This is the story of two mares, during one summer, finding paradise in each other.
Love. It's a funny thing, isn't it? Love conquers all. Love prevails.
Applejack believed in love. She did. She loved her family. She loved her friends. She loved her farm. She didn't need anything else. Or so she thought.
Stuck with Pinkie as her only friend for the summer, the two decide to go on a journey. It's a journey that changes them forever.
There is nothing in Equestria, or in the Great Beyond, or among the Stars that is more beautiful or of greater value than a good friend found somewhere unexpected.
—Princess Platinum, of The Six
5137 ER, Age of Illumination, juvenile autumn, waxing gibbous - Rarity and Twilight happened to be in town on the same day. Both of them brought flowers, Rarity white daisies and Twilight pink roses. When they spotted each other at the entrance, they flashed surprised looks followed by quick smiles and delicate hugs full of warmth, but forgotten familiarity.
It was early autumn, but the autumn of that year had come two dances before its time, and so the world was amber in color like the last glow of the coals of a dying fire. Nature made even death beautiful. The days were cool and wet and refreshing. That day was particularly cloudy and gloomy, as if Nature knew.
“Hey. I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Twilight said when they had pulled away from their hug.
Rarity smiled and motioned around them, “Always a sight for sore eyes, and it’s nice to get away.” She paused, a hesitant tint coming over her features and her voice. “Are you here for…”
“Yes,” Twilight replied quickly. The two walked alongside each other down the cobblestone path, passing a fountain before continuing to speak.
“So, what brings you back to Ponyville?” Twilight asked.
“Oh, you know… it’s…” Rarity trailed off, staring sadly at the ground.
“The anniversary,” Twilight finished, and Rarity sighed out an affirmative.
“It’s been, what, five years?”
“Yeah. Five years.” An awkward silence descended. “How’s Rainbow?”
“Busy. She’s touring with her group. She sends letters every now and then.” Rarity motioned with a hoof towards the dreary sky. “I hope she changes the tour dates for next year, so she can come here. But I think she’s keeping herself away.”
“Is it hard, to be away from her so much?” Twilight marveled.
“Of course. But I have my own work to keep me plenty busy. It just makes her off-seasons that much sweeter.”
“I’m happy for you two,” Twilight chimed, and her eyes were as sincere as they’d been from the day Rarity had met her. “I’m glad you saved her. I know it was hard for her after—”
Rarity stopped mid step, jaw slack and mouth forming an O, eyes wide and pupils dilated in shock and horror.
Twilight stumbled, almost running into the other pony. “Rarity?” She followed her friend’s gaze, and the grip around her roses disappeared. The flowers met the ground with a shuffle of petals against petals.
“It can’t be,” Twilight murmured.
A pony in a tan trench coat stood a hundred hooves from them, facing away. Her mane was dull in color and limp in styling, cut uncaringly to half its former length. A bouquet of yellow daisies peeked over the mare’s shoulder as she held them in her teeth. They were much too happy a color for such a dreary day, and stood out against everything.
As Rarity and Twilight watched, too stunned to do anything, the mare propped the flowers against the tombstone and tucked her legs underneath herself, laying down in the dying grass. She braced her forehead against the weathered stone.
Twilight grabbed onto Rarity, not tearing her eyes away from the scene for a second, as if in fear that if she did, the mare would disappear.
“Rarity, that's…that's…”
“Yes, dear, I know,” Rarity hissed.
“I… I didn’t know if she was still… We need to think about this. Oh Celestia. Oh Celestia.”
“This is not the time to lose your wits, Twilight,” Rarity snapped.
“You two are about as subtle as a locomotive,” the mare chuckled, standing up. She didn’t face them, but turned her head just slightly so that the two could see her cheek and the corner of her eye. “You think I couldn’t hear you from a mile away?”
She turned, then, cool gaze washing over them with disinterest. Her eyes were different. Her stance was different. She had lost weight and muscle, and her cheeks were sharp and bony. Her face was impassive.
Twilight held her breath and planted her hooves firmly into the ground, preparing to stop the mare if she made a break for it.
“Relax,” the mare droned, and, oh, her voice was different, too. “I’m not going anywhere. I trust Rainbow told you about our little meeting?”
Rainbow had. Rarity remembered back three days ago.
It was three in the morning when she was awoken by a sharp pop of color, and the smell of brimstone. Startled, Rarity had sat up in bed, her fur going into piloerection. She removed her mask and stared at a scroll that had popped into existence, and now lay on her white duvet.
Rainbow never sent mail by dragon magic.
Slightly worried, she unfurled the scroll and stared at Rainbow’s chicken scratch mouth writing.
Rarity, I saw her. She’s alive, and she’s doing well. I think she’s going back to Ponyville, I overheard her talking with the bartender about how long the train is from here. She acted like she didn’t know who I was. She just said ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ and left. But I know it was her. She hasn’t changed since… then.
You need to get on a train right now. If she’s going back this could be our only chance.
She reread it once, twice, three times, four, and she could not believe it.
The impossible stood before them. The same mare that had vanished so many years ago was here, in the flesh, alive, well.
But not who she was. Never who she was. One did not remain themselves after something like that. None of them truly went unchanged, and that was the bare truth of the matter.
“Where have you been these past few years?” Twilight demanded. The mare shrugged, gaze remaining even and blank.
“Physically? Everywhere. In spirit? With her.” She jerked her head in the general direction of the tombstone. “Still am. Always will be.”
Twilight fought an internal battle to hug her. A tiny, dry, whimpering sob of relief fought to get out but she held steady.
Rarity, on the other hoof, walked over with practiced nonchalance, put her flowers down next to the too-bright daisies with care, straightened up, and slapped the mare. Then, she slammed herself into an embrace that was much more a physical assault, gripping onto everything she could get her hoofs on, every piece of evidence that she wasn’t dreaming this like all the other times.
“You act like nothing has happened,” she wailed, muffled against the other mare’s chest. A hoof wrapped around her with a heaviness that spoke of grudging comfort; if only because of their long, close friendship.
“You left us four years and thirty eight moons ago. Exactly twenty one moons after it happened. You left all of us floundering, worried to death about where you were, what you were doing, if you had…” Rarity trailed off, and a tremor shot through her. She sobbed.
“Died?” The mare finished. “Like I said, in spirit, I’m with her.”
“Don’t give us that. We all lost her,” Twilight snapped.
“You didn’t lose her like I did,” was the simple reply. Emotion did not exist in the voice, and it was scary. “You didn’t love her like I did.” A bitter snicker. “Well, maybe one of you did.”
Her head shot to the side, the other side than before, as Rarity smacked her again. Then Rarity went back to hugging her, as if she couldn’t help herself.
“Guess I deserved that one.”
“We need to talk,” Twilight decided. “You can’t just disappear again without telling us anything.”
“I don’t owe any of you anything. Don’t hit me again,” she warned, just the tiniest hint of humor in her voice, batting Rarity’s ominously raised foreleg away. Rarity continued to sniffle and hold her close.
“You’re our friend. I’d rather go to Tartarus than go through the past five years again. Please, just, lets go get coffee and after that, you can go,” Twilight pleaded.
“Fine. Just coffee,” the mare replied. “But, give me a moment here, okay?” Twilight looked at her skeptically, and Rarity pulled away to do the same. The mare rolled her eyes. “I promise I won’t run away.”
Rarity nodded and turned. Twilight walked up to put her flowers to the left of the others, and smiled at the mare sadly, hugging her despite earlier hesitancy. To her surprise, a brush of a nuzzle was given to the top of her head, so chaste it almost didn’t classify as one.
Together, Rarity and Twilight walked to the entrance. As soon as they disappeared from view, the mare turned back to the tombstone, alone now, finally. Again she tucked her legs under herself and laid down on the cold ground the way one might lay next to a warm fire.
“Hey,” she whispered, tracing the letters on the stone lovingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit in so long. It’s me, Pinkie. It’s Applejack.”
