the package home myself. You don't mind if I borrow your wagon, do you? I mean, since it's already loaded and everything."


The elder gave him an indignant look. "I work in retail, not equipment rental. Look, I went through the trouble of--"


"I'll still pay you for the delivery," Soarin incentivized. "I'll even throw in a rental fee for the wagon." He presented the bag of bits Apple Bloom had brought into the store. "Two hundred should about cover everything, shouldn't it?"


The shop owner's eyes widened "T-two hundred? As in -- two hundred Equestrian?"


"Oh, silly me, I forgot the movies." He gestured toward the films he and Apple Bloom had selected. "I'm pretty sure there's a couple hundred more in this bag. What say you just keep the whole thing, and we'll call it even?"


"For two movies?"


"I'll be sure to bring you another two hundred when I bring back the wagon. It's the least I can do for letting me borrow it."


"S-sure," said the nonplussed shop owner. 


"I'll have the wagon back soon." And so Soarin and Apple Bloom left the slack-jawed old stallion standing there, letting themselves out through the back of the store where the wagon awaited them.


"You're really paying that old guy six hundred bits for doing virtually nothing?" Apple Bloom quarried, her lips pulled back in a quizzical little smirk.


"You think that's too much?" Soarin replied as he was hitching the wagon.


Apple Bloom pretended to think about it. "Nah, not at all." She hopped up on the flat bed wagon next to the package, which looked like a long tube wrapped up in a crude tapestry of taped together packing paper. She then laid down, one front leg crossed over the other, and looked expectantly at Soarin, in the way an impatient passenger might at an oblivious rickshaw driver.


Soarin cocked an amused eyebrow. "I just might charge you for the ride." 


"Oh, sure," Apple Bloom tittered with a flick of her hoof. "Get us home fast enough, an' there just may be a nice tip in it for you."		 


Soarin steadily pulled the wagon through the streets of Ponyville. The hard packed dirt roads of the town made it easy, but the rural winding uphill path to Sweet Apple Acres was a different story. The dirt was softer up here, and the hill only seemed to be growing steeper by the minute. Beads of sweat ran down Soarin's face as he paced his breathing with the rhythm of his steps. Despite his athletic prowess, the heavy wagon still gave him trouble. Now he really was glad that he hadn't let the shop owner deliver the package for him; judging by how profusely he was panting after loading and tying down his projector screen, the poor guy would most likely have killed over before he reached the hill's halfway point. 


It was getting dark now, and Apple Bloom had fallen asleep in the back of the cart. The steady trundling motion of the wagon must have felt soothing to her. Soarin didn't like not having anyone to talk to. Alone with his thoughts, all he could seem to think about was the broadcast. Did Spitfire know about it yet? Of course she knew. Why else would she avoid the media? How was she taking it? Was she sitting up in that study of hers, tearing her hair out over the prospect of her precious reputation being ruined while drowning herself in that overpriced liquor of hers?  What perplexed Soarin all the more was why he even cared. He didn't like Spitfire, and even if he did, this matter was none of his business.


Soarin was just coming upon the crest of the hill which gave view to the farm house. There were no street lights out here. The only source of illumination at night was the light the moon provided. On cloudy nights the farm and the surrounding orchards were pitch black, save for the warm lights filtering through the windows of the home. It gave the farm a bit of a spooky feel, like something out of an old horror movie.


Soarin pulled the wagon up beside his barn and securely chocked the wheels before moving toward Apple Bloom. The filly was all sprawled out like a sack of apples. Her hind leg kicked before she smacked her lips and rolled over, sides slowly expanding and contracting with her light breaths.  "Wake up, kid." Soarin gave her a gentle nudge. "We're home."


The filly stirred. Her snoring ended in an abrupt snort before she opened her eyes. "We're here already?"


"You fell asleep," Soarin informed her. "If you're too tired to get up I can carry you to the house" 


"Nah, Ah'm good." Apple Bloom rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up. "Ah'm more hungry than anything else."


"Food does sound good right about now," Soarin agreed. 


The two traversed the darkened pasture toward the family homestead. The closer they got, the stronger the tantalizing scent of Granny's red bean chili and cornbread became. Soarin pushed the door open and followed the delicious smell to the kitchen, where Applejack, Big Mac, and Granny Smith were just finishing setting up the table.


Applejack stopped what she was doing to greet him with a flirty sideways smile. "Welcome home, cowboy. You got here just in the nick o' time."


"You don't say?" Soarin cleared the kitchen to give her a kiss.  "Dinner smells good."


Applejack winked. "Just you wait for dessert, sugarcube. Ah whipped you up somethin' special." She gestured toward a freshly baked apple pie cooling in the kitchen window. 


Granny's cooking was just as delicious as it always was. She had made the chili just the way Soarin liked it, adding diced green onions and shredded cheese in with the original recipe. Soarin had once made an offhand comment that he liked his chili that way. He didn't actually expect Granny to go out of her way and change the family recipe to accommodate him. It was little gestures such as these that reminded him that Granny cared.


The family worked together to clear the table and wash the dishes after supper. Big Mac had excused himself afterwards and went to bed. Apple Bloom sat out on the front porch and enjoyed the cool night air as she played with the brand new Joy Boy Soarin had recently purchased for her, while granny relaxed in her rocking chair and went over the family's earnings for the month. Soarin noted the smile on her face as she was doing this and deduced that they must have been doing well.  


Soarin and Applejack had their own plans for the night. They shared the pie she had baked as they sat near the bank of the creek that cut through the orchards. The sound of the rushing water gurgling over the rocks was soothing to Soarin's ears. The stream itself was so clean and clear its surface reflected the moonlight with the stark clarity of a polished mirror. Applejack sat by him, her head rested against his shoulder as they listened to the croaking and chirping of the nocturnal wildlife, the water cooling their hooves as a bonfire crackling behind them warmed their backs.   


For three weeks now this had been Soarin's life. Three weeks of learning the Apple family trade, three weeks of cuddling up to AJ by the fire as the stars twinkled over head, three weeks of Granny Smith's amazing cooking, three weeks of living his life the way he had always wanted. Soarin was happy.


"Are you sure you don't mind?" Applejack had asked for what felt like the hundredth time. They lay there together as the pile of smoldering ash that had once been their bonfire was singing its swan song with a wisp of white smoke.


Soarin closed his arm around her and said, "I don't mind watching Apple Bloom. I just wish you didn't have to leave."


"Ah know, sugarcube but it'll only be for the weekend."


"Why the bayou, though?"


"The Apple family has been making the annual trip to The Fire Swamps for decades," Applejack explained. "You wouldn't believe the profits we turn up down there."


"Just selling apple pies? Don't get me wrong, your pies are amazing, but isn't that a pretty long trip to make just to sell a couple of pastries."


"A couple?" Applejack chuckled. "Try a couple hundred. The locals down there in the bayou just can't get enough of em."


"A couple hundred?" Soarin let out an impressed whistle from between his teeth.


"Yup, and Ah always make sure to bring back a big ol' pot of Fire Swamp gumbo for the family. You'll love it."


Soarin glimpsed a shooting star racing across the night sky. "I still wish you didn't have to leave, though," he sighed.


Applejack rested her head against his shoulder and said, "Oh, Ah'm sure you and Apple Bloom will be havin' so much fun together, you won't even realize Ah'm gone."


"Well, Apple Bloom and I just picked up a couple movies. And my two hundred inch projector screen just came in. I suppose we could have us a movie night, or something. As far as food goes, I'm not much of a cook, but I can make a pretty good pizza."


"Ah'm sure she'd love that," Applejack said.  	


"Plus she has that new Joyboy I got her. That game it came with seems to occupy her every waking moment. What was that game called again? 'Final Quest..?' 'Dragon Fantasy..?' Something like that. Anyway, I doubt she'll be bored this weekend." 


"Ah was wondering where that fancy dohickey of hers came from." Applejack turned her head and smiled up at him. "Yer gonna spoil her rotten, ya know that?"


"I can't help but spoil her," Soarin admitted. "She's like the little sister I never had."


"That's sweet." Applejack craned her neck and gave him a light kiss on the cheek before she turned onto her side and cuddled up to him. There was a brief intermission of silence between them before she finally said, "Ah know this goes without saying, but... Don't let anything happen to her, okay?"


Soarin detected a hint of actual concern in her voice when she said that. "You say that as if you're expecting something bad to happen."


"It ain't that, It's just - she's mah little sister. She's the only one Ah got. Ah can't help but worry about her sometimes, ya know? Granny's gonna be out of town visiting family this weekend, so she ain't gonna be here neither. Ah'm not used to just leaving her alone like this." 


"You're not leaving her alone. You're leaving her with me."


"Ah know. That's not what Ah meant. Ah mean, it's gonna feel weird not being there to personally check in on her. When Ah'm not around, Ah know that at least Granny's there to look after her, but she ain't gonna be here. Ah know Ah sound like a nervous ninny, but, promise me you'll keep her out of trouble while we're gone."


"I promise." Soarin held her tighter, as if to reassure her. He looked up at the night sky and noticed the moon was directly over head. It was getting late. "How hard could watching one filly be?"







The week went by seamlessly, and the day before the weekend had finally come.


A jukebox in the corner of the barn resonated with the dulcet sounds of Soarin's eclectic music preferences while he worked to assemble his home theater. His two hundred inch roll down screen was secured to the wall, and his state of the art projector system sat upon a rack mounted between the rafters above. When he was finished adjusting the machine so that its beam would hit the screen at just the right angle, he hovered over to his loft and perched himself down at its edge to survey his living space. The entertainment center, he thought, seemed to tie his little bachelor pad together. 


Soarin had spent a lot of money, but his new place had come a long way from what it once was. The barn had been thoroughly cleaned, repaired, and furnished. Electricians were hired to install basic necessities such as a fuse box to connect to the grid, as well as electrical outlets. Soarin and Big Mac worked together to build a staircase for easier access to the hay loft, which he had taken as his sleeping quarters. He had even managed to upgrade the pile of straw he had once slept on to a proper bed. 


Satisfied with the job he had done putting together his home theater system, Soarin checked the time on the neon Red Buffalo Ale clock hanging just above the entrance to his barn. It was a quarter til nine. Applejack should have been finishing up with the prep work for her trip by now. He leapt down from his loft and turned off his jukebox. He skirted around the couch situated in front of his projector screen and made his way for the front door. 


