Golden Harvest isn't jealous. Sure, her neighbor has glamor, adventure, friends and firm, toned flanks, but she isn't jealous. Nope, not jealous at all.
Golden Harvest is not jealous. Sure, her neighbor Applejack has a life of adventure and glamor, friends who are national heroes and princesses, an appallingly lucrative share in the local fruit market, and firm, toned flanks. And sure, by contrast, Golden Harvest has been stuck with her snout in the same old muddy patch of carrots pretty much every day since she earned her cutie mark, her best friend is a dentist, and her idea for a 'Carrot Juice Season' never really gained much ground for some reason. But Golden Harvest is not jealous.
Not jealous at all.
She just wishes Applejack would stop being so distracting.
Golden Harvest didn't ask much from her life. The sun at her back, the soil under her hooves. The sun to be just a little bit less bright and the soil to be a little bit softer. Some carrot seeds, a watering can, a mug of coffee and a fruit danish from Sugarcube Corner. A warm, dry place to lay down at night, her favorite wool blankie to lay down with, a soft pillow and her stuffed manticore plushie to also lay down with, and running water in case she got thirsty in the middle of the night. And a few other things. Really, it wasn't a whole lot to ask for, all things considered. She felt it was a very reasonable list of demands.
But what Golden Harvest wanted most of all, above all else, was her neighbor, Applejack. For her neighbor Applejack, that was to say, to cut out that racket and let her concentrate on her garden. She was being incredibly distracting over there, lining her haunches up with an apple tree, bunching up the powerful muscles in her hindquarters, and 'thwack,' spilling a shower of apples from the tree with just a single strike. It was terribly inconsiderate of her. Golden Harvest wished Applejack would stop showing off and let her get to work.
'Howdy, Ah'm Applejack,' she mimicked her neighbor's intolerable drawl in her head. 'Howdy, howdy, howdy. Look at mah dumb hat. Ah'm so special 'cause everythin' Ah grow falls down in a basket for me with jus' one little kick. That must be why Ah get invited to go have tea with princesses all the time, an' the weather manager always does what Ah tell her. Gee, it shore is great bein' me!' Stupid Applejack.
Applejack glanced up from her work and spotted Golden Harvest peering over the fence at her. A warm, neighborly smile spread across her face, and she waved before moving on to the next tree.
Golden Harvest made a rude gesture back. Actually, she smiled and waved back, because there was a deep-seated primal instinct in the pony psyche that made her automatically respond to friendly greetings. It was considered the height of class in Canterlot to be able to suppress this reflex; wealthy ponies took classes and spent long hours practicing their cold and aloof scoff. Golden Harvest liked to tell herself that by waving to Applejack, she was secretly being very rude.
Who did she think she was, anyway? Waving at Golden Harvest like they were... well, like they were neighbors. Which they were, of course, but still. She had waved like she was completely oblivious to the fact that all her flexing and kicking and sweating was making it impossible for Golden Harvest to concentrate on her carrots. Didn't she know that carrots required lots of attention and care? It was very un-neighborly to go on being so distracting all morning, so where did that pony get off giving her neighbor a neighborly wave? Why, Golden Harvest had half a mind to go over there and give her a piece of her mind. But that would leave her with just one piece left of her mind, and carrots required a full mind's worth of careful planning and concentration, so she stayed put and glared.
She glared at Applejack's country saunter. She glared at her sturdy hooves, shod in worn but well-kept draft shoes. She glared at the way Applejack's muscles rippled and tensed up before, 'thwack,' another tree was freed of its fruit. At the thin sheen of sweat forming in the short hairs of her coat. Gosh, it was warm out here.
Golden Harvest was tired of staring at her neighbor's perfect orange flanks, so she turned her attention to her plot. Of land, for goodness's sake! She turned her attention to her own plot of land! Celestia above, she didn't even swing that way! Which was, of course, not something she could say for her neighbor. Everything about Applejack just screamed filly-fooler. Not that Golden Harvest had a problem with filly-foolers, mind. This was modern Equestria, and ponies could like whoever they wanted. It was just that she was sure Applejack was into mares. It was written all over her face.
Golden Harvest wasn't like that. She had a coltfriend. She bet Applejack didn't have a coltfriend. The only colt she'd ever seen Applejack spend any time with was her big brother. Golden Harvest had a coltfriend, and he was handsome, and funny, and he was a writer. She was pretty sure he was a writer, anyway. Applejack had passed by and distracted her when he had told her what he did for a living. His cutie mark had something to do with writing, though, so she was sure he was a writer.
Applejack, though. All of those shapely young mares she hung out with all the time... there was no chance there wasn't something going on there. She was certain that behind closed doors, that bunch couldn't keep their hooves off each other. Golden Harvest could just picture it, Applejack rising from a panting, sweaty heap of mares, locking eyes with the blue one, and growling, 'Yer next, sugarcube...'
Ahem. Golden Harvest turned her attention to her own plot of land. Carrots took lots of attention and hard work. She pawed at the soil with her hoof, determined not to let any orange ponies distract her any longer.
It wasn't like Applejack was any kind of special, anyway. Sure, there were all of the medals, defender of the realm, the magic amulet of truthiness or something, and all of that stuff, but that could have been Golden Harvest there with those things just as easily. Everypony knew that Applejack had met Princess Twilight because she had been in charge of the food that year for the Summer Sun Celebration. That would have been Golden Harvest, if Mayor Mare hadn't decided to lose her mind and say that apples were tastier than carrots. Ha! As if! Apples would be tastier than carrots when chocolate milk rained from the... wait. Apples just weren't tastier than carrots, okay?
Whatever. Golden Harvest was glad it wasn't her, anyway. All those adventures they always went on, saving the world from evil and stuff, who needed that kind of trouble? Also, they'd have probably made her join their weird lesbian cult. She didn't need them. She had her prized, world-class carrots to tend to.
That's right, world-class. Ponyville was a mecca for Equestria's carrot aficionados, and everypony knew that Golden Harvest grew the biggest, orangest, overall best carrots in Ponyville. Ponies came from miles away to have a taste of her carrots. She had once sold some carrots to a couple from Saddle Arabia. To be fair, they hadn't been in town for the carrots but for some kind of diplomatic summit, but still. She sold them those carrots. And they said they liked them. Everypony knew that Saddle Arabians were renowned vegetable connoisseurs. Everypony knew that.
But to grow her perfect, world-class carrots, Golden Harvest needed to focus. Carrots required focus in order to grow properly. A carrot patch without focus was like a patch of carrots that weren't quite as good as they could have been if their gardener had been focusing. Nopony wanted that.
Golden Harvest sighed and glanced over her fence again. Applejack lined up her haunches and gave the next tree a swift kick. 'Thwack.' Apples fell all around her like rain. It looked so easy. Of course it was easy, apples grew in trees. Gravity worked for her, not against her. It wasn't like Golden Harvest could kick the ground and have all her carrots pop up out of it. She stared at the rows of carrots.
Well maybe...
The carrot farmer locked her jaw. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils and held it, staring at the rows of green carrot-tops. She closed her eyes and pictured herself striking the ground at just the right angle, exactly hard enough, so that a shockwave would ripple through the earth. She imagined it rippling outwards like a wave in a pond, popping each and every one of her carrots right out of the ground, and also making that orange rodeo clown over there lose her balance and fall over.
Golden Harvest raised her hoof slowly into the air. Tense. Ready to attack. She was one with the earth. She was the earth. She was an earth... pony.
“Hyaah!” Her eyes popped open and she struck the ground as hard as she could.
Her carrots did not leap from the soil. She did not send a shockwave rippling through the earth like a wave in a pond. She did, however, stub her hoof very hard on a small rock. “Owie!”
Applejack trotted over to the fence, concern playing across her brows. “Y'alright there, hon? I heard you hollerin'.” She bit her lip as she glanced at Golden Harvest's chipped hoof. “Ooh, that looks like it smarts! Hang on there, neighbor. I'll run an' get some ice and a bandage!”
Immutable primal callings made Golden Harvest smile gratefully. “Thanks. You're the best.”
Stupid Applejack.
Next Chapter:
Chapter Two
Stupid Colgate
"As much as I'd love to help you stalk your neighbor, I've got an appointment in seven and a half minutes."
The trick to life was to enjoy the simple pleasures. Golden Harvest had heard that from... somepony important. Or maybe she had read it somewhere. She didn't remember, but she knew it had to have been somepony wise that had said it. Probably Celestia. If a pony didn't stop to enjoy the simple things in her life, then stress would get to her and pretty soon she wouldn't be able to grow good carrots. Carrots could sense stress, and it made them bitter. It took a clear mind to grow carrots.
So Golden Harvest made sure to spend her lunch enjoying the simple pleasures. She staked out a spot under the shadiest tree in the park, informing the couple of colts that had been there before her that she was certain she'd heard their mothers calling for them. She stretched out on the cool grass, a carton of carrot juice in one hoof and a cherry danish in the other—Uncle Carrot Cake always gave her a family discount on danishes—and she laid back to receive all the simple pleasures Equestria had to throw at her.
So far, Equestria had thrown a couple acorns at her, a wayward frisbee, and some pollen that Golden Harvest thought she might be a little bit allergic to. No simple pleasures yet. She wrinkled her nose.
At least she had her best friend Colgate there to listen to her vent about her morning. That was sort of like a simple pleasure, she guessed.
“...So there I am, wounded,” she said, waving her juice. “I mean, I was bleeding and everything. I'm pretty sure there was blood.” She held up her bandaged hoof to show Colgate.
“Uh-huh,” replied Colgate.
“And then she saunters up to the fence like she's got nothing better to do.” Golden Harvest finished the last bite of her danish, taking a moment to swallow before continuing. “She gives me this smirk and says, 'Ooh, that looks like it smarts! Ya better put a bandage on it!' And then she just walks off. I think I heard her snicker, too.”
Colgate took a sip of her juice. “Really? What kind of pony does that?”
“I know!” Golden Harvest scooted backwards to prop her back against the trunk of the tree. “Worst neighbor ever.”
Colgate blinked. “Wait. Who did you say this was, again?”
“Applejack,” griped Golden Harvest.
Her friend's lips went crooked. She burst into a fit of giggles and snorts. “Right,” she said, “and then Fluttershy roughed you up for your lunch money, huh?”
Golden Harvest frowned. This was not the sympathetic ear she'd been hoping for. This was what she got for being friends with a dentist. “What?”