Love is the strongest thing in the universe, because it transforms us and makes us more than we were before. You have never been equine if you have never loved somepony more than yourself; you have only been a very clever sort of animal.
—Basketbridges, famous unicorn love poet
Ponyville, 5 years ago
Pinkie’s end of summer parties were legendary in Ponyville. It was a statement that was made even grander by the fact that most of Pinkie’s parties were legendary in Ponyville.
But if Pinkie went all out for most of her parties, in planning the end of summer party, she went overboard. Fire pits had been placed strategically around the town plaza, hundreds of bright white fairy lights hung from building to building. Wooden tables with white linen tablecloths peppered the area, each layered with a full spread of pastries and cakes, chips, and other such victuals.
The party was some three hours in already, and as the sky gradually darkened, those attending became increasingly buzzed with the effects of alcohol.
“Who wants to play spin the bottle?” An intoxicated Rainbow Dash slurred to nopony in particular, holding an empty bottle under one wing as she drunkenly leered at everypony in her line of vision, most of whom were the members of her weather team.
“Most of us are paired off, Dash,” Cloudchaser snorted, hugging herself close to Thunderlane. “‘Sides, nopony’d wanna make out with you anyway.”
Those within earshot laughed uproariously.
“Psh. I’ve got…” Dash slurred, raising a foreleg to motion in an exaggerated manner, and swaying dangerously on her remaining three hooves. “I’ve got tons of fillies knocking down my door. You don’t even know.”
“Uh huh.”
“Why didn’t you bring one of them with you, then, Dashie?” Silverwing teased.
Rainbow paused, seemingly thinking this over very, very carefully and incredibly hard. “Whatever, you guys,” she decided eventually, apparently having not found a good enough answer to Silverwing’s questions. “I’m gonna go find my real friends.”
Good-natured jeers sounded behind her as she turned around and started stumbling and swaying away.
“Hey, maybe one of them will wanna make out with you!” Somepony called, and laughs run out. Rainbow herself snickered and shook her head.
After a bit of walking in circles and weaving through different cliques, she found most of her group.
“Hey, where’s AJ and Pinks?” she asked, stepping up to Rarity, Twilight, and Fluttershy and furrowing her brow as if this confused her greatly.
“I believe they went to the Everfree, for some reason,” Rarity informed her, looking towards the distant outcrop of dark trees. “Though I can’t imagine why.”
“I think Applejack wanted to show her something,” said Fluttershy.
“Knowing them, they’re probably making out somewhere,” Rainbow grumbled, glaring at the Everfree in the distance.
“No need to be jealous, Rainbow,” Rarity sniffed. “I think it’s wonderful that they’ve found each other.”
“I’m not jealous,” Rainbow snapped.
“Just try and be happy for them. I know it can be hard, but they’re your friends, and they’re in love,” Twilight mediated, settling a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder that was immediately brushed off.
“Jeez. What’s with everypony picking on me tonight?” Dash groused, and then, seeing three sets of eyes pleading with her, she sighed. “Yeah, alright, fine. It’s awesome that they’re together, or whatever.”
“Complaining won’t do anything, dear.” Rarity’s eyes sparkled. “Besides, ever since they came back from Tall Tale, neither have taken off a certain accessory. Single ladies, they are not.”
She squealed then, overjoyed by the development.
Rainbow blinked. “Wait, you mean…?”
Rarity scoffed. “Oh heavens, darling. It wouldn’t kill you to be at least a bit more observant.”
“I thought they were like… trinkets or something,” Rainbow defended lamely.
“Right,” Twilight said dryly. “They just happened to have matching ‘trinkets’ that look like rings,”
“So, they’re engaged?” Rainbow squeaked.
As if sensing that they were the topic of conversation, Applejack and Pinkie stumbled up to their friends, then. Applejack’s mane was mussed, the ever present red ties nowhere to be found. Pinkie was giggling and falling all over her, reaching over to plant sloppy kisses on Applejack’s cheek every few seconds.
“Hee-eey guys,” Pinkie sung, probably drunk but maybe not. The couple sat down together, so close their hindquarters were touching.
“Where have you two been?” Twilight asked, smiling knowingly, if only because she knew where they’d been, and could deduct what they’d been doing. As could everypony else.
“Oh, you know…” Applejack said nonchalantly. She motioned with a hoof. “...Out.”
“Nice hickey, AJ,” Rainbow snorted. Applejack’s hoof shot to her neck and dots of color rapidly appeared on her muzzle.
“Damn it, Pinks,” she grumbled, leaning against her inamorata. Their friends, however, were more focused on the tiny silver rings hanging around both of their necks, gleaming proudly.
“AJ,” Pinkie cooed, bringing her face unnecessarily close to Applejack at the volume she was speaking. “Can you get me some water? I’m thirsty.”
Applejack nodded, eyeing her friends eyeing the ring around her neck. She untangled herself from Pinkie and stood, wobbling on unsteady hoofs. Pinkie’s eyes followed her lovingly until the crowd engulfed her from view.
“Oh, I’ll get out of it when she comes back,” Rarity dismissed. She then motioned to the ring around Pinkie’s neck.
“What’s with the ring?” Rainbow asked before Rarity could, glaring at the band with distaste.
Pinkie giggled and smiled widely. “It’s a secret. Applejack told me I can’t tell you we’re going to be together forever.”
Upon hearing this, Rarity and Fluttershy squealed at the top of their lungs, Rarity right into Pinkie’s ear. Rainbow grumbled, and Twilight grinned, and those within earshot started muttering excitedly.
“So, details, details!” Rarity cried excitedly. “How did it happen? Were you two in a restaurant? Did she kneel? Did you cry?”
“I bet she did it in a field somewhere with the stars above you,” Fluttershy said.
Pinkie giggled. “Of course not! I was the one who asked her.”
There was silence.
“Wow,” Rainbow uttered. “Nice, Pinks.”
“Yeah,” Pinkie’s eyes glazed over in memory, or maybe it was because of the alcohol. “We were watching the sunset, on the beach, and it’d bought them from this old mare.”
“Then what happened?” Twilight asked when Pinkie paused.
“Well, I showed them to Applejack, and Applejack told me to ask her. So I did. I knelt down in the sand, and she took off her hat, and I asked.”
“And, she said yes?” Rainbow asked. Deadpan stares were shot at her. “Just making sure,” she defended.
“Yeah,” Pinkie sighed dreamily, and then perked up. “Oh! That reminds me! Applejack’s hat fell off in the woods while we were playing. I don’t think she ever picked it up again.”
All three of her friends blushed and averted their gazes. Pinkie bounced off happily.
After a long minute, Applejack came stumbling back with a water bottle in her mouth. Said water bottle promptly fell out of said mouth when the ponies around her suddenly exploded into applause.
“If I may speak on behalf of everypony, Applejack, congratulations!” Twilight beamed at Applejack, hammering her foreleg up and down.
Even in her inebriated state, it took no time for Applejack to connect the dots. She sighed. “Pinkie told, huh?”
“Before she said a word, the rings around your neck spoke volumes, darling,” Rarity chuckled, hugging Applejack.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you, Applejack!” Fluttershy squealed, hugging her after Rarity was done.
“Do you have a date set yet?” Rainbow asked in a low voice. Applejack met her eyes, lips thinning in something like an apology.
“Next summer.”
“Mm.” Rainbow’s eyes flicked from side to side, seemingly fighting an internal battle. Finally she stepped up and gingerly hugged Applejack. “I’m… happy for you, AJ,” she choked out, but not because she didn’t mean it.
“Thank you, Rainbow,” Applejack whispered back. When they pulled away from each other, Applejack looked around.
“Now, where’s that filly gone off to?” She asked.
“You mean your fiancee?” Rarity teased.
Applejack rolled her eyes, and braced herself. “Yeah, Rare. Where’s my fiancee.”
Dammit. She still got the shivers when saying that word. One would think that repeating it in her head every time she saw Pinkie… and out loud when she was alone in bed, smiling at the shadows along the ceiling like an idiot because she’d got the mare.