After a short flight across the pasture, Soarin could see Applejack and Big Mac going over checklists for their trip. Each of them had their own wagon that was loaded down with baking supplies and camping gear. "Hey guys." 


"Ah'll be with ya in just a sec, sugarcube," Applejack said, her eyes focused intently on her list. "Lamp oil, rope, bedroll, tent, shovel, axe, matches."   


"Yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, and yup," Came Apple Bloom's voice. "You got all those things." Her head popped up like a little red daisy from out of the back of Applejack's wagon. "Anything else?"


"What about the extra pie pans?" Applejack inquired. "Ya manage to find those?"


"Hold on, lemme see." Apple Bloom dove back into the heap and rummaged around in the cart. It rocked from side to side as she shuffled about in her search. "Ah, here we are!" The filly held the generous stack of silvery discs aloft, as if she was expecting some sort of disembodied victory tune to announce her discovery. "Got em right here, sis."


"Alright, good. For a sec, there, Ah thought Ah'd have to buy more." Applejack marked off a check on her list. "You done, Big Mac?"


The large, muscular stallion was tugging at one of the wagon wheels, presumably to insure that it was properly secured. "Just about finished. All Ah need to do now is grease the axles, and we should be ready to go." He then proceeded to crawl under Applejack's cart with the handle of an oil can clinched between his teeth.    


Apple Bloom hopped out of the cart and looked up at Soarin with her eyes all vibrant with excitement. "You get that fancy system of yers put together?" she asked. "Can Ah finally watch mah movie?"


Soarin mirrored the exuberant filly's enthusiasm as he said, "Sure did. You ready for movie night, kiddo?"


"Ah can't wait!" The filly exclaimed. "You got the candy, and pop corn, and soda pop?"


"I did, but I got kettle corn instead of pop corn."


Apple Bloom tilted her head inquisitively. "What's kettle corn?"


"It's like pop corn, but better. You'll just have to trust me."


"Ah can't wait to try it!" The filly exclaimed, her eyes all aglitter.


"Apple Bloom," Applejack interjected. "Ain't it about time you headed off to school?"


Apple Bloom's smile dampened. "Already?"


"It was a quarter till when I last checked the time," Soarin announced. He squinted in the direction of the morning sun and added, "That was about five minutes ago, I think."


"Oh!" Said Apple Bloom, startled. "Yeah, Ah guess its about time Ah hit the road." She gave Applejack a hug and wished her a safe trip. Then she added, "Oh, Ah almost forgot: Ah'm hanging out with Sweetie and Scootaloo after school today, so Ah'll be a bit late coming home. That cool with you?"


Soarin assumed Apple Bloom was talking to her big sister, but he quickly realized the filly was beaming right at him. He looked at Applejack, expecting her to answer for him, but she just watched him, as if she was waiting to see what his answer would be. "Uh, yeah, that's okay," he chanced. He glanced again at Applejack for signs of disapproval and added, "Just make sure you're home before the street lamps come on."


"Awesome!" The filly leaped up from her hind legs to throw her arms around him. "Ah'll see ya tonight, then?"


"Sure hope so." Soarin returned the hug and placed her gently back down on the ground. "Dinner should be ready by the time you get back. We're gonna have pizza tonight, so don't be late."


"Ah won't," Apple Bloom promised before she gathered up her things and began her departure for school, shouting one last farewell over her shoulder as she was leaving. "Bye guys. Have a safe trip."


"We will," Applejack shouted back to her. "Have a good day at school, an' be good for Soarin. Ah want to hear a good report when Ah get back home, ya hear?" She then turned around to give Soarin an affectionate smile. "You two are real cute together, ya know that?"


"She'll be a cinch to manage," Soarin assured her. "I just wish you and I could have a little more time to spend together." 


"Funny, Ah was just thinkin' the same thing," Applejack said, her eyes narrowing in a rather intimate manner. "Hey, Big Mac, me and Soarin got a little errand to run. Give us about twenty minutes."


"Errands?" replied Big Mac from under the wagon, his tone bearing an indication that he was more than privy to what his sister meant by 'errands.' "Sure, whatever you say. You kids behave."


Applejack swaggered past Soarin, then looked back at him to throw him a provocative smile from over her shoulder. She flicked his nose with her tail and purred, "Race ya to the barn, sugarcube." 


Soarin humored her with a grin. "You won't win," he cautioned her in a matter-of-fact tone.


"Oh yeah?" Applejack challenged. "We'll just see about--" She suddenly pointed, eyes wide with urgency. "Soarin, look!"


"What?" Soarin looked in the direction she was pointing. He looked... He actually looked... Why did he look? By the time he realized he had been fooled he turned to see Applejack's ass as she was tearing off in the direction of his barn. "Cute," Soarin commented. "But ineffective." He calmly popped his neck with a roll of his head, stretched one hind leg, then the other, then crouched like a sprinter at the starting line. "And... Go!"


Soarin caught up with her in a matter of seconds. "Hey, pretty lady," he taunted as he slowed his pace to fall in beside her. "Goin' my way?"


Dismay spread across Applejack's face, but she quickly recovered. Panting, she lowered her head and broke into a stride so fast her hat flew off. "Eat mah dust, flyboy!" she hollered back at him.


Soarin laughed as he, once again, effortlessly caught up with her. "You dropped your hat there," he informed her. "Here, I'll go back and get it for you." And Soarin did just that, then caught back up with her. "Got your hat," he smirked, not even winded from the backtrack. Then he looked forward and pretended to notice the barn. "Oh, hey, finish line's coming up."


"Quit runnin' yer mouth," Applejack managed through her labored panting.


"Run?" Soarin said. "Oh, sorry, I thought we were speed walking. Okay, I'll start running now." And then Soarin lowered his head, grinned, then left her in his dust as he rocketed forward, his corded, athletic legs pumping. Soarin was tall, and his limbs were knotted, long, and slender. Combine that with all the years of grueling PT he had endured, and he was a force to be reckoned with on the race track. He may not have been the fastest flyer in his former team, but when it came to long distance sprinting he had no equal. Even Fleetfoot, "The Blue Lightening" they called her, had trouble keeping up with him on his worst days.  


By the time Applejack made it to the barn, Soarin was reclined on his couch, hooves rested atop the table, twirling her hat, as if he'd been waiting for her all morning. "What took you?"


"You think..." Applejack huffed as she leaned against the door frame. "You think yer so hot, don't ya?"


"No." Soarin tossed her hat to her. "I think you're hot, though."


"You wanna see hot?" Applejack deftly snatched her hat out of the air, then wiped her brow before she placed it back on her head. "Ah'll show ya hot." She then entered the barn, shutting the door behind her. 


Soarin chuckled as she pushed him back against the cushions. Then Applejack swung a hind leg over him and straddled him, her hooves placed firmly against his chest, as if to keep him pinned. Her smile was provocative as she lowered her muzzle mere inches from his. "What'cha gonna do now?"


Her breath smelled sweet. Her lips were even sweeter when he pulled her in the rest of the way. She hummed pleasurably as her arms worked their way around him. Soarin separated his lips from hers and began to kiss her up and down her neck. "Soarin," she giggled, "that tickles." 


It wasn't until things got a little hotter and heavier than they usually did when Applejack abruptly stopped him. She withdrew her lips from his and said breathlessly, "Hey, whoa there, cowboy, whoa."


Red faced, Soarin looked down at her, his heart hammering. Somewhere during their coupling he had laid her on her back. "What's the matter?"


Applejack's face was reddened behind a glistening veil of sweat. She reached up to touch his cheek apologetically. "A-Ah don't know if we're ready for that, sugarcube." 


"Oh." Soarin suddenly felt chagrined. "Sorry if I got a little carried away. I thought you were sending me the signals." 


"Ah was," Applejack admitted. "But, Ah just..." She looked away from him. "Ah just don't know if Ah'm ready."

"If you don't know if you're ready, then you're not ready." Soarin gently placed his hoof under her chin and guided her gaze back to meet with his. He tried to make his smile as forgiving as he possibly could, even though she did nothing that required forgiveness. "It's okay."


"Really?" Applejack smiled appreciatively, those pretty eyelashes of hers fluttering. "You ain't disappointed?"


"Of course not," Soarin insisted, relieved as he felt the tension melting away. "I didn't kill the mood, did I?"


"Hmm." AJ smiled playfully as she pretended to think about his question, then she said, "Nope," before she bit his bottom lip, Soarin letting out a surprised yelp as she pulled his head back down with her teeth.  







With their 'errand' concluded, the wagons properly serviced and inspected, their gear packed, and their baking supplies properly stored, Applejack and Big Mac had taken their leave. Even though the family would be gone for the weekend, Soarin still had a quota that needed to be met. He didn't mind. Working kept his hooves busy and his mind occupied. It made the day go by much faster than it would have if he just laid around watching movies in his barn all day.


After depositing the freshly filled barrels in their appropriate compartments he locked up the apple cellar, hung up his scythe, and set toward the house to get dinner started. Soarin missed the family, but the caramel-colored sunset and the autumn winds rushing across the emerald pasture created such a serene atmosphere, it was difficult to not enjoy the solitude as he cantered through the field. 


With the oven set at the proper temperature and the fresh, homemade pizza baking within its confines, Soarin set the timer. "Twenty minutes should do it." He twisted the dial on an egg timer and set it atop the stove. 


Just then there was a knock at the front door. Soarin's ears twitched. Apple Bloom was his first thought, but why would she knock? She lived there.


Soarin pushed the double doors open and entered the living room. He opened the front door, and then he frowned when he saw who was standing at the other side of it. "What are you doing here?"


"Nice to see you, too," replied Trenderhoof, his obnoxiously white smile gleaming so brightly, it almost hurt to look directly at it. "May I come in?"


"No," Soarin said flatly. "And if you're here to hit on my girlfriend--"


"Oh, she's your girlfriend now?" Trenderhoof interrupted. "Congratulations, Soarin! Applejack is quite the keeper." 


Soarin glared at him suspiciously. "She's away for the weekend. And if I ever catch you accosting her again I'm going to smack you until your bruises glow in the dark."


Trenderhoof looked as if he was beaming with admiration. "How chivalrous of you!"


Frowning indecisively, Soarin scratched his head and said, "I can't tell if you're being serious, or if you're just being a jackass."


Trenderhoof shrugged. "I get that a lot, you know."


"Yeah, well, you probably get this a lot too: get out of here." Soarin attempted to close the door, but Trenderhoof placed his hoof in its path. 