“Oh come on,” Colgate chuckled. “If it was Applejack, she would've dropped what she was doing and helped you out herself. Probably would've given you an apple to help you feel better, too.”
Golden Harvest's cheeks burned. That apple core was only going to be in her saddlebags until she passed a trash can. She wasn't a litter-bug. “Just finish your juice,” she grumbled, digging another carton of the stuff out of her bag. “I've got to get rid of all these before they spoil.”
The unicorn held her carton in her magic. “Did 'Carrot-Juice Season' not turn out like you hoped?”
“I don't understand why not,” said Golden Harvest, pushing two more juice boxes over to her. “Ponies line up all the way down the road when Applejack has her Cider Season.”
Colgate shrugged. “I think these things give me indigestion.” She took another sip. “As a dentist, though, I always approve of a sugar-free snack.”
Golden Harvest emptied one box of carrot juice and opened up another, frowning at the label. She had designed it herself, and it was hardly noticeable at all that she had run out of space at the end, making it read:
Golden Harv- -est's World-Class Carrot Jui Juice
It was a narrow box.
A thought came to her. “Hey! Maybe you could advertise them at your clinic! You could hand out samples to ponies there to get their teeth cleaned, or something.”
Colgate winced. “I don't know about that. I think I'm supposed to get it approved by some kind of board if I want to sponsor something.”
Golden Harvest pouted out her lip. “Aw, c'mon, Colgate.”
Colgate's ears flicked. “Don't call me that. You know it bugs me when ponies call me that. My name's Minuette.”
Colgate clearly didn't know a good nickname when she heard one. “What was your name, Colgate?” Golden Harvest said, grinning. “I thought it was Colgate, Colgate. Brushie-brushie.” She poked at her friend's ribs.
Colgate set her drink down in the grass. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nostrils. “Fine. If that's the way you want to play it... Carrot Top.”
Minuette raised a compelling point. Nicknames were completely unnecessary and uncalled for. “Okay, you win,” Golden Harvest said, waving both forehooves. “Minuette, Minuette, Minuette.”
A wicked grin crossed Minuette's blue lips. “What's that, Carrot Top? Were you talking to somepony, Carrot Top? Most carroty of all tops?” She reached out and mussed up Golden Harvest's mane.
“Augh! No, stop!” Golden Harvest squealed, spilling a carton of carrot juice over the base of the tree.
Golden Harvest's head jerked up. “What? Where?” She followed the direction of her friend's pointing hoof. Sure enough, Applejack was strolling across the park, the bouncing pink mane of Ponyville's omnipresent party pony bobbing alongside her.
Sudden panic seized Golden Harvest's chest. She couldn't let Applejack see her out here! She'd been on lunch break for half the afternoon, and her neighbor would think she was lazy! Not that she cared what Applejack thought of her or anything, and it wasn't like she was actually lazy—she was just making sure her stress didn't turn her carrots bitter, after all—but if Applejack spotted her out here, she'd think carrots could be grown by a lazy pony, and she would take it to mean she could be as distracting as she wanted because the carrots could grow with or without Golden Harvest paying attention to them. Which was ludicrous, of course. Carrots required incredible work ethic. They were the workhorses of the vegetable kingdom.
Minuette raised her eyebrows as Golden Harvest scrambled up the tree. “What are you doing?”
“Shh!” hissed Golden Harvest, hiding among the branches. “I'm not here!”
Rolling her eyes, Minuette turned and waved at Applejack and Pinkie.
“What are you doing?” whispered Golden Harvest, clinging to the branch. “Don't wave at them! You'll bring them over—” She stifled herself as Applejack returned Minuette's wave with a greeting.
“Well howdy there, Minuette!”
“Hi, Applejack,” called the traitorous dentist. “How are your grandmother's new dentures treating her?”
Applejack and Pinkie trotted up to the tree. Golden Harvest pressed in deeper into the foliage.
“She says she can chew apples better than she could when she had all of her own teeth!”
“That's good.” Minuette nodded. She glanced up at Golden Harvest and smirked. “Hey, do you two want some Carrot juice? This stuff is Tops.”
“Ooh, pulpy!” remarked Pinkie, already helping herself to one.
Applejack picked up a box, reading the label. “I reckon you got these from Golden Harvest. How's her hoof?”
The look Minuette shot up at Golden Harvest could easily have just been her rolling her eyes. “I think she'll live.”
Applejack tipped her hat. “Well, give her my regards, if you see her. Thanks for the juice.” She turned around. “Come on, Pinkie, let's get along to Twilight's.”
Pinkie waved. “Bye, you two!” The both of them plodded off, disappearing over the nearest hill.
Minuette watched as Golden Harvest climbed down out of the tree. A good friend would have helped her, but Minuette was a pony who made a living poking at ponies' teeth with sharp drills, so she just watched. “What was that all about?” she asked.
Golden Harvest grunted as she lowered herself to the ground. Getting down from a tree was hard. It wasn't like she was a fruit and had Applejack there to buck her.
That didn't sound quite as wrong before Golden Harvest had thought it. “I think they're up to something,” she said, ignoring Minuette's question.
"Who? Applejack and Pinkie Pie?”
“Applejack and all her friends,” said Golden Harvest. “Don't you ever wonder what all those mares do together all the time?”
Minuette scratched the back of her head. “Save the world?”
“They don't save it that often.” Golden Harvest gathered up her saddlebags. “I'm going to follow them. Come be my lookout.”
Minuette sighed. “As much as I'd love to help you stalk your neighbor, I've got an appointment in seven and a half minutes.” Sometimes it was creepy how Minuette always knew exactly what time it was without ever looking at a clock. She was lucky to have a friend like Golden Harvest that didn't mind it even though it really was creepy and she should just get a watch so other ponies could pretend she was normal. “Besides,” Minuette added, “don't you have carrots to take care of?”
“Carrots need their space,” Golden Harvest called, cantering toward the edge of the park. You had to leave carrots alone sometimes. It wasn't good to baby them, unless you were growing baby carrots.
*-*-*
Golden Harvest's special talent was growing carrots. But if ponies had two special talents, then her other special talent would have been stealth. She could probably be a spy if she ever got tired of gardening, because she was just that good at sneaking. She was surprised she'd never been approached by the Equestrian Intelligence Agency. It was just second nature for her to fade into the background, hiding among the sea of faces and manes as she followed her quarry.
Okay, this was Ponyville, so it was more like a lake of faces, or maybe a pond. But that made it harder to blend. Golden Harvest managed it, though. She was invisible. She was nowhere and everywhere. She was—
“Oh, hello, Golden Harvest,” said Cheerilee, smiling brightly as Golden Harvest crouched behind a mailbox. “How are you doing today?”
“I'm just fine. Thank you for asking,” Golden Harvest answered, because continuing to crouch there and ignore Cheerilee would get her noticed. Also, not answering her would have been rude, and Golden Harvest wasn't rude. Except to ponies who deserved it, like Applejack.
“Can I ask what you're up to?” Cheerilee was kinda a nosy pony. Probably came from being a teacher. Catching ponies chewing gum and passing notes was her job.
Golden Harvest wasn't passing notes, though, and the gum she had been chewing on was out of flavor anyway—gum helped her sneak, because chewing on it drowned out the sound of her hoofsteps—so it wasn't the schoolteacher's business.
“It's a secret,” Golden Harvest explained. “Carrot-farming stuff.” It wasn't a lie. She was following Applejack so that she could find out what she was up to, so she could... well, it was connected in some way with getting Applejack to stop bugging Golden Harvest so she could concentrate on her carrots. It was all completely driven by her simple desire to grow the best carrots she could.
And if she spent any longer discussing it with Cheerilee, Golden Harvest would lose sight of Applejack and Pinkie. “NicetalkingtoyouCheerileeIgottagobye!” Her farewell said to Cheerilee, Golden Harvest galloped—stealthily—into the crowd.
Fortunately, Pinkie Pie was not as naturally gifted in the art of stealth as Golden Harvest was, bouncing and bounding all through town, and stopping to toss out a greeting at every pony she saw. It made her and Applejack very easy to follow, although Golden Harvest had to make sure not to become a target for Pinkie's enthusiastic hellos.
Finally the pair arrived at the great oak that served as the town's library. Ah-ha! Applejack had said they were going to Twilight's place, not the library. Golden Harvest had caught them red-hoofed in their web of deception. And why would they lie about going to the library? Why, because that was where one Twilight Sparkle lived, of course, known for being Equestria’s newest crowned princess and part of Applejack’s circle of friends, which was of course code for ‘lesbian harem.’ Golden Harvest watched the pair enter the library, no doubt to engage in a torrid flurry of debauchery.
She made her way to one of the library windows. To... confirm her suspicions. However, before she could really get a look inside, the door opened again. Out stepped Pinkie and Applejack, looks of mild disappointment on their faces following what had to have been the shortest flurry of debauchery in Equestrian history. Golden Harvest dove into the bushes to keep from being discovered.
Pinkie Pie froze after a couple of steps. “Itchy ribs, tickly nose, eye-wink. Hi, Golden Harvest!”
Applejack stopped and looked at Pinkie. “Pinkie, I thought you called that your 'gaydar' combo.”
“Applejack! Spoilers!”
Golden Harvest willed herself not to respond. Technically, the greeting hadn't been directly at her, because Pinkie didn't know where Golden Harvest was, she just thought she was around. So it wasn't technically a friendly greeting to her. She could not afford to let her reflexes blow her cover. Golden Harvest was calm. She was cool. She was in complete control. Celestia above, she was already out of the bushes and waving, wasn't she?
“Hi Pinkie! Hi Applejack! Funny seeing you here, huh?” Damn her traitorous instincts.
Applejack turned and smiled. “Well howdy, Golden Harvest. How's your hoof?”
Golden Harvest had lost the bandage somewhere between here and the park, but she wasn't about to let Applejack steer her off the trail. She demanded answers. Just what obscene acts had that mare and Pinkie been up to in there? What positions did they use, respectively, in said acts? How in Celestia's name had they finished said acts inside of thirty seconds?
“Oh, my hoof is okay,” Golden Harvest said, turning her eyes to the ground bashfully. “You did a great job bandaging it; it's almost all better already.” She was easing Applejack up to the hard questions. Interrogating her without her knowing she was being interrogated. That was how spies did it.
“That's good to hear.” Applejack nodded.
“Yes.” Golden Harvest rubbed one leg against the back of the other.