She knew she would probably be getting those shivers the entire year, until next summer, when Pinkie became her wife.
Ohhhhh. Wife. Five years minimum, to get rid of those shivers. Forever, maximum.
“She went to retrieve your hat from the Everfree. Because, as she said, it ‘fell down while you were playing’,” Rarity joshed, and then giggled when Applejack went bright red.
“Well, I guess I should go after her, then. Lest she be mauled by something in there,” Applejack said when her blush had subsided.
She departed from her group and made slow, stumbling progress through the crowd of ponies. Several times she was stopped and congratulated and had to make small talk about this or that, but mostly the wedding. Ponies wanted to know when the date was, if they’d decided on a place, everything down to the flavor of the cake. The flavor of the cake, as it were, was the only detail besides the general date that Applejack knew for sure, and that was mostly due to the fact that this detail was the first thing that had been decided about their wedding, even before the date. And so it was with great pride that Applejack announced to those who asked that they were having chocolate-apple-swirl cake. Because, why not?
Chuckling, she made her way through the darkened forest, and it amazed her how nonthreatening it seemed. It was beautiful, even.
Suddenly, she opened her mouth and laughed like a lunatic, for absolutely no reason. Or perhaps there was a reason. Perhaps love was the reason.
Love was a good reason, at that. Love made scary jungles full of dark magic seem like paradise. Love made life brighter, happier. Love made one laugh like a lunatic, and have chocolate-apple-swirl cake, with Moose Tracks ice cream, at their wedding; just because!
Truly it was; with love one was crazy, and the most sane pony in the universe. With love one was ready for everything, and nothing. One could do everything, and be the weakest pony in existence. One had the greatest strength of all, but also the greatest weakness of all.
In that moment, Applejack felt as though the world was hers. Because she was in love.
She sped up into a gallop, feeling invincible, laughing the entire time at the top off her lungs. She galloped until she came to the clearing where her and Pinkie had made love repeatedly not an hour ago. They’d made love there with a playful wrestle, as they always did. Or at least, that had been how they started. Then they had been desperate, and then, the third time, Pinkie had been forceful and rough. The fourth, Applejack had been forceful and rough. The last time, nearly spent, they were gentle.
In all those times, they were loving.
The place they made love had started on the ground there, then Pinkie had slammed her against that tree over there, and when it was Applejack’s turn, she’d dragged Pinkie over into the lake. It was the same lake where they’d met that sea serpent all those years ago.
Applejack focused on the lake, suddenly feeling as if something was amiss. Where was Pinkie?
“Pinkie?” She called out, approaching the river. A hint of pink among the dark water that reflected the starry sky, and Applejack stopped dead.
No.
Distantly, she felt herself break into a full on gallop, and then felt the cool wetness as she entered into the water. Distantly, she heard herself scream Pinkie’s name, again and again and again.
Pinkie was floating lazily in the swollen river, face down. When Applejack reached her, she was cooler than the water that surrounded them.
She never breathed, even when Applejack pumped at her chest for an hour. She never opened her eyes, even when Applejack begged her, and then every deity that existed.
She never spoke, laughed, sung again. She would never marry Applejack. Never throw another party.
Ponyville, Present
Applejack blew the steam from her coffee before taking a sip. She winced, and dumped two more sugar cubes into the drink, and then stirred. She took another sip, smacked her lips, and grinned in satisfaction. She looked outside across the street.
Ponyville was exactly as she’d left it; bad coffee and all.
Rarity and Twilight watched her do all of this in silence.
“So, how’s the farm?” Applejack asked, looking between them. “Either of you know?”
Rarity scoffed. “You ask so casually, as if you don’t care. The farm could very well be gone now.”
“Nah,” Applejack dismissed into her coffee cup. “Apples are good at maneuvering around challenges. I’m sure somepony from the family gave them a helping hoof, or maybe they hired a worker. I’m sure it’s fine.”
She said this in a way that suggested she’d been repeating it to herself for a long time. And, it was a little thing that came out of her mouth a second ago: the farm. Not her farm.
“I’m sure they’ve forgiven you, Applejack,” Twilight muttered, and Applejack stared at her in surprise for a very long time. Finally, she tipped her head.
“You’ve gotten better at reading ponies, Twi,” she commented, and then took a drink of her coffee.
Rarity stared at the faded silver ring around Applejack’s neck. “You still wear that?”
She received a kick from Twilight for her trouble, but Applejack didn’t even blink before answering.
“Why not? It keeps ponies away, and it reminds me of her.”
“Is that healthy?” Rarity asked, wincing at the ring as if she was afraid of it.
“Doesn’t matter to me, frankly. All I know is it makes me happy,” Applejack replied nonchalantly. “Also, my coffee’s half done so you’d better hurry up with the questions.”
“Where have you been?” Twilight prompted sharply. Applejack shrugged.
“Where haven’t I been?”
“Start from the beginning,” Rarity suggested.
“That’s a story that spans longer than one cup of coffee,” Applejack said with cool amusement, and then swigged the rest of her cup. “And it looks like I’m all out. Be seeing you ladies later, I suppose.”
She made motions to get up from the booth, but Rarity and Twilight blocked her path in an instant. She raised a brow at them. “Move.”
“No,” Rarity said simply.
They made eyes at each other, of all kinds, for a long while.
“You’re really going to keep me here against my will until I tell you the story, huh?” Applejack asked, mirth lighting her tone. Her eyes were furious, however. It was an interesting little trick, suppressing emotions, and Twilight wanted to find out where Applejack had picked it up. She didn’t have it when she’d left Ponyville.
“Very well,” Applejack said crisply, like she was keeping herself from biting the words out. “Your time, not mine.”
She relaxed herself in the booth, and raised her cup to a waiter that was walking the other way. “You ladies gonna sit or not?” Applejack asked, after the waiter nodded.
Rarity and Twilight squeezed into the side of the booth that Applejack occupied, shuffling Applejack uncomfortably against the wall.
The booth was not meant to hold three on one side.
“Just tell us, and then you can go,” Twilight said. “I mean, it was really surreal for everypony. One minute you’re there, working on your farm, playing horseshoes with Dash, and then next day you just vanished.”
“Do you remember the summer before she died?” Applejack asked. “Or, I guess, the summer that she died?”
“What? The trip you two took?” Twilight asked, and Applejack smiled in an unreadable manner.
“That’s the one,” she whispered, lost in memories. “It all begins then. Isn’t it funny how life will give you the best thing you never thought you wanted, and then take it away just when you realize you can’t live without it?”
Rarity and Twilight glanced at each other, not particularly sure they wanted to hear the story anymore. Applejack spouting poetic phrases was a scary thing to behold.
Ah, yes, Baltimare. You ever been to Baltimare? Gorgeous city. Part of The Triplets: those, of course, being itself, Fillydelphia and Manehattan. Nicknamed 'The Triplets' for a vast variety of colorful reasons, but, historically—because this is a history class—it was so named because the Lady Chimesail, who was the Third Lady of Daydark, emancipated all three of them from isolation practically at the same time. But when was this? Hooves, hooves, I want to see hooves.
—the overheard teachings of a historian to a group of rowdy noble foals in Celestia’s School of Gifted Unicorns
5132 ER, Age of Illumination, mature summer, full moon
They were fated. Applejack believed this fact, after analyzing it very thoroughly during the five years that she traveled. And, because she simply knew in her heart that they were.
She believed it because, on that summer day when it all started, fate had left Pinkie and her the only ones without summer plans.
The rest of their friends had things to do—plans that took them away from Ponyville. Subsequently, she was left as Pinkie’s only entertainment.
“What do you wanna do?” Pinkie asked, staring up at Applejack’s ceiling. The two of them lay on Applejack’s bed. The windows were open, letting in still heat. Flies buzzed lazy circles, tiny black dots against the white backdrop of Applejack’s ceiling.
It was even too hot, even too miserable, for the flies.
“I dunno. What do you wanna do?” Applejack asked, because clichéd sayings had to be completed.