"Soarin, I implore you, listen to me. I'm not here for Applejack. I've come here for you."


"We don't want any, now move!" Soarin slammed the door, but he intentionally telegraphed his movements just enough to give Trenderhoof time to pull away before it could come smashing into his hoof. He waited a few moments to insure all was quiet before he let himself relax in Granny's rocking chair, but just as he was settling in he heard a clatter in the kitchen. "Oh, what now!"


Trenderhoof was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, rubbing the crown of his skull where he had made impact with the unyielding hardwood surface. Soarin directed his angry gaze toward the window just above the persistent stallion, which looked as if it had been jimmied open. "Oh, goody," he smirked, selecting a heavy cast iron skillet from a nearby cabinet. "You just broke into my house. I can hurt you as much as I want without having to worry about the legal repercussions now."


Trenderhoof shielded himself with a hoof. "Soarin, wait! I'm sorry I'm going through such extreme measures, but I really need to speak with you. It's about the current situation regarding Spitfire."


Soarin, curious, decided not to brain the trespasser. "Go on."  


"What have I ever done to you?" Trenderhoof demanded. "Why are you being so hostile toward me?"


"I make it a point to detest stallions who have sexually harassed my girlfriend," Soarin stated. "Also, recent events concerning the media has soured my view of Ponies in your profession."


"You're still salty about the things the Foal Street Journal said about you?" Trenderhoof replied. "Soarin, I don't work for them. I'm freelance. And, sexual harassment, really? Aren't you embellishing things just a little?"


"You said you wanted to talk about Spitfire," Soarin reminded him.


"Yes, well..." Trenderhoof pointed toward the skillet still clutched in Soarin's foreleg. "Its a bit difficult to articulate my thoughts when a stallion is standing over me brandishing a weapon... Like the way you're doing right now."


Soarin set the skillet aside. He checked the egg timer and said, "You have fifteen minutes."


"Fifteen minutes," agreed Trenderhoof, wiping the dust from that gaudy cashmere sweater vest of his. 


They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, upon which Trenderhoof had set a notepad and a small tape recorder he had taken from a satchel he had brought with him.


"What is all this?" Soarin demanded. 


"I have a journalistic obligation to record..." Trenderhoof fell silent as he noticed Soarin glaring at him once the words 'journalistic obligation' tumbled from his mouth. "I, uh, I'll be honest with you, Soarin. I'm here for business reasons."


"Business?" Soarin echoed. "So, what is this, like, an interview, or something?"


"Precisely," Trenderhoof said, smiling. Without warning he hit the record button on the device and continued. "I'm here to get the full scoop from you, Soarin. I'm giving you the chance to clarify things once and for all. I'm here to get the final word from you, to separate fact from fiction so that the good folk reading or listing to my report will know your story." 


That tape recorder was making Soarin nervous. "What story, exactly?"


"Have you heard the reports? Have you not been reading the headlines? It all began with a recording that got leaked onto the air a few days ago. Someone had managed to activate an abandoned radio tower and jack the frequencies of--


"Yes, I heard the recording on the radio," Soarin interrupted him. "What does that have to do with me?" 


"I was getting to that." Trenderhoof cleared his throat. "A few weeks ago it was you who stood in the media's cross hairs, but now they've shifted toward Spitfire, as every day more and more information about her - let's just call them, her 'indiscretions,' are being brought to the light. Just like when the media was focused on tarnishing your name, an overwhelming amount of so called 'proof' such as supplemental audio recordings and signed testimonies from 'supposedly' credible witnesses have been released. Recordings can be altered and enhanced. Ponies who call themselves witnesses can lie. I'm here, Soarin, because I wish to obtain a testimony from a truly credible source, and I can think of no one more credible than a former Wonderbolt. I suspect that your reasons for leaving the team may have had something to do with Spitfire. Forgive the pun, but I'm just not buying this yarn about you leaving over a financial dispute."


"Why can't you just interview Spitfire?" Soarin asked.


"She's been spending the past few days in seclusion. She refuses to talk to the media about any of this. It's uncertain if she's doing this out of shame, or if she's just hoping to stay off the radar until the fire on her dies out."


Soarin sighed. "Certainly sounds like something she would do." 


"Let's start with a simple question," Trenderhoof continued, readying his notepad. "Why did you leave the Wonderbolts?"


"I..." Soarin looked again at the tape recorder. So, this is it, he thought. It was his opportunity to tell his story. It felt like he had Spitfire locked in a guillotine, and the cord to release the blade had been placed in his hoof. All he had to do was pull it.


"Are you alright?" Trenderhoof said.


"What do you mean?"


"You've been silent for a whole minute now. Are you well?"


"I'm... I'm sorry," replied Soarin, his hooves inexplicably shaking. What was this surge of emotion he was feeling? His parting words he had delivered to Spitfire the night he had visited her rushed back into his memory. 


I hope the day comes when you lose everything you've ever worked for. I pray that the day comes when your happiness turns to ashes in your hooves, and the only one you have to turn to is me. I hope you come crawling to me on your belly, too weak to stand, with tears of desperation in your eyes, and when - if - that day should ever come, I'll spit on you. I'll spit on you, and I'll laugh as I watch you wallow in your own self pity and regret.


Remembering those words, Soarin wanted to be as angry as he was that night, but he wasn't. But this was what he always wanted, wasn't it? An opportunity to hurt, no, destroy Spitfire. There was no doubt in his mind that she deserved it. He warned her this day would come, but now that it has, he wasn't sure what to do. It was hard to be angry as he realized what the emotion he felt was. It was pity.


Trenderhoof looked as if he was becoming concerned. "Are you alright?"


"I am," Soarin said. "I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts."


"Would you like to go on with the interview?"


Soarin thought. Not about the Wonderbolt Captain, but of the deceit and lies that had been spun about him and undoubtedly about Spitfire for the past month. It sickened him to the pit of his stomach that corrupt, lying reporters were making a living out of destroying others reputations. He decided at that moment to continue with the interview. He owed it to his former fans. The truth needed to be told, and, as Trenderhoof stated, no one knew the truth better than he did. There was no witness more credible than him. "I will continue, but under one condition," he stated.


"Of course," Trenderhoof agreed. "What is it?"


"I don't want you to spin this as a hit piece on Spitfire. Do you understand me?"


Trenderhoof smiled. "Of course."


Soarin took a deep breath, thinking of how he should begin. "It was never easy for me, despite what Spitfire had always thought," he finally said, his determined gaze locked on the eyes of the interviewer sitting across from him. "Joining the most elite flying team in all of Equestria was my childhood dream. When the board extended their invitation to me after the end of my first year in the academy, I was beside myself with excitement. Despite my middling abilities, I felt that I was special in some way. But it wasn't long before I regretted accepting their offer. Spitfire despised me from the first moment she met me. I was unable to figure out why. At first I thought it was some sort of hazing ritual..." 


Soarin continued on with the interview, even after the egg timer went off. Fifteen minutes was what he promised, but now that he had started, he couldn't stop himself. He stopped momentarily to turn the oven off, then returned to the chronicling of his experiences with Spitfire.     


"Fleetfoot held her back, but it was ultimately Princess Twilight Sparkle's intervention that made her relent," Soarin concluded on the story regarding the recording that sparked the whole controversy. 


Trenderhoof stroked his chin in a contemplative manner. "And what about those things she said? I won't repeat them, but, certain... Uhm... Slurs were deployed during this time, were they not?"


"What does that have to do with anything?" Soarin asked suspiciously. "Are you trying to get me to say that she's a racist?"


"Well," Trenderhoof said, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the wooden table, "is she?"


Soarin sighed. "No, okay? She was just angry." He paused and reflected on the regretful things he had once said to Applejack in his anger. The confusion, the misunderstanding, the implications and accusations. He knew he would cringe every time he thought back to that time of his life. "We've all said things we've regretted when we were angry." 


"I suppose that is true," Trenderhoof replied, his tone laced with a hint of doubt for Soarin's vindication. "But, to so viciously shout such -- invectives -- to one's face in such a way. It makes one wonder."


Soarin glared at him. "If you've led me during this interview so you can attach your own context to things--'


"Not to worry, Soarin. I assure you, I would do nothing of the sort. I just can't help but be outraged for you in light of the things I've heard tonight."


Soarin didn't like the sound of that. Had he gone overboard with his story? Before he would say another word he reached out toward the tape recorder and turned it off. "Trenderhoof," he said, "go easy on her when you publish this."


"I promise to only publish what is necessary." He turned the recorder back on. "Well, it's getting late, and its about time I was off. I have a train to catch tomorrow morning, and I've yet to book myself a room for the night... Unless..."


"You're not staying here," Soarin cut him off.


"Blame a guy for trying." Trenderhoof shrugged with that upbeat smile of his. "I do have one more matter of business though. Soarin, do you have any last words?"


"Last words," Soarin said dryly, "why, am I being executed?"


Trenderhoof laughed. "No, no, no. You know what I mean. if Spitfire was sitting across from you right now instead of me, and you had the last word before you parted ways and never saw each other again, what would they be? I'm sure everyone would like to know in light of everything you've shared."	


Spitfire not having the last word? Soarin almost laughed when he heard that. That would be the day. He thought and he thought. He didn't want to go out on some stupid quip or witty insult. That would be something Spitfire would have done. "Spitfire," he ventured, "In spite of everything that has happened between us, I can't bring myself to hate you, because, ultimately, I pity you.


"Despite what you think, I really did try my best. Unfortunately, I could only try so hard for so long, but you eventually won. You wore me down, and you eventually made me every bit as miserable as you are. You crushed my soul, Spitfire. It was you who made me the walking husk of self-loathing I have been for the past couple of years. But I've left all that behind me now, and, I would extend an olive branch to you, so we could end this on a mutually positive note, but you've made it abundantly clear that that's not what you want. Neither one of us can take back what's been done, but you can prevent future tragedies, such as the one you're going through right now. Do what I did: Learn to laugh, love, and enjoy life, before it's too late." After a pause, Soarin then sat back in his chair and nodded to indicate that he was finished.


"Strong words," Trenderhoof commented. "Strong words that not only Spitfire could learn from, but all of us as well." He placed a hoof over the recording device and clicked it off. "Well, unless there's anything else, I'd say we're done here."


"Yeah, that's pretty much all I have to say," Soarin agreed. "I'm sorry for treating you with so much hostility earlier."