She would have thought awkward pauses in the conversation—no, interrogation—would be impossible with Pinkie Pie present, but the curly-maned baker remained bafflingly silent, her eyes shifting between Applejack and Golden Harvest. Pinkie's grin grew wider as a minute ticked by.
Applejack finally coughed into her hoof. “Say, I don't s'pose you're free this evening, are you? Pinkie and I were going to catch a play with Twilight, but it looks like Twi just got called away to some official summit. Leaves us with an extra ticket, and nopony to share it with.”
Absolutely not. There was no way in Equestria Golden Harvest was going to take that ticket. Spending a couple hours in a dark room sitting next to her? She would probably get all creepy and grabby when she thought Golden Harvest wasn't looking. And besides, even if she did want to go, which she most certainly did not, she couldn't leave her carrots alone for a whole evening. Carrots required constant attention and care.
“I would love to go! Thank you so much, Applejack!” It was bad form to get too attached to one's carrots. They would need to learn to fend for themselves eventually, when they got sold at the market, so it was good practice to give them a night without her there. Also, Golden Harvest had heard that it was a really good play.
“Great!” Applejack clapped her hooves together. “We'll come get you at five.” She tipped her hat and turned down the street.
Pinkie followed Applejack, but turned and waved to Golden Harvest. “Bye, you two!”
Golden Harvest owned a grand total of three outfits. There was the black veiled hat she had worn to the funeral of her great aunt Rutabaga. There was a scandalously lacy affair she had purchased from Rarity some time ago, and that one was quite inappropriate for going out in public. She had worn it precisely once, in front of a mirror, by herself, and it had since then been buried deep in the darkest corner of her closet. And there was her devil costume for Nightmare Night. She briefly wondered why she owned so much black.
It wasn't as though she cared what Applejack would think of what she was wearing. That would be ridiculous, because she didn't care what Applejack thought of her at all. She just wanted to look nice because... because that was who she was. Golden Harvest was a pony that looked nice. Looking nice was something that came with being a carrot farmer. Carrots could tell when the pony that was growing them was a classy pony. If a pony looked nice, classiness particles would radiate off her body and make the soil more arable. It was proven science.
She couldn't dress up while she was doing her gardening, of course, because she would get dirt on her nice black hat. So she had to make up for it by looking nice other times, like going out to the theater with Applejack.
By going out, she of course didn't mean going out. Because that was not what this was at all. Even if she wanted it to mean that—which she definitely didn't—it didn't mean going out going out, because Pinkie was going to be there, too. Golden Harvest was really only going because she knew how disappointed Pinkie would be if she went to the play with one less friend than she had been planning to go with. Everypony knew how touchy Pinkie got when things didn't go according to plan. She would enchant dolls and cause riots. Or was she mixing her up with somepony else?
Golden Harvest figured it was best not to leave it to chance, so she was going to the play with Applejack. And Pinkie. Both of them, which made it not a date. Of course it wasn't a date; she had a coltfriend. A coltish coltfriend. Who was a colt. Well, no, he was a stallion; she didn’t date young colts, ew. But she did date a stallion, who was her coltfriend.
A knock on her door caused Golden Harvest to yelp in surprise. She hastily secured the nearest outfit and scrambled to open her door. “I have a coltfriend,” she said.
Applejack stood on the porch, blinking. “Good for you,” she said. She wasn't wearing anything but her hat—the tramp—and Pinkie Pie bounced in place a few paces behind. She cleared her throat. “Uh, you ready to go?”
Golden Harvest nodded, but Applejack didn't move. She frowned skeptically as she looked at the top of Golden Harvest's head. “You know you've got some lacy underthings hangin' from your hat?”
Golden Harvest was almost certainly not wearing lingerie on her head over top of her funeral hat. She knew this because that would be embarrassingly silly if she were, and she would probably collapse into an immobile singularity of blushing shame. Since she remained fully intact and upright, there was only one reasonable conclusion.
“It's called a veil,” she said, brushing past Applejack. “Ponies in Canterlot all wear hats with veils.”
“That so?” Applejack shook her head and turned to follow. “I swear, I ain't never gonna understand this fashion stuff...”
It was a long way to the theater. No longer than it was to pretty much anywhere else in Ponyville, mind, but it felt like a long way. Applejack walked in front because she was bossy and had control issues and also she knew where the theater was. Pinkie Pie stayed in the back because waving to everypony she saw slowed her down some. This left Golden Harvest in the middle. Right in the middle of an apple pie sandwich. An apple pie sandwich sounded like one of those things that sounded weird the first time you heard of it, but might be worth trying at least once because who knows, it might be good.
What wasn't good was the way Applejack walked in front of her. Golden Harvest wished she would just walk like a normal pony. Well, Applejack did walk like a normal pony, for the most part, but there was something a little bit different that really bugged Golden Harvest. Her tail swung too much. Not that Golden Harvest watched a lot of ponies' tails as they were walking. She wasn't a perv. But she was pretty sure that if she did watch the way most mares swung their tails when they walked, she would find that Applejack swung hers more. It was probably because her legs were too strong. All of that tree-kicking made the muscles in her hindquarters so firm and toned that it made her tail swing too much when she walked.
Why did the weatherponies have to make this time of year so hot?
Golden Harvest adjusted the black lacy straps of her hat. Why did Applejack have to be so frustrating, with her swinging tail and sculpted haunches and perfect freckles? It was going to give ponies the mistaken impression that Golden Harvest was a filly-fooler, the way Applejack was all but flirting with her with every step. Golden Harvest was not a filly-fooler. She had a coltfriend.
At least Pinkie Pie was there with them, so nopony would think this was some kind of date.
“This is the best date ever!” Pinkie exclaimed.
Golden Harvest and Applejack both turned their heads to look at Pinkie.
Pinkie held a small, sugary brown fruit in her hoof. “No date could ever top this one!” she declared. She popped it in her mouth and spat out the pit. “Except for maybe this one!” Pinkie took another date out of her saddlebag and glanced up at her two companions. “Want one?”
Applejack smiled and shook her head. “Best finish those before we get there, Pinkie. They don't allow food or drink in the theater.”
*-*-*
Golden Harvest liked the play well enough. It was about a mare that really disliked some stallion, and spent the whole play complaining about him, but in the end it turned out that she was actually falling for him the whole time, and all her anger was just misplaced denial. It was really cheesy—no real pony was that out of touch with her own feelings—but other than that, Golden Harvest felt like she could really connect with the protagonist.
Maybe it was because the male lead looked just like her coltfriend. Which was weird, because she knew it couldn't possibly have been him because he'd said something about having a gig tonight. Or was it tomorrow night? No, Golden Harvest remembered, it was every night this weekend, which was exactly how long the play was running. Funny coincidence, that. But she was sure he wouldn't have signed up for a part in some play when he knew he had his writing gig at the same time.
It had to have been some actor pony who looked a lot like her coltfriend, because there was a kissing scene at the end between him and the female lead, and yeah, she knew it was fake and all, but this was the kind of thing he would have warned her about, if it had been him. Which it wasn't. If it was him, he was in trouble. But it wasn’t him, she was sure.
Of course, she would have been more sure if she could have paid attention to the play instead of being distracted by Applejack talking all the time. Well, she didn't actually talk during the play, but she laughed. She had a very distracting laugh. It was like a babbling mountain brook tumbling over mossy stones. Granted, Applejack only laughed her distracting laugh during the funny parts, when most everypony else was also laughing, but Applejack's laugh was way more distracting than anypony else's.
What a herd animal, only laughing when other ponies were laughing. Golden Harvest wasn't like that. She was her own pony; she didn't let the herd decide when she could laugh. She made a point to laugh during a scene when nopony else did.
Unfortunately, that happened to be the scene where the protagonist's father had just died, so she stopped laughing pretty quickly. Still, she had proven who was the true free spirit here.
As the applause finally faded after the final close of the curtains, Applejack tipped her hat back onto her head—she'd been keeping it in her lap during the play so as not to block the view of ponies behind her. Golden Harvest had stuffed her hat and its scandalous veil into her saddlebags as soon as she'd had an excuse and didn't plan to take it back out until... never, basically.
“Well, that was pretty good,” Applejack said. “I'm glad you could come along.” She patted Golden Harvest on the shoulder.
All the bodies in this theater made the heat unbearable. They really needed to ventilate the place better. “Y-yeah, I had a great time.”
Golden Harvest jumped as Pinkie Pie patted her and Applejack on the back. The grin on her face would have crowded everypony out of the theater, had it not been contained by her lips. “Well, I've got to get up super early tomorrow for a boating convention, so I'm gonna get out of here, but you two should definitely walk each other home. By moonlight. While a mysterious figure in the distance plays a romantic serenade on her accordion.” Pinkie leaned in close to Golden Harvest's ear. “She's single!” she whispered with a big wink.
Applejack rolled her jaw. “Pinkie, what the hay are you—” By the time she turned her head to face her friend, there was only a Pinkie-shaped dust cloud there and a pink streak leading out the door, leaving giggles echoing in its wake. Applejack shook her head. “That mare sometimes...” She sighed and turned to Golden Harvest. “Well, both our houses are in the same direction, anyway. You wanna get movin', Golden? ...Golden Harvest? Y'alright?”
Golden Harvest wanted very much to get moving, but for some reason her legs had locked themselves in place. The sound that escaped her lips was almost certainly her saying, “Yes, I am fine, thank you for asking. Let's go,” and not something halfway between a whimper and a whinny.
*-*-*
There was something to be said for the platonic value of long, moonlit walks along quaint cobbled roads while being serenaded by a mysterious accordionist with an oddly familiar voice. It was really an experience wasted on star-crossed lovers that were only interested in the romantic aspects of it. There was so much else to it that a romantic couple would have missed, being so much more interested in each other than they were in their surroundings. Walking home together from a play in the dark hours of the night while the cool summer breezes carried the scent of lilies alongside the gently rising and falling notes of the universally acknowledged second-most-romantic instrument was an excellent opportunity for neighborly bonding. Golden Harvest felt that neighbors should probably do things like this more often.
Not necessarily her and Applejack specifically, just neighbors in general. The world could use more understanding between neighbors, and Golden Harvest felt like she and Applejack gained some degree of understanding on this walk. Applejack was still a horrible pony who was never going to let her grow her carrots in peace, but Golden Harvest now understood that Applejack smelled really nice. She smelled like fresh soil and spring water and sun.