Normally she would be out bucking. It was summer, after all, and apples were summer fruit. However, Applebloom had lost a bet with Big Mac, and was therefore helping him out in the fields the whole summer.
It was… a pretty big bet. Probably. Applejack had no idea, she wasn’t there.
Usually she would be displeased at the fact that she couldn’t work, but that summer had been particularly hot and humid, breaking temperature records across the board, and she didn’t mind the break quite so much since it kept her brain from being cooked in her skull.
“Well, I dunno. What do you wanna do?” Pinkie replied.
Pinkie had been coming over every day to… basically do what they were doing now. The two would lay beside each other, half delirious in the stuffy heat, and say everything and anything that came to their minds.
“Why is it so hot outside?” Applejack asked, thrashing about on the bed for absolutely no reason, like a toddler throwing a tantrum about not wanting to go to bed.
“Because its summer outside, AJ,” Pinkie answered.
“We should send a letter to Celestia, asking her to turn down the heat of summer,” Applejack suggested.
Pinkie giggled. “You think we should?”
“Sure,” Applejack mumbled. “It’ll eat up five minutes.”
In that summer, things that could possibly eat up time were good things.
Neither of them moved. Five minutes ticked by and they laid in silence.
“What do you wanna do?”
“I dunno. What do you wanna do?”
Pinkie rolled over. “I’ll tell you what I wanna do.”
“Mm?”
“I wanna see the sunrise.”
“Get up at four every morning and climb up on the roof of the bakery,” Applejack resolved.
Pinkie giggled. “No, AJ, I wanna see the sunrise over the water.”
Applejack furrowed her brow. “Like, the ocean?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, get on a train to Vanhoover, or Baltimare. Manehattan, even. Manehattan’s on the water.”
“But I want you with me,” Pinkie said simply. Their eyes met.
It was a small thing, really, but Applejack was an observant mare when it mattered to her. And since Pinkie mattered to her, Applejack saw it. There were more of these… utterings, lately. These… instances. So many, in fact, that they were almost a daily occurrence, now.
It wasn’t the heat, or the lazy mood it put both of them in so that they may say such things. No, no, Applejack was done blaming the heat for this. This was something bigger than meaningless half-thoughts that were brought about by heat delirium.
Applejack wasn’t stupid. She knew where this was coming from—could identify the source.
They’d kissed in spring. They were playing spin-the-bottle, because Twilight had gotten her hoofs on Slumber 102: Even More Things You Wanted To Know About Slumber Parties, But Were Afraid To Ask and had proceeded to subject all of them to torture in slumber party form. A veteran, Applejack had come prepared with cases of hard cider, and, well, clichés went as clichés went.
That was also the night that she’d kissed Twilight two times, Rarity once, and Fluttershy once. By the nature of fate, clearly, she belonged with Twilight. It wasn’t a big deal. Simple experimentation between friends. It wasn’t a spectacle, and it didn’t progress to some sort of orgy on Twilight’s living room floor.
And yet...
And yet:
Pinkie was being unnaturally quiet, waiting for Applejack to answer. Applejack shook her head, biting her lip. It wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t like Pinkie was being blatant about it, and it didn’t cause awkwardness between them. Frankly, it was nice to be wanted. She wasn’t against the idea, she was just… ambivalent about it, for reasons that escaped her. Or perhaps, for reasons that she ignored, because they were not entirely pleasant.
“I’ve got an aunt that lives up in Baltimare. We could stay with her,” Pinkie prompted hopefully.
“Would she have us?” Applejack asked, because, why not? Spending the summer on the beach with a good friend sounded rather wonderful right now, unwarranted crushes or not.
It wasn’t a problem.
“Sure! They have a big house, and it’s only her and her wife.”
Applejack stilled, arching a brow. “I didn’t know you had a gay aunt.”
“Yeah, she’s happy,” Pinkie chirped.
“And married to a mare,” Applejack pointed out; missing the fact that Pinkie was teasing.
“That too! So, let’s go.”
Pinkie rolled off the side of the bed, too lazy to jump off like she would usually. Applejack laughed.
“We haven’t planned anything yet, Pinks.”
“Sure we have!” Pinkie argued brightly. “I have an aunt, they have a house, and the two of us have enough money to buy train tickets there. Pack your stuff, c’mon!”
Applejack shook her head, giggling because Pinkie’s enthusiasm was as infectious, and impossible to resist as the legends said. If there were legends about Pinkie, that is, and there very well should have been. She was sure, at this point, that there must have been at least one mention of Pinkie in a book somewhere. After all, the mare was quite the character.
“No, we haven’t,” Applejack said. “I need to clear it with granny, and then see if Mac’s gonna need any help on the farm. You’ve got to do the same with the Cakes.”
“It’s summer. Half the town is gone, and the other half is dying in their houses. Nopony’s gonna want to walk across town and buy desert.”
“Don’t you guys sell ice cream in the summer?”
“Machine’s broken… as well as the A/C. Why do you think I’m bumming at your house?”
“Because you like my company?”
“That depends. What does it sell?”
Confused, Applejack opened her mouth to correct Pinkie, but saw the humor in her blue eyes and closed it again. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to do that.”
“Just teasing you, AJ, now c’mon!” She bounced away, and Applejack groaned, knowing what she was going to do. Grudgingly, she rolled off the bed and followed her one and only friend for the summer.
Downstairs, the Apple family laid strewn out in the living room, groaning and panting and fanning themselves.
“Heeeey guys,” Pinkie sung, skipping down the stairs while Applejack plodded after her. A chorus of groans greeted Pinkie back, in perfect unison. “So, I’m gonna steal Applejack from you guys for the summer, I hope that’s okay.”
“Where’re you two going?” Applebloom asked, rolling her head to the side to look at them.
“We’ll be in Baltimare. I have an aunt,” Pinkie announced, as if the fact that she had an aunt was something to be prideful over. Or maybe it was because she didn’t feel like finishing her sentence, which was something the Apple family could relate to, in the wake of the horrible, omnipresent heat.
“Any objections?” Pinkie asked, receiving groans which she took as negative answers.
“Have fun,” Granny Smith wheezed.
Clearly, Applejack got no say in anything ever, anymore. As Pinkie dragged her out of the house and into the murderous heat at speeds that one should not travel by in murderous heat, all Applejack wanted to do was curl up in bed and wait for this fever dream to be over.
It certainly didn’t register when Applejack found herself standing next to an excitedly bouncing Pinkie roughly two days later at the Ponyville train station. The both of them had on saddlebags, the white ones with their cutie marks on them, the ones Rarity had made for the six of them at the very beginning of their friendships.
That was so long ago, and yet it felt like yesterday.
“How did I let myself get talked into this?” she wondered idly in a low voice as Pinkie bounced rapid, tight circles around her, chattering faster than one should chatter in murderous heat. Applejack blocked Pinkie’s buzzing out with a startling amount of ease and practice, and then felt a little guilty.
The train pulled up then, and Applejack put her guilt aside as Pinkie scampered inside, dragging Applejack along.
When they were seated in their compartment Applejack leveled Pinkie with a look, determined to take at least a bit of control back.
“I just want to make one thing clear.”
“Yeah?”
“We’re only staying there for a few days, no more. I don’t wanna intrude.”
Pinkie smiled charmingly. “Okay, AJ, whatever you say,” she said in a way that one does when they already know something to be subject to change, and yet are playing along anyway.
Applejack sighed, leaning back in her seat and wondering what it was that possessed her to sit in a train for some eight hours to travel to Baltimare where Pinkie’s gay aunt resided. Pinkie occupied her time by vibrating in her seat and singing some of her songs, many of which Applejack had heard before, and some of which she either made up on the spot, or had never shared from her repertoire.
Some part of her, admittedly, couldn’t resist spending time with Pinkie. Pinkie was a blast to hang out with, somepony who could subtly shift her interests to fit better with the interests of the one she was spending time with, but yet not lose herself in the process. She was always Pinkie Pie; infectious in her childlike joy for life, but she was also like a lake; fluid, with hidden depths and treasures.