"I'm sorry for forcing my way into your home; not the proudest moment in my career," Replied Trenderhoof as he gathered up his things. "It's not like I can blame you, though. To tell you the truth, I despise those in my profession as well. The media is the most powerful weapon in the world. It has the ability to render the guilty innocent and the innocent guilty. A persuasive enough writer can act as a parasite as it burrows in the minds of its hosts and controls their every thought and action."


"That's surprisingly deep coming from you."


"Why, thank you!" Trenderhoof smiled, his teeth gleaming. "I plagiarized it off an anecdote column I read some years ago."


"I'll never get over these things you so unabashedly admit to me."


Trenderhoof's eyes glinted mischievously. "I'm a journalist, shame is a foreign concept to me."


As Soarin led the way to the front door, he noticed Apple Bloom sitting silently in Granny's rocker. "How long have you been sitting there?"


"Ah let mahself in through the front door around the time you was threatening to bash Slenderhoof's head in."


Trenderhoof didn't bother to correct her. 


Soarin held the front door open for the reporter, who regarded him with a polite nod before he strode past him. "Farewell, Soarin. Thank you so much for the interview."


"Thanks for giving me the opportunity to talk about everything," Soarin said. "It feels kind of good to actually summarize everything in its entirety, you know?"


"Others talk, I listen. It's what I do for a living, Soarin." And Trenderhoof bade him farewell before he departed for town. Soarin watched him as he disappeared into the night, his somewhat flamboyant stride evoking theories that contradicted the fact that he had once had a crush on Applejack.


Apple Bloom sat beside him on the front porch, a plate containing a lukewarm slice of pizza balanced delicately on her hoof. 


"Heard the whole thing, did you?" Soarin asked her.


"Yup," Apple Bloom said cheerfully. She took an experimental bite of the pizza, and her eyes lit up. "This is delicious!"


"Did it get cold?"


"A bit, but the oven kept it pretty warm." She took another eager bite and mumbled, "You made this yerself?"


Soarin chuckled. "Sure did. You'd be surprised how good a homemade pizza made from fresh ingredients can taste. I used to make them all the time with my dad."


"Next time me and mah friends have a slumber party over here, yer doin' the cookin'."


"Glad you like it, kid." Soarin looked up and observed the way Cloudsdale concealed half the moon, the glowing crescent's light reflecting vividly off its cloudy white ridges. "To think, that used to be my home up there."


"Used to be," Apple Bloom emphasized. "Yer an Apple now. Don't you forget it. And if you ever try to leave, Ah'll lasso you and drag you back mahself."  


"That's never gonna happen." He spared his former home one last passing glance, the longing and nostalgia he had once felt for the place long dead. "I'm right where I need to be."
> Night of The Timberwolves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

She's late, Soarin thought to himself, yawning as he looked at the neon-lit clock on his barn wall.


Soarin stretched before he pushed himself up from his couch. His day off had been spent alone, eating snacks and watching movies on his new entertainment system. He had eventually fallen asleep on his couch. It was early in the afternoon when he remembered shutting his eyes, the clamorous sounds of some old campy horror flick lulling him to sleep. He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now, and it was well into the evening. Apple Bloom should have been home by now. He was curious as to why she hadn't roused him with inquiries about dinner. 


Maybe she cooked dinner herself? Soarin mused, but he quickly disregarded the thought. Apple Bloom couldn't cook; if there was a way to burn water, that filly would find it. 


Soarin pushed the barn door open. The sky was just beginning to bruise a light purple. The sun had already sank behind the mountains, and the first stars were starting to twinkle in the indigo sky. A light breeze blew through Soarin's mane as he cantered across the emerald pasture. It rustled audibly through the leaves of the nearby orchards, and whistled pleasantly through the eves of the Apple family house as Soarin came upon the front stoop. 


He looked around the living room, checked the kitchen, searched the den, then went up stairs. Apple Bloom wasn't in her room. He doubted he'd find her in AJ's or Big Mac's or Granny Smith's room, but he checked them anyway for the sake of being thorough.


"Kid?" he called out as he ambled along the second story hallway, the ancient hardwood floor creaking beneath him with every stride. Perhaps she was playing a game with him? He crept up to the hall closet and threw the door open. There were piles of bows and hats, but no cute little red headed fillies to be found. "Huh..." 


He scratched his chin pensively, looking out from the stoop of the house. It was getting darker. The moon was now visible in the sky, full and pale as a ghost. Apple Bloom would be wanting dinner around this time, and they had even had a movie night planned together. Just him and her. She seemed pretty excited about it; Soarin doubted she would want to be late for that. 


With worry beginning to set in, he turned the porch light on before he took off down the trail that led to town, should she come home while he was out looking for her. The dirt path was deserted, as it usually was around this time. It was heavily forested, and the thick canopy overhead allowed for scant light to shine through. Soarin wished he had brought his lantern, but he didn't feel like turning back. 


Rarity promptly answered her door after three quick knocks. She blinked in surprise at Soarin, as he stood under the porch light of the carousel boutique. "Soarin, what can I do for you, darling? I just put on a pot of tea, would you like to come in?"


Soarin wasted no time with pleasantries. "Apple Bloom said something about hanging out with Sweetie Belle today. Is she here?"


"She was," Rarity replied.      


"Was?" Soarin peeked over the unicorn's head and noticed Sweetie Belle in the front parlour. She was seated upon a plush couch, a comic book or some sort of graphic novel splayed out over her lap. 


Rarity held the door open and once again offered, "You can come in, if you'd like."


Soarin ignored her. "Hey, kid," he called out to Sweetie. 


The filly looked up from her book, her little green eyes blinking curiously. "Hey, whats up, Soarin?"


"Apple Bloom came by, didn't she? Do you know where she is?"


"Yeah, she was here most of the day. She left about two hours ago."


Two hours? Soarin felt a knot beginning to form in his stomach. Something was wrong. Apple Bloom was always so punctual about returning home before her curfew. He had hoped she had merely lost track of time at her friend's house, but now, he could see that that plainly wasn't the case.


"Is something the matter, darling?" Rarity came in. "Has Apple Bloom not come home?"


"No, she hasn't. She was suppose to be home by the time the street lights came on."


Rarity placed a concerned hoof over her mouth. "Oh, my... Would you like me to help you look for her?"


"I appreciate the offer, but I'm sure I'll find her. No offense, but my wings can cover a lot more ground than your hooves can."


Rarity and Sweetie Belle traded disquieted looks. "Well, it couldn't hurt if I at least asked around town," Rarity offered. "It isn't too late to knock on a few doors."


"I appreciate the help," Soarin said. "If you do manage to find her--"


"I'll bring her right home," Rarity assured. "I promise."  


"Thanks." And then Soarin was off.


He flew over Ponyville, meticulously combing the sky in a grid formation as he scanned every road and alley, yet his attempts yielded no results. The search lasted for several hours, with Soarin growing more worried by the second. Where is that filly! he wanted to scream into the cloudless sky.


He eventually decided to head back to Sweet Apple Acres. Perhaps she made it home while he was out searching for her. If she wasn't at the house, he'd be back to comb the town a second time. He banked through the air until his muzzle was pointing toward the farm, and ripped through the sky like he had a demon on his heels, uttering swears and prayers along the way. When next he saw Apple bloom he vowed he would tie her up and lock her in the apple cellar until Applejack came home.


The house was pitch black, save for the porch light; that wasn't a good sign. He galloped up the stairs, clicking on every light switch along the way. "Apple Bloom, you home kid...?" No response, and she once again wasn't in any of the rooms.


Soarin cursed as he threw open the front door and took to the sky. He decided to check the tree house before he would return to town. With deft precision and break neck speed he weaved through the trees of the orchards. Flying over them would have been easier, but he wouldn't be able to see Apple Bloom through all the thick vegetation. He was concerned that he might pass her by and not even know it, so he opted to fly low.


Soarin swayed around thick sentinels, barrel rolled between boughs, skirted around thickets, and swooped under low hanging branches at speeds that left no margin for error, the trees zooming past his vision in greens and browns like runny colors on a canvas. 


The wake of his speed slashed a trench through a pond's surface as he shot over it and, just then, the clearing where the treehouse was located was coming into view. The clearing... And something else. Something Soarin wasn't expecting. Around the base of the lofty oak, upon which the tree house sat, there was a pack of Timber Wolves eagerly clawing at the trunk, as if they were trying to scale it. It looked like they had been at it for a while, as the tree was rendered bare of its bark from its base to its upper stump. The sight was so queer Soarin forgot himself for a moment. That was, until he noticed the red ribbon caught between the wooden fangs of one of the creatures. 


Apple Bloom's bow.... The color drained from Soarin's face.


"Soarin?" A voice suddenly called out to him.


"Kid?" Soarin looked into one of the windows of the tree house to see Apple Bloom's panic-stricken face. Despite the situation he was suddenly overcome with relief. 


"Soarin!" the filly squealed, her eyes wide with a mixture of joy and terror. "You're here!"


"I'm coming, kid. Stay put." And Soarin flew to her.


"Stay put? Where the heck am Ah gonna go?"


The first thing the filly did when he landed on the deck was jump into his arms. She hugged onto Soarin so fiercely, he could feel his hollow Pegasus bones popping beneath that Earth Pony grip of hers. "Oh, Soarin!" she said, sobbing. "Ah'm so glad yer here!"


"I'm glad too, kid." Soarin freed up a hoof to affectionately ruffle her mane. "Don't you ever scare me like this again, you hear me? If I were to lose you, your sister would unscrew my head."


"Let's just get outta here. And make it quick-like!"


"Right," Soarin agreed. "Let's get you home." And with Apple Bloom in Soarin's arms he took off toward the homestead.


"They chased me while Ah was on the trail heading home," Apple Bloom explained as they were gliding through the air. The stars were bright, and the wind was crisp and cool. It had seemingly helped Apple Bloom to regain her faculties. Her tone was still tinged with anxiety as she regaled Soarin with the tale of her terrifying encounter, but she was beginning to calm down. "All Ah could do was make a run for the tree house. Ah still can't believe Ah made it."


"But why would a pack of timberwolves just come after you like that?" 


"Ah don't know - it's like they were specifically lookin' for me."


Soarin sensed a headwind just above him. He adjusted his elevation, shifted the angle of his wings, then sailed smoothly along the gusty stream. Apple Bloom smiled and shut her eyes. "That breeze feels nice." And then she croaked as she added, "Feels like bein' alive."