She was so absorbed in her newfound neighborly understanding that she did not realize she was home until Applejack nudged her. “This is your place, hon.”
Golden Harvest looked up. True enough, her home rose above them, the moon's disk peeking over the eaves. She sighed, a little disappointed. Not that she wanted to spend more time walking with Applejack. It was just that the moonlight and the lilies and the accordion were nice. Maybe she would go take another lap around town before bed, just to get a little more of that. “Yeah... this is my place.”
Would it be neighborly to invite her in for drinks? That was a thing neighbors did, wasn't it? Golden Harvest still had plenty of carrot juice. It would go to waste if nopony drank it, and she could only drink so much herself. The more she thought of it, the more Golden Harvest decided it would be a good idea. She definitely should invite Applejack inside her home to sit on the couch together and drink boxes of carrot juice. Platonically. “Would you like to come in and...”
Applejack was already halfway to her own house. She stopped and turned, her ears perking up. “Sorry, didn't catch that,” she called. “What'd you say?”
Golden Harvest shook her head. “N-nothing,” she said. “Good night.”
Applejack smiled and tipped her hat. “Good night, Golden Harvest.” She turned and made her way to the farmhouse. Her tail still swung too much.
Golden Harvest shut her door. She shed her saddlebags by the door and got herself a glass of water. She brushed and flossed her teeth—she was friends with a dentist, after all—and tucked herself into bed.
All things considered, it wasn't really that weird that she dreamed of kissing Applejack that night. Dreams were just your brain throwing together random things from your day. Except when they were magical prophetic dreams, or if Princess Luna was trying to mess with your head. This wasn't one of those cases, though, it was just a regular dream. One where instead of watching the play, she was the protagonist. And instead of kissing a male lead who looked like her coltfriend, she kissed Applejack. It all made sense, really, in a dream-logic sort of way. It didn't mean anything. She wasn't into mares, she had a coltfriend.
A coltfriend she intended to have words with over lunch tomorrow.
Written Script was the very model of a good coltfriend. He wasn't actually a model—honestly, he was a little plain-looking, no more or less attractive than any other stallion—but he was a writer. Everypony knew writing was one of the five sexiest jobs, up there with musician and fire-fighter. It said so in Cosmare. So that made up for the fact that he tended to blend into the crowd, even when there was no crowd.
He wasn't clingy or overbearing like some ponies' coltfriends. In the two weeks they had been dating, they had only ever gone out when Golden Harvest wanted to go out. And he never steered the conversation towards sports or things like that. He was just fine talking about makeup and scented candles. But he didn’t ever talk too excessively. Before any conversation got too drawn-out, he would spot a passing stallion, probably one of his buddies, because he always did this waggling eyebrow trick that had to be an inside joke, and Golden Harvest was glad to get some breathing time. Nopony liked a needy stallion that just wouldn't leave her alone. No, Script gave her her space.
He had a keen intuition of what she wanted, like that. Which was another one of his good coltfriendly traits. For example, once when they were trying to decide where to go for a date, he suggested they go to the spa and get hooficures. How many mares had a coltfriend who actually wanted to go to the spa? Golden Harvest was a lucky mare.
And she never caught him flirting with other mares, either. Most mares needed to keep their stallion in line or else his eyes would start following the fine, curvy flank of that one cute waitress. The one with a bun in her mane. Yeah, she was cute. But Golden Harvest never saw him staring when there was an attractive mare nearby. He was just that loyal. She trusted him enough that she didn't feel the need to watch him at all in the presence of attractive mares. Her eyes could be elsewhere. He would behave himself.
Yes, Written Script was a perfect coltfriend, and Golden Harvest was glad to have him. Provided, of course, that he wasn't a lying, cheating son of a horse that had gone behind her back to get a role in a play so that he could get kissy with a mare that wasn't her.
“Script,” she said, poking at her juice box with a straw. The box was empty, but she continued to pretend to sip from it now and then because she was getting really tired of carrot juice and didn't want to open up another carton. It was nice of the staff at the little outdoor cafe to let her smuggle her carrot juice to the table. “Do you have, like, a twin brother or something?”
Written Script shook his head. “No, I was an only child.”
Golden Harvest nodded slowly. She was also an only child, further proof that they were perfect for one another. Unless it turned out he was a cheating bastard. Then it would explain things, because only children sometimes tended to be jerks. Not all of them, of course, because obviously she turned out fine. “Huh. That's weird, because there was this stallion in the play I saw last night who looked just like you. Must have just been the makeup.”
Script raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you saw the play last night? I thought you said you'd be too busy with your carrots.”
There he went, deflecting the topic. Golden Harvest flexed her jaw. “Carrots are hardy plants,” she snapped. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself before continuing. “Script, just tell me the truth, and I promise I won't be mad.”
Written Script furrowed his brows. “Okay...”
“Last night, were you at your writing gig, or were you at the play?”
“At the play, of course.” Script grinned. “What did you think of it? Also, what's this about a writing gig? I didn't know writers had gigs. I thought they just wrote.”
Golden Harvest was not going to cry. Sure, her coltfriend was openly admitting to deceiving her, but she was the master of her own emotions. “Oh, I thought it was great. I especially loved the part where you smooched the female lead.” Bitter sarcasm, however, was something she was not above.
“It was pretty good, huh?” Written Script wore a toothy grin. “I've got you to thank for that. Without the practice I got with you, it never would have looked convincing at all!”
Golden Harvest’s brain made a screeching noise as it stopped in its tracks. “P-practice? What do you mean… practice?”
“I mean what we’ve been doing over the last couple of weeks,” said Script. “Thank you for putting up with me, Golden. You really helped me improve my performance!”
Pain flashed in her eyes. “So, she’s the mare you really want? I’m just… just practice so you can make her happy? How is that supposed to make me feel?”
Written Script tilted his head to the side. “You're... you're kidding, right?”
Golden Harvest dragged her hoof against the ground. “If you... I mean, if you wanted to be with her, you should have at least broken up with me first. That's just common decency.”
A chuckle escaped Written Script's lips. “Honey, I think I need to reintroduce myself, because you obviously missed it the first time.” He took her hoof in his and shook it. “Hello, I'm Written Script. I'm an actor. And I am very, very gay.”
*-*-*
Stallions were all the same. One moment, they seemed like the most perfect coltfriend ever, and the next they turned out to be a gay actor using you to rehearse a romantic scene in their play. It happened every time. Golden Harvest's ears flattened to her head. “Y-you're gay?”
Script nodded. “This was one of the first things I told you about myself when we met.”
“S-so,” she stammered, “so you're like, bi, then, right?”
“Uh, no. I pretty much exclusively go for stallions.” Written Script smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.
Golden Harvest sputtered. Her mane began to fray right before her eyes. “So you're saying I'm your one exception? The... the only mare you've ever loved?”
“You don’t remember this?” Script's eyes shifted right and left. “Listen, I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding here. I'm partly to blame for that.”
He was entirely to blame for this. “There’s definitely some misunderstanding. I do not date gay stallions,” Golden Harvest said, her voice quaking.
“And I don't date mares,” he said. “But when we met, it seemed like we could help each other out. I needed to practice being close to a mare for my role in the play, and you needed somepony to cover for you.”
“Cover for me?” Golden Harvest repeated.
“You know.” Script waved his hoof in a circle. “I pretend to be your coltfriend so that certain relatives that just don't get it will leave you alone about that particular aspect of your life. It's worked for you so far, hasn't it? Your mom hasn't given you any trouble lately?”
Almost none of what he had just said made any sense. “My mom?”
“Yeah,” said Script. “The very first thing you ever said to me was that you needed your mom to see you with a stallion.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Hey, look, I get it. I've been in that boat myself, and I'm happy to help. But it's only a temporary solution. Eventually you're going to need to tell your mother about the real you. You'll feel better, and no matter what happens, she'll still love you.”
“The real me?” Golden Harvest was getting tired of parroting every other thing her coltfriend was saying, but every word that came out of his mouth only made her more confused.
“The real you,” said Script, nodding his head. “The wonderful daughter your mother has who just so happens to like other mares.”
“Wait. You think I'm... you think I'm gay? You think I'm gay, and I'm trying to hide it from my mother, because...” Half of Golden Harvest wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and the other half wanted to curl into a ball and sob. She split the difference and sank to her haunches. Her empty juicebox dropped to the ground.
“Of course, I suppose I'm not too surprised you didn't catch some of the details of our arrangement. Your eyes were glued to that one mare at the bar all night.” Script grinned.
“This is not happening,” Golden Harvest muttered. “I am not being told by my gay coltfriend that he thinks I am gay. I am not being covered for by my gay coltfriend so that my mother doesn't find out I'm gay. This is just another ridiculous dream like the one where I kissed Applejack, or where I go to school naked. I will wake up, and everything will be—oh goddesses, it's her!” She searched frantically for cover to hide behind, but her immediate surroundings were woefully lacking in trees or mailboxes.
“Who? The mare from the bar?” Script nudged her and winked. “You should go say hi to her. Nothing's going to happen if you just hide.”
“Not her,” Golden Harvest shrieked, the color draining from her face. “My mother!”
*-*-*
Beta Carotene was a middle-aged mare with an orange coat and a poofy swirl of mane. As a nutritionist, she was fairly fit for her age, and she walked with a youthful spring in her step that belied her years. However, the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the air of matronly wisdom that seemed to radiate from her cued ponies in that here was a pony who had been around the block a few times and knew the lay of the land.
She was also objectively the most embarrassing mother in Equestria.
“Oh! If it isn't my little Carrot Top!” Golden's mother trotted across the square towards them.
Golden Harvest's eyes darted rapidly back and forth. She grabbed Script by the neck. “Quick! Kiss me!”
“But I thought—mmff!” His protests were drowned out in a smacking of lips. Script's breath tasted like stale hay and breath mints, and Golden Harvest didn't like the scratchiness of his chin. But the sensation of his lips against hers... was also pretty gross. It was a terrible kiss.
“What a brilliant performance!” Mom clapped her hooves against the flagstones. “Why, I nearly believed it!”
Golden Harvest broke away from the kiss and wiped her mouth with her hoof. And then wiped it again with her other hoof because ew, spit. Written Script fell back to his haunches, coughing and sputtering. “Oh, hello, mother,” she said. “I didn't notice you because I was in the middle of something with my coltfriend. You haven't met him yet, have you?”
Her mother gave the hacking stallion a cheerful wave. “Well, hello again, Script! I haven't seen you since last month's meeting.”