In short, the reason that everypony was instant best friends with her, was because she herself was a skilled friend. Pinkie understood friendship almost like it was her calling in life.
The two of them were good friends, though most didn't see it. Their friendship was one of understanding; Applejack subtly making an effort to relax and be a little silly around Pinkie, and Pinkie subtly making an effort to be just a tad less loud and rambunctious around Applejack. It worked, and it was nice. They laughed together, and baked together, and generally had fun.
In less than an hour, Applejack had caved and started singing songs right along with Pinkie. There were certainly worse ways to pass the time.
Four rest stops and ten hours later they arrived in Baltimare. It was late afternoon, and the sun was descending towards the coastline.
Humid air, perfect in temperature and tasting like salt, greeted them like a welcoming salutation when they stepped off the train and onto the platform. The platform was busy with milling ponies and luggage carts, very much unlike Ponyville’s train stop.
“So, where does your aunt live? Do you know the way?” Applejack asked
“I have a map,” said Pinkie, extracting the folded piece of parchment from her saddlebag. She looked it over, flipping it around and humming thoughtfully for several minutes.
“...You don’t know how to read a map, do you?”
“Nope!”
“Well, what’s her address?” Applejack snatched the map from Pinkie’s grip and looked it over with a frown. The address was written in one corner in red crayon. Applejack looked over the identical blocks, trying to puzzle out where the house was, or even where they were.
Finally, she put it down with a sigh, beaten. “Let’s just wander around until we see the street we’re supposed to be on,” she suggested, embarrassed, for some reason, that she couldn’t read a map.
“Okay,” Pinkie chirped. “Let’s go see the ocean.”
“Sure, why not?” Applejack agreed. “Maybe somepony will point us in the right direction.”
They wandered leisurely towards the bay area, neither paying attention to each other but instead looking at the spectacle that was Baltimare. Paved roads and marble architecture, massive carved statues of important figures of ages past on nearly every street corner, like something out of a popup history book. Here were the giants of buildings, offices and apartments, rising up taller than the trees, taller than you could see without hurting your neck. From the ground it looked as though they actually scraped the sky, their windows reflecting the glory of the sunset.
There were crowds of ponies, too, but not just ponies; donkeys and zebras, allocamelus and hippalectryon, boggarts and smithereens of gryphons, all dressed to a tittle, with funny accents that resembled Rarity’s, but were different than Rarity’s, at the same time.
In time they reached the Horseshoe Bay area, pushing through the city crowd to brush against dockworkers and sailors. Applejack looked over at a low wall and glanced at Pinkie. “This way,” she directed.
Once they peaked over the wall it was a particular pleasure to watch the changes that came over Pinkie’s face. First, the eager anticipation faded to surprise, and then snowballed into amazement. And then, slowly, astonished delight supplanted that, until Pinkie’s visage glowed with it. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, wow.”
Applejack glanced at the ocean with disinterest, and then replaced her gaze onto Pinkie. “Yeah.”
The wall, although it only came up to their chests from the street level, was actually a sheer drop-off on the other side. About thirty feet below them lay the actual merchants' docks. There was a gap in the city walls of about half a mile, here, affording a wide view of the open ocean that lay beyond the ships anchored in the harbor. From their position they could see the green of the shallow water that was warm with summer. This faded into a deep, cool blue further out, until it met the sunset of the horizon. And that sunset… well, that sunset was too beautiful to describe, really, and Applejack didn’t know if she had the lingual tools, if she knew enough fancy adjectives, to paint the scene properly, so she simply let it be with the word breathtaking. That sunset, over the ocean, was breathtaking.
“You’ve never seen the ocean, Pinks?” Applejack asked, amused and charmed.
“Never. I only lived between the mountains, before, with my family. Then I came to Ponyville.” Pinkie didn’t tear her eyes away from the view. “Have you?”
“Mhm, I lived in Manehattan for a spell, with my aunt and uncle. Manehattan is suspended on the water.”
Pinkie finally teared her eyes away, but it was only to meet Applejack’s. “So you woke up to this, every morning?”
“Well, kinda,” Applejack explained. “I was mostly looking towards Ponyville, back then, not really out to the ocean.”
Pinkie looked back to the scene, oohing and ahhing over the spectacle as if she was watching the fireworks. Applejack watched her face, eyes trailing over every curve.
It wasn’t a problem, it really wasn’t, and, well, Pinkie was pretty easy on the eyes.
It was two hours, several faulty directions, and lots of stumbling around later that the pair of them came to the correct address.
Pinkie’s aunt’s place was a handsome beach house situated just two miles from the actual shore. When they approached the house, two Yorkshire Terriers dashed to meet them from inside as a mare stepped out of the house. She resembled Pinkie, startlingly so, only she was older. Perhaps she looked like what Pinkie would look in twenty years.
“Aunt Scoria!” Pinkie scrambled to the mare and jumped into a prepared embrace. She was spun around as she was held, and then nuzzled.
“Oh, Pinkie, look at you, my sweet,” Aunt Scoria crooned. “You’ve grown so much. How is your father? And your sisters?”
Yes, certainly what Pinkie would be like in twenty years.
As they chatted a mile a minute, Applejack crept up to them, if only to hear their conversation and observe them. It was a rather amusing scene, a heartwarming scene; Applejack had never even thought to wonder about Pinkie’s family. She knew that Pinkie had some sisters, and a mother and father, and of course the eminent Granny Pie, but she’d never seen their faces or knew their names. She certainly didn’t know Pinkie had an aunt.
Said aunt noticed her, and smiled heartily. “You must be the elusive Applejack,” she said, and shook Applejack’s foreleg.
“I am,” Applejack agreed.
“Pinkie has told me much about you. It’s always ‘Applejack and I did this’ and the sort.”
Applejack grinned teasingly at a blushing Pinkie. “Yeah, we’re great friends.”
Pinkie reached behind her and pulled her saddlebags away with her teeth. “AJ? Can you put these inside?” she said around the strap in her mouth.
Applejack nodded, getting the hint, and took them from Pinkie, dropping them on top of her own on her back. “Where do you want these?” she asked Scoria.
“Just drop them on the living room floor, hun. We’ve got a spare bedroom you two can use; I’ll show it to you after dinner. I’m sure you two are famished.”
Applejack nodded to both things and made her way up the three stairs, onto the porch, and into the house.
Scoria turned to Pinkie, biting her lip with a twinkle in her eyes. “She’s pretty.”
Pinkie broke into a grin, staring at the doorway Applejack had just disappeared through. “Yeah,” she sighed happily.
“I can see why you’re enamored. Polite, easy-going, pretty. Not bad at all, dear. You’ve inherited your aunt’s wonderful taste.”
“Really? I thought I inherited mom’s,” Pinkie teased, and Scoria sniffed. “C’mon, you gotta admit that dad was handsome when he was younger.”
“Indeed, your mother would have done well, if it wasn’t for the fact that your mother didn’t. Your father did all the work.”
Together they laughed over the old family legend, and when they calmed Pinkie bit her lip, blushing a bit. “I really, really like her, Aunt Scoria.”
“I remember the first time you wrote me about her,” her aunt reminisced. “You said ‘Aunt Scoria, how did you know you liked Aunt Willow?’. You were so cute.”
“I really like her,” Pinkie repeated.
“Do you love her?” Scoria asked.
“Maybe…” Pinkie chewed her lip, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Does she love you?”
Pinkie cast a longing glance across the horizon. “I dunno. As a friend, sure, but anything more… probably not.”
“Keep at it, girl. You’re a Pie, and a Pinkie at that. It’s impossible not to love you.”
The two of them turned towards the house, startled, when they heard a loud crash followed by a string of curses.
“AJ!” Pinkie called, alarmed, and headed up the stairs.
“Pinkie!” Scoria shouted after her, and Pinkie turned around, glancing nervously inside the house because there was another thud. “You’re in Baltimare; make things happen!”