"Hey, no more of that," Soarin said, though not unkindly. He cradled her head against his chest as he banked around a down draft that would have jostled him. The turbulence would have been easy enough for him to recover from, but in Apple Bloom's anxious state, it might have startled her.


The filly nuzzled against him. "Are we still gonna have our movie night?"


"You bet," Soarin promised her. It wasn't until she was nestled up to him when he caught a fragrance wafting off her mane. He absentmindedly sniffed at her.


"Soarin, do you really gotta ruin the moment by actin' all weird?"


"What is that?" Soarin said between sniffs. "You smell more... I don't know... 'Appley,' than usual."


The filly screwed up her face, but then she must have realized what it was Soarin was smelling. "Oh, you mean mah perfume? Yeah, Ah dabbed a bit behind mah ears before Ah went out today. You like it? Ah made it mahself."


"It's a little pungent, to be honest..." Soarin said thoughtfully. "Is that the same perfume you coated your lucky bow in before you lost it in the Everfree forest - you know, the same bow you were whining about over breakfast a while back?"


"It is," Apple Bloom replied. "Why do you ask?"


A sudden realization came over Soarin as he remembered the timberwolf with the red bow tangled between its wooden teeth. "I think those things found your bow for you, kid. Don't know if you noticed, but one of them had it in its mouth."


"But that still don't explain why--" The filly's eyes widened with realization. "Oh."


"Those things must have locked on to the scent of your perfume, when they discovered that bow you dropped," Soarin explained. "Look, I'm going to tell you something that you're probably not gonna want to hear, but, just to be safe, we should throw out the rest of that perfume of yours when we get back home. No good can come of you trotting around reeking of timberwolf bait. It couldn't hurt to take a bath, too; scrub that stuff off of you."


"Heck, you ain't gotta tell me twice!" Apple Bloom agreed.


Soarin smiled at that. The bright light from the front porch of the house was growing closer by the second, acting as a lighthouse amidst the darkness of the rural farm, guiding him and his passenger home. 


The first thing Apple Bloom did when they returned home was scamper upstairs to take a thorough bath, as Soarin went out to get them food. It was too late to cook, and he figured Apple Bloom deserved a little treat to help her calm down after her harrowing encounter. 


Soarin looked back from the pasture, to make sure she was okay. The second story window where the bathroom was located was lit, and it had already begun to steam over. When he was finally able to convince himself that she would be okay alone, he spread his wings and pushed on toward the town. 


First order of business was tracking down Rarity, whom he had discovered almost immediately upon beginning his search. Her ivory coat reflecting the illumination from the street lamps on the side of the road made her easy to spot from the sky. "She was in her treehouse," was pretty much all he had divulged to her. No one needed to know about the business with the timberwolves, and what was more, he didn't need those details getting back to Applejack. That mare had a tendency to be overprotective of her little sister, to the point where it could be overbearing at times; hearing the truth of what had transpired that night would only serve to cause unnecessary grief.  


Next order of business was food. Soarin wanted it to be ready for Apple Bloom the moment she got out of the tub. It was a good thing the hay burger was open twenty four-seven. With the top of the grease-stained fastfood bag rolled and clenched firmly between his teeth, he headed home with his and Apple Bloom's dinner. 







Soarin pulled a blanket over Apple Bloom as she laid sprawled out on his couch, snoring soft, ladylike snores. She had made it to the halfway point of the second feature by the time she had dozed off. It was funny, she wasn't able to stay up nearly as long as she thought she could. It was understandable, all things considered. Her ordeal must have left her exhausted. 


Soarin stretched. He was tired too. Not having the heart to wake Apple Bloom to send her to her room, as she probably didn't want to be alone anyway, he left her where she was and ascended the stairs to his loft. 


The last thing he remembered was closing his eyes after he pulled his quilt up below his chin. He had fallen asleep in record time, and he was awake just as fast. He opened his eyes and sat up when he heard strange sounds coming from outside. His barn was dark, save for his neon clock and the pale rays of the full moon filtering in through the window just above his bed.


Soarin rolled out of bed and approached the threshold of his loft. Apple Bloom was still on the couch, but her eyes were wide open. There was a sudden low growl just outside the door, and the filly pulled her blanket up to her muzzle. "Soarin!" she whispered urgently.


"I'm here, kid," he replied, descending the stairs. "Just stay calm, okay?"


Apple Bloom clung to him. "Did those things follow us?"


"I don't see how they could have. I flew high, and I flew faster than they could follow."


"Well, they managed, some how."


There was a sniffing sound at the door. It became a whine, then another growl, then the creature on the other side of the oak started scratching at it.


Apple Bloom muffled a whimper as she buried her face in Soarin's chest.


Soarin detected a familiar scent in the filly's mane. "You said you took a bath!" he let out in a clenched whisper, perhaps a little harsher than he meant to.   


The filly recoiled at his tone. "Ah did, Soarin. Ah swear! Ah even used mah.... Oh, no."


" 'Oh no,' what? What does 'oh, no' mean?"


"Promise you ain't gonna yell at me."


"I promise, now what's wrong?"


"Ah used... Ah used mah special apple-scented shampoo... Which Ah made - from the same ingredients Ah used to make the perfume." 


"Why in tartarus would you do that?"


"The scent of the shampoo ain't as strong as the perfume," Apple Bloom whimpered. "Ah didn't think they'd be able to track me all the way from the forest." 


Once they hone in on yer scent, they'll track ya down to the ends of the earth. Soarin remembered back to Applejack's cautionary words, and he was coming to realize just how true they were.


There was a sudden crash at the door. The creatures knew their prey was there, and they were eager to claim their prize. 


"Kid, I'm not mad at you, okay?" Soarin said, in an attempt to calm the filly; she was already being accosted by eldritch oaken K9s, she didn't need the chastisement of an adult to compound her anxiety.


There was another crash. The entire structure shook under the impact. The door was starting to splinter inward.


Apple Bloom's grip around Soarin became tighter. "Let's just get out of here!"


And just as Soarin was about to agree the door gave, and the creatures from deep within the forest began to spill in. There were six of them in all, all of middling height with fearsome eyes wreathed in flames of jade.


Apple Bloom screamed. With no time to think, Soarin grabbed her and leaped over the back of the couch. He would have made for the upper deck but his path was blocked by one of the timberwolves, who had managed to swiftly circle around him in all the confusion. 


Clever girl... 


One of them snapped their jaws at him as he was trying to open his wings, and he was forced to instead jump back to put some distance between him and them. Soarin felt the wall behind him, and he knew he had been cornered. The creatures began to close in around him. 


One of them sprang forth. With Apple Bloom wrapped in one arm, Soarin desperately reached back for something, anything he could get his hooves on. In the dark his hooves managed to find a long shaft hanging from a peg. My scythe! he realized. Thank Celestia he had the habit of hanging it back up after every use.  


It was like it was all happening in slow motion, his body seamlessly moving on its own. There was one quick slash. The blade flashed in the rays of moonlight shining down on them through his loft's window. With a shower of mulch and splinters the timberwolf gave out a whimper as its two halfs collided with the floor.


Striking down the aggressor had opened a gap in the creatures' ranks. Soarin had to be fast. He threw Apple Bloom on his back. "Hold on!" was the only directive he had time to give before he burst into a sprint. The wolves tried to close in on him, but they were too slow. Soarin opened his wings, and with the filly on his back, and his scythe clutched tightly in the crook of his foreleg, he leaped up to his loft. 


The timberwolves made for the stairs in pursuit.


"What are we gonna do now?" Apple Bloom whined.


Soarin looked around until he spotted the window above the headboard of his bed. 


"Yer not thinkin'..." Apple Bloom said.


The timberwolves had cleared the stairs and were now heading straight toward them. There were two that remained on the floor level, possibly to prevent an escape through the front entrance. The beasts were as intelligent as they were persistent, it seemed.


"Yep!" Soarin said, and with no other option to his disposal, he made for the window. They bounded off his bed and smashed through the glass. He tried to open his wings to take flight, but just as he did he was seized by a sharp, debilitating pain, and gravity pulled them tumbling to the grass below. He let go of his scythe and protectively embraced the screaming filly, so that he would take the brunt of gravity's wrath when they met with the ground. All the air went out of him, but he fought his way back up to his hooves. Soarin managed to retrieve his scythe before flipping Apple Bloom onto his back and making a mad dash for the house. The adrenaline was in him now, the blood pumping hot like liquid fire in his veins. Pain no longer existed in his mind; Apple Bloom was his first and last priority.


"Soarin!" Apple Bloom was gasping. "Yer wing!"


Soarin refused to look at it. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted. "Did you throw out that perfume of yours?" he grunted, the haft of his scythe clinched tightly between his teeth as they sped toward the house. He could already hear the timberwolves hot on his trail.


"The perfume? No, not yet. It's corked in an airtight container, so Ah figured Ah could just dispose of it tomorrow."


"Where is it?"


"It's in mah bedroom, in the bottom drawer beneath mah vanity mirror, but why?"


"I have a plan," Soarin lied. He didn't know the answer to the question himself. At this point he was playing this by ear. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to keep moving.


They burst through the front entrance to the house, and just as Soarin was finished securing all the locks on the door, there was a crash on the other side. Soarin was so startled he nearly tripped over his hooves, but he was quick to regain his composure. 


He turned and took Apple Bloom up the stairs as quickly as he could. He could feel how tightly her little hooves were gripping the back of his mane, and he knew she was terrified. The sensation of her nearly ripping the hair out from the back of his head hurt, but the mad desperation of their situation made the pain easy to ignore. 


The thudding and slamming against the front door grew louder and increasingly more violent as Soarin dug threw Apple Bloom's vanity. "Is this it?"


Apple Bloom looked at the bottle. "It is, but Ah still don't get--" and then her face went milk-white as the front door down stairs was heard being smashed in, immediately followed by rapid, clamorous wood-on-wood steps flying up the stairs.


There wasn't enough time to think. Soarin looked at the bottle, and he knew what he had to do. Perhaps a smarter stallion would have thought of a better idea, but Soarin was seldom praised for his intellect. He uncorked the vessel and upended its contents over his head, soaking himself in the pungent, sickly sweet perfume. It was so strong, it almost made him gag.