Script managed a weak smile. “Hi, Mrs. Carotene.”
Golden Harvest's smile grew uneasy. “You... you know each other?”
“Well of course I know Script, honey. He's a member of the CCFFA.” She gave Script a hoof to help him stand, which he accepted gratefully.
“What's the—”
“Colt-Cuddlers' and Filly-Foolers' Alliance,” Golden Harvest's mother answered before she could finish asking. “We have meetings on the first Tuesday of every month. You should come, sweetie. There’s some cute mares there who would love to meet you.”
Golden Harvest pouted her lip out. “Mom, I'm not gay.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Of course you aren't, dearie. You are as straight as the flight of an arrow.” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “That reminds me, Script. How are things with Spiral Fletching?”
Script's ears sank. “He and I broke up a few weeks ago,” he said.
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.” Mother gave him a slow pat on the back. After a moment, her eyes alighted on Golden Harvest's mane. With a brief sigh, she dug a brush out of her saddlebag and took to brushing out the tangles that had developed. “Topsy, I wish you would consider cutting your mane short. You would make the loveliest butch.”
“Mother!” Golden Harvest reared back, wincing as the brush caught in her mane.
“I'm just saying, dear,” her mother said, regaining control of the brush, “that if you were to put forward a little bit of effort, you could have any mare you wanted. Maybe that nice Apple girl, hm?”
Golden Harvest turned bright red. “I...” she breathed through her teeth, “am not... a filly-fooler.”
“Of course. I keep forgetting, Topsy. You have been absolutely straight, only interested in stallions forever and ever, ever since what's-her-face broke your poor heart two months ago.” Mother pat her on the withers.
Golden Harvest bit her lip. “Daisy was just a friend, Mom. You scared her off with all your weird filly-fooler stuff.”
Beta Carotene put a hoof on her hip. “If she scares so easily, then she's not good enough for my daughter, anyway. But I seem to recall I was out of town on business when you came crying to me that she'd left you.”
Golden Harvest crossed her forelegs over her chest and scowled. It had definitely been her mother's weird filly-fooler ways that had spooked Daisy. The fact that said ways had come through Golden Harvest was irrelevant. Ponies imitated their parents all the time. It wasn't her fault Daisy had mistaken her actions to mean Golden wanted that kind of a relationship.
Golden Harvest wasn't like her mother. She wasn't a filly-fooler. She had a coltf... she had until recently thought she had a coltfriend. Some day when she had a filly of her own, she wasn't going to be so weird around her, pointing out which mares passing by on the street were 'screamers' and encouraging her to 'find herself a filly and fool around.'
Her mother sighed. “Fine, go ahead and sulk. I'm only trying to help.” She put the hairbrush back into her saddlebag. “I can't stay any longer, anyway. I'm meeting your other mother for tea at one thirty. Is there anything you want me to pass along to Taproot, sweetie?”
Golden Harvest continued to sulk.
“Very well.” Beta Carotene adjusted the strap on her bags. “I love you, Goldie. It was good seeing you, Script.”
“Wait.” Golden Harvest dug into her saddlebags and handed a box of carrot juice to her mother. “Give her this.” After a moment of hesitation, she hugged her mom. “And this.”
Her mother kissed her on the forehead. “I will. You take care of yourself, my little Carrot Top.”
Written Script watched her trot off into the busy streets. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “Wow. You never told me your mother was the Beta Carotene!”
Golden Harvest's shoulders sagged. “The one and only,” she grumbled.
“She's only the most outspoken lesbian in the whole district!” Was he—? ...He was gushing. Golden Harvest's gay coltfriend was gushing over how great a gay mother she had. This was just a gay old time. “I mean, she's the pony that got the conception clinic established at Ponyville General Hospital so same-sex couples didn't need to go to Canterlot to have foals!”
“Yeah,” Golden Harvest sighed. “About twenty years ago, after she and Taproot had to take a train to Canterlot in order to have me.”
“This is just incredible. Your mom is my hero.” Written Script paused, scrunching up his nose. “But wait. Why in Equestria would you want to convince her you're straight?”
“Because I am not Beta Carotene!” Golden Harvest snapped. A few nearby ponies turned their heads at her outburst. “I'm not my mother. I don’t flirt with mares half my age or take trips down to Las Pegasus to join in on big herding conventions. And I'm not my other mother, either. Celestia knows she's just as screwed up as Beta, but at least she's not as public about it. No, she just waits at home and pretends she’s fine with it. I’m not like them. I am not a filly-fooler. I'm me, I'm Golden Harvest! I'm... I'm...” She trailed off as her voice grew weak and hoarse.
Written Script held her awkwardly in his hooves. “Hey. It's, uh... it's alright. Don't cry.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I'm just an actor. I can't tell you who you are. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry if I jumped to conclusions on that front.” He paused, then muttered out the side of his mouth, “...even though it’s a really easy conclusion to jump to...”
Golden Harvest gave a miserable moan and sniffed loudly, wiping her nose on his coat.
He grimaced, but continued. “But what I can tell you is that the type of pony you fall in love with is only a small part of who and what you are. If you happen to have the same orientation as your mother—not that I'm saying you do—that doesn't mean you have to be anything like her if you don't want to.”
Golden Harvest remained silent for a long time. When she finally did speak, her voice was muffled by his shoulder. “...Script?”
Script pulled back and looked down at her. “Yeah?”
“I... I think I'm going to have an identity crisis.” Golden Harvest stared shakily at the ground. “I'm probably going to blame you. You're a nice colt, and I don't want to hit you.”
Script rubbed his cheek. “Uh, thanks? The director would kill me if I got a bruise now.”
“So you should probably go before it starts.” Golden Harvest looked up and smiled at him weakly.
Written Script stood up. “Are you going to be okay?”
She shrugged. “Probably not.”
He gave her one last hug before walking away. “Hey. Let's still be friends, okay?”
So went the strangest relationship to ever end on those words.
Next Chapter: Chapter Five
Stupid, Smart Minuette
"I think, if you're not a filly-fooler yet, you will be after a few shots."
This was not normally something ponies planned. In most cases, the screeching and flailing of hooves came about more or less naturally. But the sheer scale of the freaking that Golden Harvest needed to do required her to stop and sort out the logistics of it first. There would be riots. Things would be set on fire, and not all of those things would fit the traditional definition of 'flammable.' There would be stampedes of wild beasts. Significant structural damage would occur in and around her immediate area. She would have a mental condition named after her by the time she was through.
But before she set about making professional ponies quake when they heard the term, 'Golden Harvest Syndrome,' she decided it was a good idea to visit her best friend first. Colgate was a smart pony; they didn't let you drill on someone's teeth unless you knew enough to pass a few college exams. Having a dentist as a friend was weird sometimes, especially when Golden Harvest got toothbrushes for her birthday every year. But if it didn't mean that she had a smart friend to run to and get her to help sort out her dumb life, then Golden Harvest wasn't sure why she bothered to have friends at all.
Besides, even if Colgate couldn't help, it would be nice to at least say hi to her one last time before they came to put Golden Harvest in restraints.
But Colgate could definitely help. She always had something witty to say when Golden Harvest came to her with her problems. Most of the time, her witticisms didn't actually help at all, it was just Colgate being a snarky jerk, but this was different. This time, Colgate would recognize that it was serious. She had to. She would sit Golden Harvest down and use her smartness to tell her what she should do.
What should she do? What should she do? Golden Harvest's flighty canter carried her across Ponyville as she anxiously chewed on her lip. She wasn't a filly-fooler. She couldn't be a filly-fooler. Because if she was... if when she looked at mares, she was looking at them that way, then all the times she told herself she was just comparing to confirm she was as pretty as this waitress or that mailmare... all the times at school in the locker room when she had thought she had some kind of medically unheard-of heart condition... the fact that she always found the need for some 'alone time' after every time she watched a mares' volleyball match... Golden Harvest couldn't be a filly-fooler, because if she was, she was an outright perv of one. She would be worse than her mother!
What if she was, though? What if Golden Harvest was a filly-fooler like her mother? Would she need to keep an exotic foreign lover named Sprinkles at a villa south of Monterreins? Golden Harvest couldn't afford a villa south of Monterreins! And Sprinkles would never settle for splitting rent on an old studio apartment in downtown Ponyville.
And Applejack... No. No, absolutely not. What Golden Harvest had for her neighbor was loathing, not lust. Sure, if she were into mares, some ponies might interpret Golden Harvest's behavior toward Applejack as some twisted kind of infatuation, but that was just proof that she had no interest in mares whatsoever, because there was no way in Tartarus that she had a crush on Applejack. She did not want to kiss Applejack. She did not want to run her hooves through that straw-colored mane while strong orange legs held her close and a soft country voice whispered in her ear—No! Stop! Bad!
Script. This was all Written Script’s fault. Yes. She should have smacked him when she had the chance. Stupid Written Script. How dare he mess with her head as the result of a relatively reasonable misunderstanding and her inability to pay attention to him while Applejack was in the room?
Applejack! Yes, Golden Harvest could see it clearly now. Written Script and Applejack were conspiring to make her think she was a filly-fooler! Applejack wanted to add Golden Harvest to her collection of sex-slaves, so she hired Script, an actor, to confuse her into liking mares. It was the only explanation that made sense.
And her mother was in on the whole deal, too! Beta had always resented her for being straight; that was why she never got Golden that puppy for Hearth’s Warming when she was eight, even though she really really wanted one. So now she was helping Applejack lure her only daughter into a debased lesbian harem!
Colgate, though. Colgate could set her straight. Colgate had the answers.
Golden Harvest was panting by the time she entered the waiting room of Colgate's place, Teeth In Minutes. The place was clean, but a little bit disorganized. Magazines were scattered across the low coffee table, and a few had slid off onto the floor. The reception desk, unmanned, was covered in stacks of files and papers, mostly insurance paperwork. The walls were dotted with pictures and certificates, but no clock. There were never any clocks in Colgate's place.
“Colgate!” Golden Harvest called, letting the front door swing shut on its own. “Are you here?”
“It's Minuette,” came her friend's reply from the operating room, alongside the shrill whine of a drill. “I'll be done with this patient in forty one seconds, Golden. Just wait in the lobby.”
Forty one seconds was a long time for a pony whose self image was cracking before her eyes and needed to see her friend right now, but she wanted to talk to Col—Minuette, not Minuette and some other pony who was hopped up on anesthetic spells. So Golden Harvest took a seat on the sofa, her rear hoof tapping rapidly against the leg of the coffee table.