Pinkie flashed her a quick smile and then ran inside to assist Applejack in whatever she was doing. Her aunt stood outside with the dogs excitedly racing circles around her legs. She chuckled a little when she saw the silhouette of two mares, one leaning against the other as they headed to the kitchen in search of first aid.
She called out to the dogs, racing them up the stairs and into the house.
It was the beginning of a long, eventful stay in Baltimare for them.
The weeks following Pinkie’s death, Applejack threw herself into her work. After every single last apple had been bucked, she shut herself off in her room and refused to move from her bed. Most of the time she slept and when she slept, she dreamt about Pinkie. Most of her dreams were dominated by images of Pinkie walking away, smiling invitingly and sometimes even calling out for her to follow. Applejack would try to follow, but found herself rooted to the spot. Pinkie would disappear from sight, and Applejack would wake up in tears.
Every night it was the same, and every night Applejack didn’t learn her lesson and tried to follow. Because she loved Pinkie, because she would follow Pinkie to the ends of the earth. But Pinkie was dead, gone to the only place Applejack couldn’t follow.
Or perhaps she could.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t, could she?
Oh, but she could.
But they would miss her… and they would be in pain, the same pain she was in right now. She couldn’t do that to them.
But it would stop the hurting and she would be reunited with her love, forever together in eternal sleep.
But they would miss her… she couldn’t, could she? She couldn’t be so selfish.
These are the things Applejack contemplated during the weeks that followed Pinkie’s death, when she wasn’t sleeping. One could see why she slept often.
When she slept, she dreamt of Pinkie: gradually, the dreams shifted into nightmares of Pinkie taunting her and asking her why Applejack hadn’t gotten there in time, why Applejack hadn’t saved her, why she had to die at such a young age. Applejack would sob out answers, but it was like Pinkie couldn’t hear her, and kept asking ‘why’ like a mournful, wailing spirit from a book.
Then the dreams would shift again, and this time Applejack would be stuck in the greatest nightmare of all, the one where Pinkie sneered at her and blamed her for her death, and all Applejack could do was curl up in a ball and try to plug her ears, but hearing the voice exist inside her head. After she would wake up, it would still be there.
What a cruel trick of nature, that her blaming conscience had taken on Pinkie’s voice, as if to torture her more.
Her family left her alone for a while, but eventually they started knocking and pestering, in the gentle, annoying way loved ones did when they were worried, not understanding that all Applejack wanted to do was sleep forever.
But she couldn’t do that to them.
One day, “Sis?” Macintosh called. “We’ve got a letter from Pinkie’s parents. The funeral is in three days.”
He waited and heard the soft sobs quiet. This usually signified Applejack had exhausted herself to sleep. Just as he was about to head back down the stairs, the familiar creak of Applejack’s door opening stopped him. Applejack’s eyes were red, and fresh tears streamed silently down her face.
“Mac…” her voice shook so hard it felt like she would fall apart at any moment. And just like always he was her rock. He cradled her in his embrace. It had been a long time since they’d embraced like that.
“It’s okay, ‘Jack,” he whispered lies, because he had to.
“No. It’s not, Mac,” she breathed, and then thrashed in his hold, hitting him in the delirium of sorrow. “It’s not, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not.”
“AJ…”
“I loved her,” Applejack bellowed, and her whole body bucked with her sobs. She hadn’t even cried this hard when their parents died.
“I know, sis,” he whispered.
She pulled away. “I really loved her, Mac, is it a sin? Is that why she was taken from me?”
“No,” he reassured, pulling her back because he couldn’t look at her broken.
“But what if it was?” she sobbed.
“Happiness is never a sin, love is never a sin.”
“But… but…”
“Shhh,” he cooed, and together they sunk to the floor to cry.
The entire town attended the funeral, and then some. Celestia was there, as were some other ponies that had known Pinkie. There was not a single dry eye on the day that they buried laughter and happiness embodied, and there was not a single heart that was unbroken.
Applejack wasn’t there, she didn’t go, and her presence was a hollow, marked absence that bellowed.
“Where is she?” Rainbow whispered furiously as Celestia spoke, something about grave days and sunny beginnings.
Twilight mouthed, “I don’t know.”
It was ten at night when a figure walked through the cemetery. Applejack had a bouquet of yellow daisies, Pinkie’s favorite. She knelt in front of the grave and put them down next to the others.
“Hey Pinks,” she whispered and then broke down in sobs. After a while a wing draped over her and blindly Applejack threw herself at Rainbow Dash. Together, they wept.
The next morning Dash came over and they played horseshoes and talked about Pinkie.
“I was jealous of you, you know that?” Dash asked during some time in the conversation. She threw a shoe, not even caring where it hit, and not even looking. Cats mewed somewhere.
“Yeah, I know, Dash,” Applejack said, and maybe it was a stupid thing to be sorry for that, after all was said and done. “You haven’t forgotten who it was that listened to you swoon about her for weeks and weeks, have you?”
“Were you jealous, back then?”
“No. She and I hadn’t…” oh, there was no describing what it was Pinkie and her had ‘done’ over the summer. ‘Fallen in love’ seemed too timid and generalized. “We just hadn’t.”
A funny memory. She laughed, and then wanted to cry, because so much had changed, but the memory was only made about three months ago.
“The first time she and I had sex.” Applejack winced at the word, remembering another memory. Oh, there were so many. “A-after, the morning after, I freaked out. And I kept thinking, ‘why couldn’t it have been Rainbow? Dash adored Pinkie’”
“I did,” Rainbow said, like a confession of a misdeed, tears streamed down her face. “Oh, AJ, she was…” her voice disappeared then, leaving her to mouth “the love of my life” in silence.
Applejack nodded gravely. “Mine, too.”
They fell into each others’ embrace and wailed.
And so the days passed.
Summer faded, and slowly so did fall. Applejack’s nightmares subsided, and so did all the emotion from her heart. She visited the grave every day, even when the snow started to fall and blanket everything. Sometimes Dash would meet her there, sometimes Dash wouldn’t show up.
One night in January she lay staring at the ceiling blankly.
“What do you wanna do?”
“I’ll tell you what I wanna do.” Pinkie had said. “I wanna see the sunrise over the water.”
Applejack sat up and looked at the clock. Without thinking too much, she got up and grabbed her saddlebags, filling it with stuff that she didn’t look to identify.
In the freezing weather, she made her way to the train station, bought a ticket from the self-service machine, and then boarded a train.
Sitting there, it suddenly dawned on her that if the two of them hadn’t taken that trip, then maybe Pinkie wouldn’t have died. They’d never made love in that clearing, and Applejack wouldn’t have forgotten her stupid hat, and Pinkie would have gone to get it and…
Well, Applejack didn’t really know how it was that it happened, but it wouldn’t have, if they hadn’t gone on that trip and fallen in love.
If only. A million times if only.
“Pinks, Pinkie… I can’t do this without you,” she whispered. “I can’t live without you. Why would you ask that of me?”
She cried until she passed out. She slept until the conductor’s voice woke her up, and then she got off in Baltimare. The sun was barely rising, and Baltimare was same old Baltimare.
“It’s the most gorgeous thing, Pinkie,” she whispered. “It’s just like I remember it.”
She stood at that same wall, but looking the other way now, as the sun rose.
When it had risen, she wandered down into the merchants’ dock, and then over to the deserted beach area. It was January and it was freezing, the wind was cold, and kicked up sand which peppered Applejack and stung her pleasantly. She liked the pain.
“I’m coming, Pinks,” she whispered, and started walking towards to water.
It would be fitting, if she drowned herself. Fairly painless, too, since she knew the January water would put her in shock first. And then she could be with Pinkie. She’d contemplated suicide before but never had the energy. Now, however, with the sun at her back, illuminating everything and drawing shadows on the white sand, it never seemed like a better idea.
Maybe it was fitting, to end it where it had begun.
She walked towards the water and closed her eyes.
Just as the first wave hit her leg, she heard barking behind her.
“Applejack?”