Apple Bloom's eyes went wide with incomprehension. "Why would--"


Soarin didn't let her finish her sentence. There simply wasn't enough time. "Barricade your door," was his parting words before he left her, slamming her door behind him. The timberwolve's eyes glowed hungrily in the darkness of the hallway. They sniffed, then bared their fangs.


No turning back now. Satisfied that he was now their priority, Soarin turned and retreated to Granny Smith's room at the end of the hall, scythe in hoof. He charged through her door, slamming it behind him as he went. The creatures could immediately be heard scratching at the other side. Soarin opened Granny's window, popped off the screen, and utilizing the agility and timing he had honed through over a decade of Wonderbolt training, he touched down with his hind legs and rolled smoothly off of his shoulder. His momentum brought him deftly to his hooves, where he transitioned seamlessly into a sprint. In the back of his mind Soarin made a mental note to thank Spitfire for dragging him to all those emergency landing lessons when he was in the academy.      


He continued to run, even as he heard them gaining on him bound-by-bound. He dared a quick back glance and noticed the smallest one in the group was gaining on him. He skidded to a halt, turned, prepared to engage. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. It was all he could do to keep his nerves from rattling his hooves. Soarin had never done a thing like this before. He had never so much as been in a fight before, now that he thought of it. 


The timberwolf rapidly closed the distance between them. Poised, Soarin drew back his scythe. They're no different from trees, he tried to convince himself. The creature was a stone's throw from him when Soarin's muscles tightened. He breathed, focused, then swung. 


All the life seemed to go out of the creature when its headless body hit the ground. 


Soarin looked down in disbelief at what he had done. It was so easy, he would have laughed, if not for the fact that there were five more coming after him... Wait, five? That seemed odd to him. He was never the best at math, but something about that was off. There were originally six, and he had taken out two so far... 


He then backed away as the body of the timberwolf he had just beheaded began to warble. Tendrils of green light seeped from the stump of its neck. The light connected body and head, pulling them back together. The green flames in its eye sockets once again came alive.


"Nope!" Soarin turned and ran.


It lasted for what seemed like forever, this seemingly perpetual battle. Soarin was nearly exhausted to the point of frothing at the mouth, but no matter how many pieces he would cut these creatures into, they would always manage to reamalgamate their parts and resume their attack. He had hoped that there was perhaps a limited amount of times they could rejuvenate, but his theory thus far had been folly. For the thousand-thousandth time that night, he retreated, engaged the one that was farthest from the rest of the group, in order to prevent them from surrounding him, and he would repeat. It was an effective strategy, but an exhausting one. 


Two of them managed to catch up to him at once. Desperate, Soarin drove his blade through the smaller one's chest, swung him around, them sent him reeling into the larger one. They went sprawling to the ground in a bristling ball of thrashing wooden limbs, and before the could untangle themselves, Soarin was on them, swinging, hacking, slashing them in as many pieces as he possibly could.


"Stay.... Down...." Soarin huffed in exasperation. He looked up and realized the other four were dangerously close to him. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" he cried out as he retreated, realizing that he was no longer able to keep up the pace at which he had been going. He was taking back the presumption that this was easy. He attempted to spread his wings, but the pain in doing so overwhelmed him to the point of spots entering his vision. He still hadn't had the opportunity to get a good look at his wing since he had jumped through his barn window. There were shards of glass in it, that much he knew. Something may have been broken as well, from the way he had landed, but he couldn't be too sure, and he couldn't let that distract him now.    


Soarin was skirting the edge of the pasture, where the open field met the orchards, and he noticed the other two timberwolves he had just felled rejoining the chase. With his energy approaching its limit, and his hope of surviving the encounter all but evaporated, he decided to turn around and give it all he had. Perhaps he was insane for trying the same thing over, and over, and over again, and hoping for a different result, but he was too exhausted to think of anything else. 


Soarin skidded to a halt, turned, poised. There was a single cloud in the sky blocking the moon light, rendering the field all but pitch black. It was a good thing timberwolves' eyes glowed, or else they'd be invisible in the darkness. Still, it made Soarin wish he had his lantern, but it was back in the barn... 


A metaphorical light bulb suddenly clicked on over Soarin's head.


"My lantern!" Soarin slashed wildly at the four wolves in front of him the moment they were within reach of his scythe, temporarily turning their bodies to mulch. They wouldn't be down for long, a lesson he knew all too well. He then bounded toward his barn with a new sense of hope renewing his vigor. 


My lantern! Fire! They're made out of wood! Why didn't I think of it before?


Two more timberwolves headed him off in the field and blocked his path. 


"Out of my way!" Soarin slashed at the first one and lopped its jaw off just as it was baring its fangs. His intention was to behead it, but with his dwindling stamina he miscalculated the swing. The other made a lunge toward him, but he managed to get his scythe up just in time, and the creature's jaws closed down on nothing but haft. Soarin shoved him away with all his might, then let loose with a lightening fast flurry of three quick slashes, quartering it. His attention went back to the first one, slapping it viciously upside its jawless wooden skull with the flat of his blade, sending its head twisting until it popped off its neck with an audible snap. Its cranium rolled to the ground, and its body followed immediately after. Soarin then resumed his sprint to the barn, stepping over the piles of kindling that once was and what will again be his attackers. 


He loped over the busted door, ascended the stairs to his loft, then groped around for the lantern on his bedstand, but it was nowhere to be found. That was when he looked down, as he felt his hoof brush against something metallic on the floor. "Bingo!" He gave the flint knob a twist, but there were no sparks. "What the..." He tried it again, over and over, panic rising within him with each failed attempt. He held it closer to better inspect it in the darkness. He could feel something wet at its base. He gave it a sniff, and he realized the liquid was oil. During the scuffle that had taken place in his barn earlier his lantern must have gotten knocked off his bedstand. It was cracked, and leaking oil, and the knob's mechanism was broken. "You have got to be friggen kidding me..." 


He looked up at the pairs of glowing eyes stepping in through the entrance of his barn. Cursing, Soarin clenched the handle of his broken lantern and he leapt out the already broken window, hoping against hope that it could somehow still be of some use. 


Running, dashing, dodging and fighting, Soarin's exhaustion was getting worse, and the pain in his wing was growing more debilitating by the second. It had gotten to the point where just running was an all but insurmountable task. The skirmish had eventually made its way to the side of the Apple family house. Soarin swung at one of the wolves, missed, and the blade glanced off the iron handle of the water pump, spraying a shower of sparks. The wolves leaped back with panicked yelps at the site of the tiny embers. 


Soarin's eyes, glazed from exhaustion, went to the pump, to his scythe, to his lantern, and back to the timberwolves. The gears in his head started to turn. He took advantage of the short time he was granted to douse his blade with the remaining bit of oil from the lantern's reservoir, and then he discarded the broken brass relic. He placed the flat of the blade against the iron handle of the pump, and he firmly swiped it along its surface. There was another shower of sparks, but no fire.


It seemed as if the wolves were no longer phased by Soarn's light show. He was surrounded, his back against the house as they closed in all around him. This was what they had been trying to do all night: Tire him out to the point where he'd make a mistake and allow himself to be cornered or surrounded. It was a classic pack hunting strategy, and they had finally done it. If this idea of Soarin's didn't work... "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" He struck the pump handle again, and again, and again, until finally the blade lit up with an audible whoof.


Soarin slashed in a wide one hundred and eighty degree arc. The timberwolves evasively jumped back, but he managed to catch the slowest of them, who went up like a desiccated pine tree upon the burning blade's contact. The beast howled like nothing Soarin had ever heard, before it went berserk on him. The flames that were now bathing the attacking timberwolf's body licked and singed soarin's fur as he kept the attacker at bay with the haft of his scythe. He was slammed violently against the house as the wolf pressed its attack. Its desperate assault, however, seemed to grow weaker by the second, until its legs finally began to crack from the heat, and eventually gave out from under it. The creature gave one last horrible screech. The sound was like a freaking banshee in heat. But then, the jade green flames that were its eyes faded, it went slack, and the thing was no more than a pile of blazing kindling, the flames eagerly consuming every inch of its body. 


Wasting no time, Soarin rushed forward and did the same to the other five timberwolves, setting them ablaze with one accurate slash of his scythe. They too went mad when the flames engulfed them, and they chased him around the house. Soarin rounded a corner, skirted another, and made for the pasture. The grass was moist and it wouldn't burn easily, he knew. This was where he could finally finish this. 


He stopped and turned once he was at the center of the field, where the soil beneath the grass was the mushiest with all the accumulated night moisture. By the time the timberwolves caught up to him, two more of them must have yielded their lives to the flames, as there were now only three. Two less to deal with, Soarin wasn't about to complain.


Soarin buried his blade in the head of the first one, levered the shaft down, then wrenched its skull free from the rest of its body. Soarin gave his blade a flick, which popped its impaled head up in the air, and when gravity pulled it back down he struck it with the flat of his blade like a big league hitter on home plate. The flaming head was sent arching through the night sky like a shooting star. 


The other managed to lunge on top of him, but Soarin hefted the haft of his blade just in time as they went down together, which provided him just enough space to bring up his hind legs to give the beast a kick that sent him rolling over his head. The timberwolf left behind a trail of burning bits as it tumbled, flipped, and rolled, until it was nothing but an immolated torso. 


Soarin only had enough time to raise the butt of his scythe as the last one attempted to leap onto him. The creature impaled itself on the shaft. Soarin then swung shaft and timberwolf over his head in a vertical arch, slamming the creature on the ground with all his might. The wolf's body exploded into flaming pieces upon impact, and he knew that it would not be getting back up.


Soarin looked around and waited. Once he was sure he was no longer in danger he buried his burning blade into the moist soil beneath him, putting it out with a strident hiss. And then he allowed himself to slump to the ground. It's over... Thank Celestia, hallelujah, and peanut butter...


He rolled over, onto his good wing, and he finally allowed himself a peek at his injury. The finger bone at the edge of his wing protruded grotesquely from the feathers, and gleaming in the moonlight were innumerable shards of jagged glass that had been embedded in the flesh. "Not flying on that for a while," Soarin commented. He was smiling for some reason.


Soarin lowered his head and allowed his eyes to close. Just a quick rest, he promised himself. And then I'll go into town and find a doctor, or a medic, or something... Just... A quick... And then he was snoring.