Fortunately, Minuette was nothing if not punctual. Exactly forty one seconds later she emerged with a large gray stallion who had an ice pack pressed to his cheek. “Alright, Mr. Jelly,” she said, guiding him to the door. “Try cutting back on the sweets a bit for next time, hm? They do make sugar-free preserves, you know.”
“Hmrffmfrf.” The stallion made a response that may have been an attempt at actual words as he nodded and walked out of the office.
Minuette sighed as the door swung shut. “Ugh. Golden, you showed up at just the right time. You would not believe the day I've been having!” She spun around and collapsed next to Golden Harvest on the sofa. “Hey, you wanna go for drinks? Let's go for drinks.”
Golden Harvest blinked. “Drinks? It's...” There was still no clock in the room. “It's like two in the afternoon.”
“One forty nine, actually. I've got another patient at four, but I'm thinking of burning my office down before then.” She pushed herself up by her forelegs and grinned. “Your point?”
Golden Harvest frowned. “I was actually kinda hoping...” Actually, she really could use a drink. “...for you to say just that. Let's go.”
This was why she was friends with Minuette. She was so smart, she didn't even have to know what Golden Harvest's problem was and she still found a solution. She knew she came to see Minuette for a reason.
*-*-*
The best thing about drinking early was that even though it was Friday they got the bar practically all to themselves. The only ponies there other than the two of them were the bartender—who Golden Harvest was pretty sure was a mute; it seemed like he had a mustache instead of a mouth—and Berry Punch, whose absence at the bar would have been stranger than her presence.
Colgate had ordered something that was strong and smelled minty. Golden Harvest forgot what it was called. She thought after spending the day around mouthwash and toothpaste and stuff, Colgate would have wanted a drink that didn't taste quite so similar to her job, but the unicorn seemed to enjoy sipping it as she animatedly described exactly why she wanted to set fire to her place today.
“...so I've got the board of orthodontia breathing down my withers, two different insurance providers deciding their dental plans don't cover me after all, and a patient whose gums look like Discord took a holiday trip to her mouth!” She took a long sip from her drink. “But anyways, how was your day?”
Golden Harvest stared down at her own drink. In hindsight, ordering a mug of Sweet Apple Acres hard cider had been a poor choice. She could smell the scent of apples wafting up from her mug, and it made her think of Applejack, and how she probably had put her hooves personally on every apple that had gone into it, and how tasting it was, in some fashion, like tasting the sweat of her brow, and that conjured the mental image of literally licking the sweat off Applejack's brow...
She hadn't touched her drink since she got it. Okay, maybe a little sip.
“Colgate...” Golden Harvest said.
“Minuette.”
“Whatever.” Golden Harvest glared at her drink, as though she could intimidate it into not reminding her of her neighbor. “Do you think I'm a filly-fooler?”
Minuette grinned “Oh, wait, I remember this line.” She cleared her throat and dropped into a lower register. “My dear, with a face like that, I don't think you're fooling anypony!”
“Well, I'm certainly not cuddling any colts,” Golden Harvest recited, nodding. “You saw the play too, huh?”
“I thought I spotted you in the audience. I tried to wave, but I was way in the back, so you must not have seen me.” Minuette lit her horn, fiddling with the coaster underneath her glass.
“Somepony was being... very distracting,” Golden Harvest said, staring at a golden drop of cider as it rolled along the rim of her cup. “But seriously. Do I strike you as the kind of mare who...” She waved her hoof listlessly in the air. “...who, you know, prefers the company of other mares?”
Minuette stared at her, the grin slowly fading from her face. She took a sip a bit too quickly from her drink and coughed. “I... koff, koff... geez, Golden, I'm really the wrong pony to ask,” she sputtered. “I'm terrible at guessing that sort of thing about ponies. I mean, I thought Sapphire Shores was straight for an embarrassingly long time.”
A whiff of alcohol announced the presence of Berry Punch. The pink lush had moved to a closer stool at some point and now leaned in Golden Harvest's direction. Her eyelids were half closed, and a goofy grin crossed her drunkenly flushed cheeks. “I think,” she slurred, “if you're not a filly-fooler yet, you will be after a couple shots.”
Golden Harvest scooted her stool a bit closer to Minuette. “I just want your honest opinion as my friend. Do you think I'm... wait, you thought Sapphire Shores was straight?”
“She was always hanging around that one stallion!” Minuette protested.
“You mean her uncle who owned the record label?” Golden Harvest said. “What did you think her song, 'Fool Me, Filly' was about?”
Minuette threw her hooves up. “Like I said, I'm bad at this. So I just don't bother guessing most of the time. Why do you need to know what I think, anyway?”
“Just tell me.”
Minuette furrowed her brow and rubbed her chin. After a moment, she rapped her hoof against the bar. “You've got a coltfriend, right?”
Golden Harvest shook her head. “Turns out he was gay. And he thought I was gay, too, which was why he was dating me.”
“Oh.” Minuette nodded, then blinked. “...Wait, what?”
“It's a long story.” Golden Harvest poked at her mug with her hoof.
“Hmm. Well, what about...”
Golden Harvest's head sank lower and lower as her friend brought up and dismissed all possible evidence of her sexuality.
This was ridiculous. Golden Harvest was not a filly-fooler. Just because she spent what Minuette described as 'an inordinate amount of time' staring at passing mares in the streets and 'considerably less time' watching stallions in those same streets didn't mean anything. Ponyville had more mares in it than stallions. It was just the law of averages. Golden Harvest didn't have feelings for mares. Hay, there was a mare right in front of her, and she didn't have feelings for her.
...Well, she of course had feelings for the mare in front of her, but that was because it was Minuette. Minuette was her best friend, so of course there were feelings there, but it wasn't like that.
Berry Punch, though, she was behind her, and Golden Harvest didn’t have feelings for her, other than annoyed at Berry for trying to hit on her. ...Okay, she couldn’t really be annoyed at Berry. She was a cute drunk, and she hit on everypony. It was kind of endearing, really.
But none of that counted. It wasn't like Golden Harvest was thinking of leaning over and making out with her best friend.
Heh. Now that was a ludicrous line of thought. Making out with Minuette? She could hardly even picture it. Kissing those parted blue lips and tasting the bite of peppermint on her breath, nestling her nose into the blue and white mane that had earned the dentist her nickname. Ha.
Golden Harvest was glad she had this talk with her friend. Sure, her mother and her coltfriend had shaken her up a little, but now she had it back in perspective. She was sure now that she was as straight as a yardstick. She was so sure, in fact, that she was going to prove it by kissing her friend. She would plant a little peck right on her lips, and it wouldn't mean a thing because Golden Harvest didn't have a thing for mares. She would smooch Minuette, and it would be awkward for a moment and then they'd have a laugh, because it didn't do anything for either of them. And then Golden Harvest could put this silly nonsense behind her.
“...so, based on the evidence,” Minuette said, “I guess I can conclude that you must be one hundred percent, completely...”
Her lips were smooth and warm. Golden Harvest tasted the minty burn of Minuette's drink. Her tongue rose—quite unbidden—to dance across her friend's pearly teeth. Minuette's own tongue emerged to greet her. Electric pinpricks ran up and down Golden Harvest's legs. Stars burst behind her eyelids.
Air rushed into her mouth as the seal between their lips broke. Golden Harvest fell back to her stool with a soft gasp.
“...s-straight,” Minuette said, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She brought a hoof to her lips, as though stunned they were still a part of her face.
Berry Punch tottered in her seat, frowning at her mug. “Bartender,” she called. “Gimme some of what she's having.”
Golden Harvest stared at Minuette. “Shoot,” she said. She had just kissed her best friend. Really, really kissed her. Not just a little. No cute peck on the cheek, or playful slobbery gross-out smooch. It had been a real, honest-to-Celestia romantic kiss. And she had liked it.
“Shoot,” she repeated, and took a deep swallow of cider from her mug. She couldn't deny it any longer. Golden Harvest never knew she could feel the way that kiss had made her feel. It all crystallized before her. All of her denial, all of her self-deception. She had been lying to herself all this time about how she felt, about what she truly wanted. And Applejack...
“Shoot!” Golden Harvest pushed herself away from the bar, leaving her stool spinning. If... if this was the way she felt, then it meant all those things about her neighbor... Her hooves trembled as she pushed her way out of the bar. Nopony stopped her, because Berry Punch was half-asleep on the counter, the bartender was a mute, and she was pretty sure she had broken Minuette, because she was still sitting there, touching her lips with her hoof.
Stumbling through the cobbled streets, Golden Harvest stretched out her screaming muscles and looked around for a place to get some kindling. Now was about time to get started on that freak-out.
If she put forth a bit of effort, she could have anypony she wanted. Golden Harvest had been told that by... it didn't matter who had told her that. What mattered was that it was true. Equestria was a land of endless possibility. All she had to do was put in the effort and follow her dreams.
You had to follow your dreams. Dream-following was important. You couldn't grow carrots right unless you followed your dreams. Carrots could sense when a pony wasn't following her dreams, and then they just wouldn't grow right. They were very judgmental in that regard. Carrots were probably the most judgmental of all vegetables.
So Golden Harvest stood in line, following her dreams. Most of her dreams didn't involve a lot of lines, but Saturday was a busy market day. The market square was filled with ponies standing in line for one thing or another. Some were waiting to buy corn. Others were waiting to buy lettuce. Normally, there would be a line of ponies waiting to buy Golden Harvest’s carrots, as well, but she was not selling her carrots like she usually did on Saturday. This Saturday, it was more important to follow her dreams. Besides, she didn’t see any Saddle Arabians around that she could sell to.
Ponies stood in line for a lot of reasons. Some of them wanted to buy things. Some of them just wanted to look at things. Some of them wanted to make it to the outhouse. Golden Harvest had no doubt there was even somepony somewhere who simply enjoyed being in lines. There was a special talent for everything, after all.
Golden Harvest was not in line because she liked lines. Her special talent was carrots, and her second special talent, if there were such a thing, which there wasn't, was stealthiness. Liking lines was way, way down the list of things she might have been talented at. At best, she tolerated lines. They were useful; they got ponies to what they needed one by one, without anypony getting trampled or crowded out. Yeah, okay, lines were pretty alright. She could see herself being okay with lines. But she wasn't in line because she was okay with lines. She was in line to follow her dream.