She turned around. Scoria stood there, bundled in warm clothes. Her two Yorkies were similarly bundled and on leashes.
Her resemblance to Pinkie broke all the resolve in Applejack and she dropped to the sand, sobbing. Distantly there was a bark and then Scoria was cradling her close.
“I miss her. I miss her,” Applejack howled.
Scoria held her as if she was the only thing that was keeping her from falling apart completely. And she was.
While Pinkie played with the dogs outside, Applejack stayed inside and looked around the house. It was decorated tastefully but lightly, mostly with copies of modern art paintings and sculptures. There was a fireplace and sitting on the mantle were several pictures. There was one with Scoria and another mare, assumedly the other aunt, who still remained nameless.
Scoria walked over and joined her. “That’s Willow,” she informed Applejack, seeing where the mare was staring.
“Oh,” Applejack said, passing her eyes over a picture of the two mares in white dresses. It was a wedding picture. “How long have you two been married?”
Scoria hummed. “Three years. We moved out here about five years ago.”
“From where?”
“All over the place. We were traveling for a long while, and then when we got married we settled down, as the saying goes.”
Applejack turned her attention to the other pictures, one being an action shot of an extremely young Pinkie and a younger Scoria dancing. “What’s this?”
“Dance lessons.”
“You taught her?”
Scoria laughed. “For a year or two—she quickly grew much more talented than me. Won every competition she was in.”
“I never knew,” Applejack muttered, intrigued to learn such a seemingly small part of Pinkie’s foalhood, yet one she never knew. She suddenly realized that there was a lot that she didn’t know, about Pinkie’s past. Why was that? Had it just never come up in conversation? It certainly wasn’t because of a lack of interest.
“AJ!” The door slammed shut behind Pinkie as she burst inside the house. Both Applejack and Scoria jumped. “I totally forgot!”
She grabbed Applejack and dragged her up the stairs to their bedroom, and then started furiously shuffling through her saddlebags after the obligatory burst of confetti and balloons sprung from their depths. It didn’t even freak Applejack out, anymore. That was something to be proud of, she thought with a fond smile as she watched Pinkie burry her entire upper body and head into a space that they shouldn’t have fit into.
“Found it!” Pinkie warbled, extracting herself from the apparently bottomless saddlebags. She presented her find to Applejack. “I made it for you.”
Applejack stared at the yellow, lumpy and deformed… thing… that Pinkie shoved into her face. It was probably a duck. Maybe. Or at least an impressionist’s take on it, since it had absolutely no resemblance to the animal. The bill was uneven and the head and body were lumpy, probably the result of too much stuffing in some areas and not enough in others. She could see the stitches that held the eyes in place.
“It’s gorgeous,” Applejack deadpanned. “I’ll call it Picasso.”
“You’re mean!” Pinkie pouted teasingly. “I worked hard on it, and, well, mouthstitching has never been my strong suit. I tried to get Rarity to teach me, but she stopped after some fires started at her place.”
Applejack blinked and tilted her head. It was a funny thing, Pinkie having a skill that she wasn’t prodigiously talented in. She took the duck from Pinkie.
Huh.
“What’s the occasion?”
“No reason. Just felt like making something for a friend,” Pinkie chirped.
Applejack laughed, because the thing was hideous and Pinkie was adorable. “I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life,” she said with a flourish.
“You’re mean. Mean, mean, mean!” Pinkie cried, hitting her over the head with every exclamation with a pillow from the bed. Applejack ducked, protecting her head, and grabbed the other pillow.
Together they shrieked and laughed as they fought, and then, when they’d exhausted themselves, they collapsed on the bed with fading chuckles and stared up at the ceiling together.
“I’m really glad you decided to come along, AJ,” Pinkie said, and then nuzzled into Applejack’s side. She was snoring within seconds.
Applejack smiled up at the ceiling, feeling pleasant tingles spread all over her body, but restraining herself from identifying what caused them, too scared to take that step yet. She fell asleep with her face nuzzled into Pinkie’s mane.
It was a slam of the downstairs door and a loud call that woke them up several hours later. Pinkie jumped out of the bed immediately, apparently wide awake in seconds. It was more than a little intimidating.
“Aunt Willow’s here!” she enthused, and bolted downstairs. Applejack smacked her lips; feeling dehydrated from sleeping in the middle of the day in the middle of summer, and got up also. She walked down the stairs much slower, senses still adjusting.
“There she is,” Pinkie announced, and then pushed Applejack, head to butt, to her other aunt. “Aunt Willow, Applejack. Applejack, Aunt Willow.”
“Nice to meet you,” Applejack yawned, and then blushed. “Pardon. Just got up.”
Willow smiled tightly. “It’s alright.”
Applejack got the distinct impression that she was not liked, for some reason. They shook awkwardly, and then Willow turned back to Pinkie. “When did you two get in?”
“Last night,” said Pinkie.
“Mm, sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Well, if either of you want to help me in the kitchen, I’d love for somepony to make the pasta,” Scoria announced, feeling the conversation run its course.
Pinkie’s hoof shot up. “AJ and I will do it!”
Without waiting for Applejack’s consent in said making of pasta, she grabbed her and hauled her into the kitchen. Applejack suddenly realized that she didn’t, in fact, have any say in anything anymore, and that she was probably going to be doing a lot of things, regardless of if she wanted to or not, simply because Pinkie gave her no choice.
It wasn’t a problem.
Pinkie wouldn’t steer her wrong.
Willow’s eyes followed the two out of the room, but she didn’t speak until they were out of earshot.
“I don’t like her,” she said immediately.
“You say that about everypony Pinkie’s ever brought to meet us.”
“Yep, and none have come to make a second visit, so I was right.”
“You’re the most overprotective aunt I’ve ever met,” Scoria said fondly, nuzzling her.
“One of us has to be.”
The two of them made their way to the kitchen, and observed as Pinkie and Applejack worked together. They were a natural team in the kitchen, respectful of each others’ talents and knowledge, never ordering or even suggesting, but instead trustful enough to request things of each other.
“This is super weird,” Pinkie hummed to Applejack as they worked side-by-side, brushing against each other as they busied the counter.
“What is?” Applejack asked, mindful of the fact that they were being watched.
“Every one of our friends that I’ve ever baked or cooked with—”
Applejack laughed. “I know, right? You have to steer them like cattle.”
Together they chuckled at their friends’ expenses, and went back to work. They ended up finishing the entire meal together, too caught up in the mutual hobby.
Their companionship was lost during dinner, however, and Applejack sat in awkwardness, listening to Pinkie talk to both of her aunts about things that she didn’t know about, memories and inside jokes she was not a part of. It was alright, though. Applejack understood that Pinkie hadn’t seen her aunts in a while, and tried to not look too bored.
It suddenly hit her that Pinkie was literally her one and only friend for the summer and in moments like this she couldn’t turn to one of her other five friends to occupy herself until Pinkie paid attention to her again. Feeling stupid and needy, she stuffed herself with spaghetti, marveling at how her and Pinkie’s respective family recipes came together to create a taste that was both familiar, but unique. It was delicious.
“So, Applejack, tell me about yourself,” Scoria finally asked, and Applejack winced, feeling suddenly put on the spot.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” she said. “I was born, raised, and live, in Ponyville. I farm apples.”
“A farmer?” Willow asked, in a way that Applejack couldn’t read.
“Um, yes,” she said, and then frowned internally when she felt a shot of… was that embarrassment?
It should have been a shot of pride. She wasn’t ashamed of being a farmer, and certainly not ashamed of being an Apple.
“Applejack’s farm produces all kinds of neat stuff, right, AJ?” Pinkie prompted, and Applejack looked at her. Encouragement and genuine excitement shone in her eyes, as if this was the first time she’d heard about all the things that the Apple farm did, and was eager to learn all about it. Grinning and not taking her eyes off Pinkie, Applejack slowly began to talk, and in minutes the unease of being sorta interrogated by Pinkie’s aunts washed away from her.