A light breeze was blowing through the pasture, and the only sound for the longest time was that of the orchards rustling in the wind.
> Bedside Blues
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soarin's numerous transitions to and from consciousness were sporadic. It was as if the world around him had undergone a time lapse every time he closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered Apple Bloom cradling his head in her forelegs as she pleaded with him to speak to her. That was when his consciousness slipped away from him again. He had next awakened to a familiar female voice shouting in dismay, "His wing! How did this happen?"


"Princess... Princess Twilight?" Soarin cracked his eyes, but all the forms and colors around him just seemed to blur together.


"Oh, good," The Princess sighed. "You're awake. From the way Apple Bloom was talking, I thought you'd be... Soarin? Soarin, look at me. Open your eyes. Soarin!" And Soarin had slipped away once again. And when he regained sapience, he felt a flat surface trundling beneath him, the familiar creaking of axles and the metallic whine of poorly greased bearings rasping in his ears.


"Quit jostling him around!" demanded a voice that was unmistakably Apple Bloom's. "Yer gonna kill him."


"No, it won't kill him, but it could make his injuries worse. Someone's going to need to hop in the cart and help him keep his wing still until we get to the hospital."


"I'll do it," volunteered another voice. "The poor thing..." Soarin felt a warm hoof gently caressing the side of his face. The wounded pegasus half-opened his eyes to see Rarity smiling sympathetically down at him. "We've got you, darling," she cooed. It was sweet, that soft, nurturing voice of hers.


"Are you in any pain?" Rainbow Dash broke in. She hovered into his vision, her magenta eyes wide with concern.


"Look at his wing!" Apple Bloom answered for him, in a tone that had been edged with distress. "Wouldn't you be in pain?"


"Hey now, calm down squirt. I'm just seeing if he's coherent enough to talk."


"On a scale of one to ten--" Soarin croaked, but the cart he had been laid out on must have hit a pothole in the road. A wave of excruciating pain exploded in his wing, and he let fly with a clenched stream of expletives. 


"I didn't know those were numbers," Pinkie Pie mused, and then Soarin passed out again.


The next thing Soarin knew, he was laying face down on an operating table. It sounded garbled, but he thought he heard an unfamiliar voice say, "Prep him." He felt the sting of a tiny needle penetrating his foreleg, and every muscle in his body began to relax. Relief washed over him, and that was when he could finally sleep without the constant interruption of his agony rousing him.


Soarin dreamed of his glory days that night. He flew in perfectly synchronized formation alongside his squad until he finally blundered during one particular stunt. It was a deviation of speed he had made during a sharp turn along the stadium wall. It was a mistake that threw off their formation, but it was so slight only Spitfire seemed to notice.


The captain had given him an earful that night, but that was nothing new. She seemed to focus more on his mistakes than anyone else's. He counted two miscalculations Blaze had made that same night, yet Spitfire had let out all her frustrations on him. 


Despite the frequency of his flukes however, the fans loved him. Soarin was the goof of the group. His mistakes were always followed by improvisations that kept the fans entertained, while at the same time convincing them that it was all a part of the act. It set him apart from the others, and it had unwittingly made him the star of the show. His team didn't like it. They had gotten the notion in their heads that Soarin was purposely upstaging them. To the fans, Soarin was the silly, fun-loving goof that loved nothing more than entertaining them with his wacky antics, but to his team, he was the glory hog. 


Spitfire, however, had the eyes of an experienced flyer; she could spot inadequacy from a mile away. She could smell ineptitude from upwind, and Soarin reeked of it. To her he was always the outsider; he was the maverick; he didn't deserve to be in the team, didn't deserve to wear the uniform. And perhaps, Soarin thought when he looked back on it, she was right.







Soarin was looking at a white ceiling when he opened his eyes, the sterile scent of his hospital room filling his nostrils. Looming over him at his bedside was a metallic rack, from which hung a bag of clear fluid. When he looked down he realized there was an IV drip in his foreleg. His wing was secured in a splint and tightly bandaged to his side. 


He had woken up in a hospital with his wing bandaged up... An eerie sense of deja vu was coming over him. It was the Rainbow Falls incident all over again. Only, it wasn't Rainbow Dash that was with him this time. Slowly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, and he noticed Apple Bloom curled up at the end of his bed, her sides softly expanding and contracting with her silent little snores. "Kid?" Her body swayed about as he tugged at his sheet to rouse her. "Hey, you okay?"


The filly's ears twitched. Her head perked up, eyes wide. "Yer awake!" She scrambled to her hooves and launched herself into him. Soarin had to plant his hooves behind him to keep from being thrown back on his broken wing. 


"I'm awake," he agreed, patting the filly on the head. "How long have I been out?"


"About sixteen hours."


"Heck of a power nap," Soarin commented. "How did I get here?"


"Ah rounded up some friends to help me get you to the hospital. You don't remember?"


"I remember," Soarin said. "I was hoping that was a dream."


Apple Bloom cocked her head to the side. "Why?"


"Because, I don't want anyone knowing about what happened last night. If Applejack finds out, she could... Wait, where's Applejack? Is she home?"


"She ain't gonna be home until tomorrow, remember?"


"Oh, good," Soarin sighed. "There's still time."


"Time fer what?" 


"Time for me to talk to everyone who helped me. I don't want Rainbow Dash or Rarity or anyone else letting Applejack know about what happened... How much have you divulged about the incident last night, and how many ponies know about it?"


"Divulged?" Apple Bloom said curiously. "Ah pretty much told everyone the whole story... That you saved mah life. And Ah'm sure the whole town knows about it by now."


"Everyone?" Soarin echoed, and the door to his room burst open.


Pinkie Pie was looking at him from the doorway, her eyes wide, round and unblinking like little blue saucers in her head. 


Soarin looked at her, perplexed. "Can I help you?"


The impulsive mare suddenly turned and ran off shrieking down the hospital hallway.


"Well, that was weird," Soarin commented.


"When it comes to Pinkie Pie, it'd be weird if she didn't do somethin' weird," Apple Bloom offered with a shrug. 


"So, Pinkie Pie knows... And I think I remember Twilight being there as well. What did you mean when you said everyone in the whole town knows?"


"Pinkie Pie's probably spread the word around town by now, knowing her."


Soarin face-hoofed. "Great. No point in trying to keep it a secret now. Next thing you're gonna tell me is that she went to the media about it."


Apple Bloom fidgeted nervously. "She might have informed the local paper about it."


Soarin stiffened his posture and said, "I know you're kidding... Please be kidding."


"Soarin, you were incredible!" insisted the filly. "Ah watched you fight those things off from mah window. Ah never saw nothin' like that in all mah life. You were like some kinda super hero. Why wouldn't you want mah sister to know?" Apple Bloom then leaned in and added, "You know, yer probably gonna score you some tail for this."


"Okay, first of all, you're like, five. Don't talk like that. Second, do you even know what that means?"


"Ah'm nine, for yer information," Apple Bloom corrected him. "And, it means yer gonna get lots'a hugs and smooches, right?"


"Sure, we'll leave it at that."


"What's the big deal?"


"The big deal is that I don't want Applejack to know about this. She's gonna flip when she finds out." Soarin sighed, laid back against his pillow, then stared up at the ceiling. "It's unavoidable now, I guess." 


"You were brave, Soarin," Apple Bloom insisted. "Applejack would want to know about this." She then laid down and nuzzled up against him. "Ah never got the chance to thank you, by the way. Ah don't know what would'a happened to me if you hadn't been there to protect me."


"You're alive, kid," Soarin replied. "That's all the thanks I need. You didn't go back home after you brought me here, did you?"


"Ah stayed here with you."


"The hospital staff just let you do that? Don't most places like this have a strict policy about overnight visitors?"


"They tried to shoo me away. Rarity told me Ah could stay with her and Sweetie Belle for the night, but Ah didn't want to leave you here all alone."


"How'd you convince them to let you stay?"


"Ah told em we was family, and that Ah wasn't gonna leave you. Ohana and all that."


"Didn't your sister teach you not to lie?"


"Ah told em you was family, dummy; that ain't no lie. Ah done told ya before, family are those you love and cherish. And Ah love you to pieces, you crazy, stupid, hardheaded stallion."


Soarin had to clear his throat before he spoke. It was all he could do to keep his voice from sounding husky. "Oh, stop, you're gonna make me all misty." He tried to sound facetious, but deep down, the filly's words moved him.


"When you dumped that perfume on yer head, Ah had thought you'd gone plum insane."


Soarin smirked at that. "Hey, I did what I did to save your butt as much as I did it to save mine. Whatever those timberwolves could have done to me would have paled in comparison to what your sister would do if I had let something happen to you."


"I told you!" a voice from the hallway cheered. 


Soarin and Apple Bloom both jumped with a start as their eyes snapped to the doorway, where they noticed Pinkie Pie as well as Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity gawking at them.


"I was the only one who believed her," Pinkie Pie taunted them. "But everyone else was like, 'No way.' "


"Are you saying all that stuff was true?" Rainbow Dash broke in, her jaw slack with incredulity.


"Ya mean, y'all didn't believe me?" Apple Bloom frowned, affronted. 


Twilight Sparkle raised her hoof in a placating manner. "It's not that we didn't believe you, it's just... I don't know, it's just a hard story to swallow." Her skeptical eyes met with Soarin's. "So, all of this is true? You actually fought off a pack of timberwolves all by yourself?"


"What about the part where you doused yourself in the perfume to lead them away from Apple Bloom?" Rarity had to know, her azure eyes wide with wonderment.


Rainbow Dash nodded eagerly. "Yeah, and the part where they were on fire? And you took em all down with a scythe like some wannabe Specter Knight."


"Specter what?" Soarin's eyes shot down to Apple Bloom. "How much did you tell them?"


"Just the parts that Ah saw from mah window. The fire part was really cool to watch, by the way." 


"I don't know why everyone is having such a hard time believing it. The paper was quick enough to believe me," Pinkie Pie said.


"The Ponyville Press would believe you if you told them Princess Celestia was putting chemicals in the water to turn the frogs gay," Rainbow Dash argued.


Soarin peeled the blanket away and sat up. "Nothing that happened last night was planned. It was all just spur the moment." He began to fidget with the strip of tape holding his IV in place.


Twilight Sparkle began to approach him. "What do you think you're doing?"


"I need to get back to work. I'm going home."  


"Not with that busted wing, you're not," Twilight Sparkle insisted. It almost sounded like a demand.  


"Applejack and the others are going to be returning from out of town tomorrow. I don't want them to come home to a busted front door. The door to Granny's bedroom may need to be replaced as well. There's also the matter of my barn - those monsters turned my place upside down trying to get to us." 