She wore a wide brimmed straw sun hat as she stood in this particular line. It did not have any veils on it, of the real type nor the type which was actually lingerie but she called it a veil to preserve her sanity. No, this was a genuine, veil-less hat which she had purchased last night at the general store along with a pair of shears and some mascara. It was amazing, really, the variety of things for sale at the general store. Golden Harvest supposed that was why it was called a general store and not a private store or a corporal store.
She was pleased she had decided to wear her new straw sun hat today, because the sun was very bright and hot, and her hat kept her head and neck shaded. This was, of course, the purpose of a sun hat, but Golden Harvest felt clever all the same for thinking to bring it. Being cool and comfortable was critical to following her dreams. She never dreamed of squinting and fanning herself. Possibly because she did not sleep in the daytime.
The line moved, which meant that the pony at the front of the line must have gotten what they needed and left. Actually, since every pony in the line had to take a moment to recognize that the pony in front of them had moved before they moved themselves, it meant the pony at the front of the line had already finished their business some time ago, and the effects of that were only just now reaching her. Standing in line was like being a few minutes in the past. What was happening now would not get to her until it had already happened. Perhaps Golden Harvest was already at the front of the line in real time, but in line-time, she was still only halfway there.
Lines were actually pretty neat. Maybe she should spend some time standing in lines more often.
But not right now. Right now, she was in line for a purpose, and that purpose was to follow a dream, and that dream was about...
Oh, the line moved again. That was good news. She still could not see much of the stand ahead of her, because some of the ponies in front of her were awfully large, but she was definitely getting closer. Soon she would be at the front of the line. She would get what she needed and leave the line, and it would take a few minutes before that moment in time reached the ponies in the back of the line.
Golden Harvest wondered if standing in lines messed with Minuette's ability to tell the time.
“Are you alright, miss?” asked the pony behind Golden Harvest in the line. She was an elderly mare with a pearl necklace hanging from her neck.
Because of the line, this elderly mare was further in the past than Golden Harvest was, so she made sure to speak slowly so that she could understand her future-speak. “I am wonderful! Thank you for asking.” She gave the old mare a wide, reassuring smile.
The older pony responded with an uneasy nod. “Oh. Okay.” She pointed to Golden's rear leg. “It's just... your leg is shaking.”
Golden Harvest glanced down. Her hoof tapped out a rapid staccato on the cobblestones. “So it is.” She continued to smile reassuringly.
The old mare fidgeted uncomfortably. She glanced past Golden Harvest. “Oh, uh, look, the line moved again.”
It was so true that with age came wisdom, because the line had moved just as the mare said. Golden Harvest stepped forward, allowing the ripple effect in time to continue on down to the back of the line. Those ponies behind her could consider those seconds she had just given them a gift directly from her. A pony could afford to feel generous when she was on her way to follow her dream.
She was now close enough to the front of the line that she could smell her goal. It smelled fresh and sweet, with just a hint of tartness. It smelled like the sum of rain and sun and time and kicking trees. It smelled like apples.
Ahead of Golden Harvest rose the red and white banner proclaiming in bold lettering the mecca of dreams: Sweet Apple Acres Fruit Stand. Barrels of apples stood on either side of and behind the portable wooden counter. Galas, Red Deliciouses, Fujis and McIntoshes filled the shelves. A stack of Granny Smiths—the apples, not the pony—stood on the counter top next to the small bit chest. Some days the stand would have pies and fritters, but today it was whole apples only, though there were a couple surplus jars of zap-apple jam in the back.
In the thick of it all, her signature stetson bobbing up and down as she gave a professional smile to each pony she sold an apple to, was Applejack. The rhythm of Golden Harvest's shaking leg increased in tempo. Her ears flicked this way and that.
It wasn't like she was nervous, though really, she had every right to be nervous. Why shouldn't she be nervous? A pony was allowed to be nervous when she was on the cusp of following her dreams. This was exactly the sort of situation in which a pony was supposed to be nervous. But Golden Harvest wasn't nervous. She was cool. She was calm. She was collected. She wished her leg would stop shaking, because her hoof was really starting to hurt, tapping against the cobbles like that.
At last Golden Harvest caught up with the present, as the pony in front of her paid for his apples and left. She now experienced her life in delicious real time, each moment coming to her as it happened and not a second later. Ah, it was good to be back in the present.
Applejack looked up and smiled. “Hey there, neighbor. That's a nice hat you got.”
There was a part of Golden Harvest's mind that tried to respond to the greeting with idle small talk. 'Why thank you, I got it at the general store. Did you know they also sell shears and mascara?' But for once, the urge to return friendly greetings was not the most powerful instinct coursing through her body. There were four words inside of Golden Harvest, clawing at her to get out. All her life, she had been waiting in line, waiting in some remote past. Waiting for her chance to join the present and tell Applejack those four little words.
The opportunity was now upon her. She had her chance, and she did not dare hesitate to take it. She had to follow her dreams. For herself. For Applejack. For her carrots.
Golden Harvest tore her hat off her head, revealing at long last her mane. No longer an orange sea of curls and waves, her mane was now cropped close to her skull. A bristly, striking orange line ran from the back of her neck, up over the center of her head to end in a short, spiky tuft above the crest of her brow.
“I... am a lesbian!”
The market square went quiet. Not quite silent, as there were still some birds chirping in the trees nearby and a few foals playing in the park that had not heeded Golden's outburst. But for a market square on a busy Saturday, it was extraordinarily, uncomfortably quiet. A hundred or more pairs of eyebrows shot up as a hundred or more pairs of eyes centered on the crazy mare declaring to the world, at the top of her lungs, exactly which sort of pony she preferred to pony.
Applejack belonged to one of those pairs of eyes. She looked up at Golden Harvest, her jaw falling a little bit slack. She blinked, and coughed into her hoof. “I, uh... I s'pose I'm happy for you, then.” She offered Golden a weak smile.
There was a high-pitched buzz in Golden Harvest's head. It took her a while to recognize it as the rational part of her mind, demanding—in not very nice words—to know what the hay she thought she was doing and why it hadn't been informed.
There were... a lot of ponies here. Golden Harvest wasn't one to shy from crowds, but there were a lot of them here. Enough of them to fill a market square on a Saturday. And they were all staring at her. All of them. And she had just shouted, in front of all these many, many ponies...
Oh. Oh Celestia.
Applejack looked back and forth, and then pushed a bright red apple forward. “You, uh, want an apple, hon?”
Golden Harvest nodded and took the apple. She carried it in her teeth as she gathered her hat up off the ground and beat a hasty retreat from the market.
It was supposed to be a Red Delicious, but it tasted only of shame and failure.
Golden Harvest's death was sudden, tragic, and completely inevitable.
While she was walking home from the market, the Friendship Express hit an obstruction in its rails, causing one car loaded full of carrots to disconnect from the train and leap off the tracks, jumping clear of five blocks of residential housing and plowing directly into her. She was instantly buried in tons of twisted metal and broken carrots. This heap of ruined produce then proceeded to spontaneously burst into flames. As the pile of carnage smoldered, a meteor fell from the sky, slamming down directly on top of the burning, shattered carrots on top of whatever was left of Golden Harvest. The whole thing became a glassy crater in a single roaring instant. Absolutely no Golden Harvests survived.
At the funeral, they buried one of her prized, world-famous carrots because there was nothing left of the pony herself to bury. All her friends and family showed up and were very sad at her passing. They talked and comforted one another, and everypony agreed that her death, while terribly tragic, at least had spared her the embarrassment of continuing to live with herself after her outburst at the market. “She's in a better place,” they all said, sniffing and nodding sadly. “A place where she can never screw up as completely and utterly as she did back there at the market ever again.” At least there was that consolation.
Alas, her life was not so merciful as to end then and there. Golden Harvest was not crushed by any flying, vegetable-laden train cars at any point as she plodded home, head hung low. There was no enormous manticore hiding behind her door waiting to swallow her whole. She did not contract fatal food poisoning from the bean sprout sandwich that she made for herself with shaky hooves, nor were there any deadly toxins in the glass of water she drank. And no matter how hard she tried that night, Golden Harvest found that she could not, in fact, cry herself to death.
Life, surprisingly, went on. The next morning she rolled out of bed as she always had. She found that brushing her mane took far less time when there was hardly anything left to brush, so she was out in her garden a few minutes earlier than usual, coffee in hoof, ready to take care of her carrots. They may have been the most judgmental of vegetables, but they hadn't been there at the market. Her carrots still loved her.
Carrots required... well. Golden Harvest's ears sank as she looked over her garden. Carrots required some water now and then, and for her to keep the weeds out. She had scarcely touched her carrot patch over the last few days because she had been too busy chasing Applejack's tail to pay any attention to them. The rows of green carrot tops had begun to wilt, the edges of their leaves turning brown and brittle. Little shoots of invading weeds crept in at the edges of her garden, sapping the vegetables' nutrients away. Golden Harvest sighed and filled a watering can.
Over the fence, she heard a 'thwack.' Applejack was already out, kicking her apples down from the trees. Golden Harvest leaned against her fence, her eyes idly following the orange mare as she dragged her buckets out, arranging them in rings around each tree. There was really more to it than just walking up to a tree and kicking it. Apple farming was just as much work as carrot farming. Golden Harvest wondered why she hadn't noticed that before.
Applejack's eyes rose, and caught her staring. Panic seized Golden Harvest's chest as she scrambled to avert her eyes. Applejack had to hate her now. Golden had gone to her place of business and hollered at her like a madmare. Who would want to be neighbors with her anymore? She hadn't seen Applejack scowling at her, but Golden Harvest was sure she was. Applejack had every right to scowl at her.
Although... a thought rolled through Golden Harvest's head. She turned and slowly raised her hoof in the air. “Hi,” she called, and waved her hoof.
Applejack immediately smiled and waved back. It was nice to get that friendly-greeting reflex to work for her for a change. Golden Harvest reflected that it was comforting to think that no matter how badly she screwed up, she could always get somepony to smile and wave to her, just by doing the same to them. That was probably the reason ponies had evolved it in the first place.
Instead of going back to her work, Applejack trotted up to the fence. To Golden Harvest's surprise, the smile never faded from her neighbor's face. “Howdy, Golden,” she said as she reached the white painted fence posts. “How are you doin' this mornin'?”
Golden Harvest glanced behind her, expecting to see some other pony named Golden. Applejack couldn't have been talking to her in that bright tone of voice. But there was nothing behind her but her tool shed and her watering can. “M... me?”
Applejack laughed her distracting laugh. “Well I ain't talkin' to my aunt Goldie Delicious, am I? I didn't see you out and about after market yesterday, and I got a bit concerned for you.”
Golden Harvest's eyes dropped to the dirt. “I'm alive,” she mumbled.
“Well, that's always a good start.” Applejack nodded.
Golden Harvest furrowed her brows. “You're not... mad at me?”
Applejack raised her eyebrows. “Mad at you? Now why in Equestria would I be mad at you, sugarcube?”
“For how I acted in the marketplace.” Golden Harvest's ears drooped. “I didn't mean to...”
Her neighbor cut her off with a hoof to her lips. “Now, I ain't gonna lie. What you did was awful strange. I'll have to admit, it rendered me a bit tongue-tied, and I reckon I wasn't the only one, judgin' from the pin you could hear droppin' out there.”
Golden's shoulders sagged.
“But,” continued Applejack, “I reckon a pony's got license to be a bit strange when she's tryin' to figure out who she is.” A genuine light shone in her eyes. “I meant it when I said I was happy for you. It can be a tough task, sortin' that kind of thing out, and I'm glad you came to a conclusion you're satisfied with.” She reached across the fence and pulled her into a sort of half-hug.
Relief washed over Golden Harvest in waves. Applejack didn't hate her. In fact, she was proud of her. Golden Harvest had been wondering what the weather was like this time of year in Saddle Arabia, in case she had to move so that Applejack wouldn't have to be her neighbor anymore. But instead, here she was, her head pressed against the coarse orange fur on Applejack's chest. This was better than she could have dreamed.
Her dreams. Perhaps it was pushing her luck at this point, but Golden Harvest felt like she had received a fresh burst of momentum, so she pulled her head back and looked in Applejack's eyes. “I... there was another thing,” she said, her cheeks slowly growing rosy. “There was a reason I came to your stand.”
Applejack's smile softened a little bit. She nodded. “Yeah... I figured there was.”
“Applejack... I think I have feelings—”
“I know,” Applejack interrupted. “I was afraid that might be the case.”
That was a less than positive reaction. Golden Harvest's ears sank. “...but you're straight,” she sighed.
Applejack's eyes widened as she shook her head. “No. No, that ain't it. It don't matter to me if a pony's a mare or a stallion near so much as it does that they're a good, hard-workin' pony that knows right from wrong—which you are,” she added before Golden Harvest could interject. “The hitch is that... well, you could say I'm already spoken for.”
Golden Harvest's heart beat a little slower, a little heavier. “Oh. I just thought... Pinkie said you were single.”
“Pinkie...” Applejack sighed. “Pinkie and me don't see eye-to-eye on quite everything. She ain't exactly wrong. I am single. But...” She leaned against the fence, tipping her hat back. “Well, I'm married to the job, so to speak.”
“The apple farm?” Golden Harvest asked. “I... I'm sure I could learn how to help with the apples. They're not so different from carrots.”
Applejack shook her head. “Not that job.” She nodded to the north, where Mount Canterlot rose above the morning mists. “See, I'm on a short list of ponies that Princess Celestia knows she can count on when she's got something mean and nasty makin' life difficult for ponykind. It's a real honor, and I don't regret a moment of it, but the fact is, it's dangerous work. Every time I run off with Twi and the girls into the Everfree in order to find this magic thingamabob or confront that evil what's-he-called, there's a fair chance one of us might not make it back.”
Golden Harvest's ears folded back as she listened, wide-eyed.
“The thought of what that might do to Apple Bloom, Mac, and Granny Smith...” Applejack grimaced. “It tears me up inside. I just can't bear to add a special somepony to the list of ponies waitin' someday for a mare who don't come home. Do you understand that, Golden?”
Golden Harvest sniffed and nodded. “But... doesn't that get lonely?”
“It's what I've chosen for myself.” Applejack opened her forelegs, inviting Golden Harvest into another hug, which she gladly took. “You're a great gal, Golden,” she whispered, squeezing her. “One of these days, you're gonna find some lucky mare, and you'll make her feel like the specialest pony who ever lived. Might be I wish it could be me.” She held Golden back at hoof's length and gave her a smile. “But it can't be me.”
Golden Harvest returned the smile. “Thanks for talking with me, Applejack,” she said. “You're the best.”
“What are neighbors for, huh?” Applejack grinned and patted her on the head.
Both mares turned away from the fence. They both had their morning chores to get to. Golden Harvest picked up her watering can in her teeth.
“Oh, and Golden?” Applejack said, turning around one last time. “I like your mane. It's cute.”
Minuette was not too complicated of a pony. Some things made her happy, and some things did not make her happy. Floss, floss made Minuette happy. She liked floss, unless it was the kind with the waxy film on it that just made a mess when she used it. Cavities did not make Minuette happy. Well, except for the fact that without cavities, she wouldn't have a job. Having a job made her happy, so maybe cavities indirectly made her happy, but when facing them directly, not happy. Okay, so perhaps there were some things that were not completely cut and dry in terms of whether they made Minuette happy or not.
But the one thing that would unambiguously, definitely make Minuette happy right now was if her best friend Golden Harvest were more than a friend. ...Of a friend. More of a friend. It would make her happy if Golden Harvest were more of a friend than she was being.
Because Golden Harvest was being a terrible friend. She knew she was supposed to be here to get her teeth cleaned at two fifteen today, but here she was strolling in twenty nine whole seconds late! Who sets up an appointment with her dentist friend, and then shows up late to it? Not a very good friend, that's who.
And how was Minuette supposed to work on Golden Harvest's teeth when she kept babbling on and on about how great her neighbor was? Sure, Minuette didn't quite have her equipment set up yet, so talking wasn't exactly prohibited, but... but if Golden Harvest practiced not talking now, she could do better at it when there were dentist tools in her mouth. A good friend would have thought of that.
“...and it still stings a little, I guess, but I get where she's coming from, you know?” Golden Harvest said, settling into the reclining chair. “But she really is a class act. I mean, how many ponies out there will really take the time to let you down gently like that? Celestia, I've got so much respect for that mare! Going out there, doing the things she does, and still taking the time to be a dependable friend for anypony who needs it... I think Applejack is—”
“Golden, I need you to please shut your mouth.” Minuette lit her horn, then paused, blinking. “Er, uh, open your mouth, that is. We're ready to begin.”
“Oh. Okay.” Golden Harvest opened her mouth wide, and Minuette got started.
Or she tried to get started, anyway. Golden Harvest knew this appointment was coming this week, yet she still had to go and get that distracting manecut just a few days before. Minuette was just trying to do her job here, but that bold orange stripe with the cute, slightly coltish tuft at the crest kept drawing her attention. A manestyle that striking just wasn't fair.
Minuette knew how to be a good friend. A good friend didn't show up late to an appointment with a distractingly cute manecut. No, a good friend wanted her friends to succeed. That was why she had sent off the paperwork to the board of orthodontia so that she could officially endorse Golden Harvest's carrot juice. That's right, Golden Harvest's juice was going to be dentist-approved, because Minuette was a good friend. She'd been meaning to send off that paperwork for a while, and the fact that she got around to it the same day Golden Harvest had kissed her was a silly coincidence, nothing more.
That kiss. Talk about rude. If Golden Harvest had wanted to kiss her, she could have just asked. Minuette would have said yes. Not that she wanted a kiss from her, mind, but because she was just that good a friend. Kissing a friend to help her figure out if she was a lesbian or not was one of the major duties of a good friend. Minuette was pretty sure that was written down somewhere.
Golden Harvest would definitely have to ask next time. You know, if she wanted to be double-sure she was a lesbian. A pony could never be too sure. But she would need to ask next time, or else Minuette might not let her kiss her.
Okay, she probably still would, because she was a good friend. That was the reason Minuette was staring at Golden Harvest's lips right now and imagining herself kissing them. She was practicing being a good friend. She wasn't into mares. Or maybe she was, Minuette wasn't sure. She was terrible at guessing this sort of thing with other ponies, so why should she be any better at guessing it for herself?
But what Minuette did know was that she wasn't best-friend-sexual. She was definitely not crushing hard on Golden Harvest. She was not falling into the deep pools of light in her green eyes. She was not slowly melting on the inside as she listened to her friend's soft breaths.
“Um, Colgate?” Golden Harvest said. There she went again, talking while Minuette was trying to work on her teeth. She had no sense of dental etiquette. “I thought you said we were starting.”
“We are,” Minuette said, lifting a plaque-scraper in her magic. “And it's Minuette.” Golden Harvest kept doing that. She kept using her nickname, the one Minuette kept telling her not to use. She wished she wouldn't do that. It was very distracting. Something about it made her imagine Golden Harvest moaning, 'Colgate... ohh, Colgate!' It was likely the tone of voice she said it in. She didn't say it any differently from how she said anything else, but Golden Harvest's whole voice was distracting today. Minuette wished she would just stop talking and let her do her job.
She had stopped talking, of course. Minuette examined Golden Harvest's teeth, and they were terrible. Actually, they weren't that bad. Quite immaculate, really, compared to most of Minuette's patients. Golden Harvest actually listened to her when she said to brush twice a day and floss regularly. So few ponies did.
Why did she have to have such wonderful teeth? No cavities, healthy gums, only a tiny amount of plaque. Barely enough plaque to even justify using a scraper at all. Why, Minuette imagined she could do Golden Harvest's teeth-cleaning with only her tongue!
...But that would be weird, so she didn't do that.
She took the scraper and carefully, gently removed the plaque from Golden Harvest's teeth. It didn't take very long, which was good, because Minuette wasn't sure how long she could block out all the distractions, what with her manecut, her beautiful eyes and the surprisingly inviting smell of her breath.
“Done,” Minuette said, handing a cup of water to Golden Harvest so she could rinse out her mouth. She carefully cleaned her tools and put them away.
Her heart raced when Golden Harvest wrapped her in a hug. Because she wasn't expecting it. That was the reason, and not because the warmth of Golden's coat felt so good against hers that she had to fight to keep a sultry nicker from her lips.
“Thanks Minuette,” Golden said, squeezing her shoulders. “You're a great friend.”
Minuette was not falling in love with her best friend. She was not best-friend-sexual. She was not falling for her cute mane and perfect teeth and beautiful eyes and her lovely round face and... and...
“Y-you can call me Colgate if you want. I don't mind.”