"Soarin, don't worry about it," Apple Bloom said. "We'll just drape some canvas over the doorway of the house for now. It'll look tacky, but we'll get everything taken care of once mah sister and brother get back home. You know how much they love a home project."


"Home project?" Soarin waved the notion away with a dismissive hoof. "I was just going to hire some contractors." 


"Contractors?" Apple Bloom sighed. "How lazy are you?"


"Very."


The filly rolled her eyes. "Granny Smith was right: You can take the boy out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the boy."


"When did she say that about me?"


"She says that about you all the time."


"Enough bickering," Rarity broke in between them. "Soarin, darling, I don't try to nag, but it would really benefit you to get some more rest."


"You should probably wait until the doctor gives you the okay to check out," recommended Rainbow Dash. "I've been hospitalized for a busted wing before. It'll heal up in no time."


"And the food here is delicious!" Pinkie Pie incentivized. "What stallion in his right mind would skip out on the chance to get in on all this free gourmet hospital cuisine?"


"Nurse, have you been washing the bedpans in the cafeteria sink again?" Came a voice from down the hall. 


The pink mare grinned at Soarin sheepishly as she extended a hind leg and pushed the door shut behind her. "You didn't hear that." 


Soarin hung his head with a reluctant sigh. "If the princess demands it, I guess..." 


"Don't think of it as a demand." Said Twilight Sparkle, smiling amiably. "And don't think of me as your princess. Just think of me as a concerned friend." 


"Yeah, it couldn't hurt to just chill here for a while." Rainbow Dash fidgeted coyly with her hooves. "And, in the meantime, why don't you tell us what happened last night? Seriously dude, I have to hear this."


"Ah already told y'all what happened," Apple Bloom complained. "Ah didn't realize y'all would be callin' me a liar behind mah back."


Rainbow Dash ruffled her mane. "Take it easy, squirt. I believe you. I just want to hear the unabridged version. You know, from Soarin's perspective."


Pinkie Pie already had a bag of popcorn ready.


"Where did you get that?" Rarity inquired.


"The cafeteria." Pinkie offered her the bag. "I've been carrying it around in my mane for safe keeping. Want some?"


Rarity recoiled with reserved revulsion. "No thank you, darling. 'Bedpan and mare hair' isn't my flavor."


Pinkie shrugged. "Suit yourself." 


Soarin didn't know what to say, looking around him at all the wide eyes brimming with eagerness to hear his story. Being surrounded by a company of ponies that were legitimately interested in what he had to say felt strange to him. Nice - but strange. "I'm not sure where to begin..."


"Begin at the beginning so we'll know how it began," advised Pinkie Pie. The others began to close in around him, all the better to hear him.


Soarin pondered. He scratched the rough shadow growing from his unshaven face and said, "Well, I guess it started when I noticed how late it was getting. Apple Bloom hadn't come home yet. Last I had seen her, we were having porridge together, and she was asking me if it'd be alright if she went to her friend's house after breakfast..."


Soarin had arrived to the part of the story where he had discovered the wolves clawing at the tree to get at Apple Bloom when the nurse let herself in. He continued unhindered with his tale as the mare with the red cross cutie mark checked the fluid bag on his rack, and her ears twitched with interest as she was jotting something down on a clipboard. She lifted her eyes from her work to regard Soarin with a sudden look of captivation.


Soon after, an earthpony wearing a doctor's coat poked his head in the room. "Nurse Redheart, did you get those fluid measurements?"


Every mare in the room, including the nurse, turned to shush him. 


The doctor cocked an eyebrow.


"Uh, anyway, like I was saying," Soarin continued, "I had just finished securing the door behind me when one of the timberwolves smashed into it from the other side. I was so startled, I nearly tripped over my hooves. I turned and fled with Apple Bloom up the stairs while they continued to batter the door. From the way it had splintered inward with the first impact, I knew they'd be inside the house in a matter of seconds."


Apple Bloom was hugging herself as she recalled the encounter. "Ah was so scared, Ah was crying."


With a look of intense interest, the doctor seemed to gravitate toward Soarin's bedside, and he became the next addition to the audience, absentmindedly leaving the door open behind him.


"I managed to lead them as far away from Apple Bloom as I could, but it was so dark all I could see was their eyes. I stumbled blindly through the pasture, turning occasionally to take one down, then retreating again. My wing was busted and I couldn't fly. I knew that if I let them surround me I'd be done for sure."


A passerby stopped and peeked her head in the room before entering. Another that had noticed the amassing crowd soon followed. Then there was another, and another, and soon the room was packed almost to capacity.


"You don't know what fear is until you're being chased by flaming timberwolves. It was as if they were incapable of feeling pain."


"This is starting to get a little ridiculous," a skeptic said from somewhere within the room.


"It's true!" Apple Bloom insisted. "Ah seen the whole thing. Y'all who know me know Ah'm an Apple. We don't lie."


A wave of incoherent whispers began to wash over the throng.


"What happened after you led them to the field?" someone urged him on.


Soarin was becoming tired. He didn't know if it was whatever that substance was in his IV bag, or if the exhaustion from the previous night was beginning to catch up with him, but he was at the end of the story, and the crowd he had unwittingly drawn looked as if they might protest if he stopped. "I finished it," he said, the bags under his eyes deepening. "The burning blade on my scythe was a more than effective weapon against them. It wasn't too difficult, as there was only three of them left. One-by-one I slashed them to pieces, and their body parts burned to ashes where they fell. I drove the blade into the ground to put it out, I laid down, exhausted, and the next thing I knew I woke up here with Apple Bloom at the foot of my bed." 


"That was when Ah unbarricaded mah door and ran to come check on him," Apple Bloom added. "Ah tried to get him up so Ah could walk him to the emergency room, but he wasn't moving, so Ah ran into town as fast as Ah could, to get help from as many of our friends as Ah could, and together we managed to cart him into town."


Soarin looked around at the crowd. "Where's Fluttershy? Isn't she usually with you guys when you're together."


"There wasn't enough time to get her," Apple Bloom explained. "She lives all the way out near the edge of the Everfree forest. Besides, after what had just happened, Ah didn't want to be anywhere near that place. Ah'm never goin' back there again."


Soarin's head swayed. "Yeah, doubt I'll be making any trips there myself in the near future. Not unless you did the other day."


"That didn't make sense, that last bit." Apple Bloom looked him over. "You feelin' alright, Soarin?"


The throng around Soarin's bed parted like a curtain for the doctor to step through. He didn't even need to inspect the exhausted stallion to realize what was wrong with him. There was but one quick cursory glance, and then, "I'm thinking that's it for story time, everyone. Soarin needs to get some rest." 


Soarin felt grateful to the doctor for sparing him the awkward task of telling everyone to leave. In his weary state he was having difficulty thinking of a polite way to do it.


Some in the audience tried to ask him questions or speak with him, some of them regarding his story, others concerning his past career as a Wonderbolt. One stallion even went so far as to inquire about Spitfire, if she was truly as vile as she was being portrayed in the media for the past few weeks, and if everything he had said in his publicized interview with Trenderhoof was true.


Soarin's wing hurt, and he was still anxious over the matter of how Applejack would receive the news of the recent events. Spitfire was the furthest thing from his mind at that point. And he was tired, besides.    


After the doctor had herded the onlookers out of the room, Soarin finally allowed himself to fall back into his bed. He immediately heard Rainbow Dash suck in a sharp gasp of air. "Soarin, you just landed on your broken wing!"


"Did I?" Soarin mused, yawning. He didn't even feel it. The doctor had made some adjustments to his IV before he had left. Perhaps that had something to do with it. Soarin looked up at the bag with a sleepy smile and reached out to give it a playful bat with his hoof. The clear liquid inside sloshed around. "They must be pumping me with the good stuff."


Twilight Sparkle carefully rolled him onto his side to prevent him from exacerbating his injury. "We're going to go ahead and let you rest. We'll come back to visit."


"And don't worry about Apple Bloom," Rarity chimed in. "She can stay with my sister and I until Applejack comes back home."


"Ah never agreed to that," Apple Bloom protested.


"It's a good idea. Go with her, AB. I don't want you cooped up in here. Go and..." Soarin was suddenly interrupted by an unbidden yawn. "Go have a little sleep over with your friend. It'll be good for you - get your mind off things."


Apple Bloom looked at him pitifully.


Rarity touched her on the shoulder with a consoling hoof and said, "It might be difficult for him to rest with you lingering over him, darling. And he's right, it's not good for you to confine yourself in here. When Applejack comes home tomorrow, we'll all come back and visit him together, I promise."


Apple Bloom said something in response, but Soarin didn't quite catch what it was. His acuity was beginning to slip away, and his eyelids were becoming too heavy to keep open. He yawned again. "Go on... Kid... Be good for Rarity."


Soarin once again dreamed of the past, but this time it was different. The dream was more lucid than any he had ever had. Spitfire was sitting in front of her fireplace when he had opened the door, a glass of brandy by her side, a book opened across her lap, and, strangely enough, between the two padded chairs, there was a shallow grave freshly dug. Soarin didn't know what to make of it.


Spitfire looked up and noticed him entering her study. "I figured you'd be coming by." She lifted her glass, and in the firelight the fine brown liquid turned white and powdery, as if the brandy had become ash in her hooves. She tipped the rim of her glass against her lips and made a face, as if the taste was unbearable, but she forced herself to swallow it anyway.    


Soarin, unsettled, directed his gaze to the shallow grave before her. It was as if the floor boards had been ripped away to reveal the deep soil that made up the foundation under her home, which was odd upon realizing that the study was on the second floor, and that the estate had been built upon cloud, not earth. Despite all the questions the sight evoked, Soarin could only seem to put one into words. "This grave," he said, "Who's going to occupy it?"


Spitfire licked the ridge of her hoof and turned a page. That was when she looked up at him with the most disarmingly sweet smile Soarin had ever seen grace her face. She was beautiful when she smiled, which wasn't often. It caught him off guard. "Why, me, of course," she said. "And you're going to be the one to bury me."  


The lights in his room had been dimmed when Soarin next opened his eyes. It was dark outside his window. The fluid in the bag hanging from his rack was almost depleted. He didn't want to dream anymore, so he just laid there, staring, waiting for the first light of dawn to shine on the horizon. The night always brought such strange dreams. Perhaps if he held out for the day, they wouldn't be so odd.