She talked at great length about cider season and zap apple season: what went into them, all the products they made, what they sold for, and even some funny memories from the the two respective busiest times during her family’s farm. She talked until the table was cleared off, and then finally she finished with a sigh and a “well, that's just about everything”.
Pinkie applauded and then dragged her outside to do… something. Applejack didn’t really hear because she was too busy focusing on the markedly impressed expressions on Scoria’s and Willow’s faces.
“You know your niece is about as gay as you, right?” Willow said later, while the two of them watched from the kitchen window as Applejack and Pinkie frolicked with the dogs and sprayed each other with the hose.
“Of course. I didn’t tell you? I’ve known since she came to me and asked to learn all the leading parts in dances so that she could dance ‘with all the pretty fillies’.”
“Then you know that she’s head over tail for that friend of hers.”
“I’ve known it for a while. She wrote me a letter, once, and it just snowballed from there.”
Willow pecked her cheek. “Just checking.”
“Pinks, it’s freezing out here,” Applejack moaned. It was early morning, just after sunrise, and they stood on the beach. Pinkie had hauled Applejack out of bed before sunrise, insisting that it was unacceptable that the two of them had been in Baltimare for three days already and had not visited the beach once, and that she sought to rectify this fact.
“Can we go inside and wait until it’s warmer? And until the sand isn’t trying to peel all the skin off our bones?”
“I like it!” Pinkie shouted over the strong wind. Applejack sat, and folded her forelegs over her chest in both a show of displeasure, and to keep herself warm. Her mane whipped in the wind, untamed by the usual ribbons, for some reason. Why hadn’t she put them in, again?
She watched as Pinkie walked over to the water and let the waves splash against her hooves. Sighing, Applejack got up to join her, but jumped back when the water hit her.
“It’s freezing!” she complained, eyeing the waves distrustfully. Pinkie walked over and hugged her, nuzzling gently.
“Better?” she teased, and Applejack swallowed, unsure if she should inspect the contact as being deeper than friendship or not. She nodded silently, gingerly removing herself from analyzing the sensations of tingles spreading through her.
She coughed and peeled herself away from Pinkie. “I’m heading back to the house.”
Pinkie pouted. “But…”
“We’ll come back,” Applejack promised. “Just, when there’s other ponies here and it’s not cold, okay?”
Get a hold of yourself, she told herself, not liking the way her heart beat loud enough to be heard in her ears.
Any pony who can find it in her to feel deep, painful, powerful sorrow should be respected. A pony who is capable of great sorrow is also capable of fantastic good.
—Luna, the Princess of the Moon
When they got inside, Applejack collapsed on Scoria’s couch from exhaustion. Scoria went into the upstairs bedroom to get a blanket, and when she came back down Willow was there, watching the young mare with concern.
“How is she?”
“Tired, mostly,” Scoria answered, covering Applejack with the blanket. She bit her lip, seeing the dark circles under Applejack’s eyes, the troubled crease of her brow, even in sleep. “I can’t imagine what she must be going through.”
“How are you?”
Scoria gathered her breath. “...Healing. Much better than this one, anyway. It was too… sudden.” She ran a hoof over Applejack’s forehead, brushing away the strands of blond mane, and then she stood straighter and turned to her wife. She walked past her and towards the mantle of the fireplace.
“She was my favorite niece, you know?” she whispered at the picture of her and Pinkie. “I don’t like to play favorites, but you kind of didn’t have a choice with her. She’s… was… everypony’s favorite. The entire family.”
“She had… three… other sisters?”
“Yeah,” Scoria said with a sigh and a smirk. “She was their favorite, too.”
“What do we do with Applejack?” Willow asked.
“She stays here as long as she needs to.”
“You know we can’t do that. She needs to be with her parents right now.”
“Its been months since the funeral. She’s had plenty of time with them,” Scoria said dismissively, turning from the mantle. Willow glared at her.
“They’re her parents Scoria. This isn’t a game,” she snapped.
“Look, the poor mare showed up here out of nowhere and cries for an hour on the beach with me. She’s just lost her fiancee, Willow. She obviously didn’t tell anypony where she was going for a reason.”
“She ran away from home, and I’m not letting her parents go without knowing where she is!” Willow shouted.
“She’s a grown mare, she didn’t run away from home,” Scoria said incredulously. “She has all the right to leave when she wants.”
“She still has a family that is worried about her right now! What if this was Pinkie? Wouldn’t you want to know if she was at the house of some strangers she’d met for one week in the summer?”
“I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore, mm?” Scoria whispered, her eyes growing blank and wet. She inhaled shakily. “I need you to leave,” she said slowly, looking away.
“Are you kicking me out?” Willow demanded.
“No. I just need you to leave so that I don’t have to say those words. Just… come back tomorrow.” Scoria closed her eyes when their roaming led to Pinkie’s bright face in the picture.
“Fine.”
Willow brushed past her, and on the way out she glanced once more at the slumbering mare on the couch, feeling a mixture of hate and pity for her.
“My parents are dead,” Applejack muttered as soon as the door slammed. Her gaze was stationary on the wall. “Have been, for more than ten years now.”
Scoria jumped and then looked at Applejack. “I’m… sorry to hear that,” she said, sincere.
Applejack didn’t reply. She looked even worse than before, but in a different way. All emotion seemed to have drained from her, leaving behind only a blank stare and a line for a mouth.
“How are you feeling?” Scoria asked. Applejack sighed and met the mare’s eyes briefly, only enough to let her know that it was a stupid question.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
Applejack shook her head.
“Do you want me to sit with you?”
She looked at the ceiling and nodded slightly.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up from this nightmare, but it never ends,” Applejack whispered to the ceiling as Scoria sat down. Green eyes rolled to the picture on the mantle, and a few tears leaked out. They dried up quickly and no more came, victim of exhaustion.
“I really, really loved her. She… I can’t explain it. I don’t even know how she got me to fall in love with her, but she did.”
“Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her,” Scoria whispered.
“I wanted all of that.” Applejack jerked her head towards the wedding picture. “I don’t think I ever told her, but… the first time I saw that picture… I never had a chance. It wasn’t hard to imagine, you look so much alike.” She snorted, or maybe it was a hard sob. “I let myself think it for half a second, and it was over. So I fought her twice as hard the next time.” Her chest heaved with a silent sob. “I feel like I killed her.”
“Oh, Applejack…” Scoria sighed.
“I keep thinking, ‘what if we didn’t come here?’ ‘what if she hadn’t proposed, or I hadn’t accepted?’ She dove in after the ring. It was so stupid. Why didn’t I stay with her? Why did I let her get drunk?”
“Stop that,” Scoria snapped, not liking how wild Applejack’s wet eyes looked. As if she was on the edge of the ocean like before. “You can’t blame yourself for this. Her death was not your fault.”
Applejack laughed shrilly. “You don’t think I tell myself that just to get to sleep?” she hissed. “But every second I think about it and what I could have done and it doesn’t go away. I see her laughing and smiling and asking me to see the sunrise and it doesn’t go away.”
Scoria cradled her head in startlement when Applejack fell into her embrace. As she held her she rocked her back and forth, wishing to everything she could think of for those thoughts to go away.
Pinkie’s death broke Applejack’s heart, but it would be all the “what ifs” that would shatter her.
Two hours resonated with sobs and reassurances later Scoria sent Applejack upstairs. It was ten in the morning.
Applejack drifted up the stairs, unaware in a haze of pure exhaustion, but she paused before the door and memories slammed back into her.
She sighed, chuckled, bit her lip, wiped the tears from her eyes, and turned the knob.
The room hadn’t been touched. Applejack inhaled through her teeth as though she was in pain. It was tragically perfect and it would kill her.
There was still a mussed spot in the sheets where Pinkie had sat on the bed the last time they were in the room.
Applejack swallowed and walked to the bed slowly. She was afraid to get near it, afraid what it would do to her.
But the bed didn’t bite. It was a bed.
She stared at the bed for a long time, and it stared back at her. She sat carefully beside Pinkie’s imprint, but the dip of the mattress shifted the sheets and Pinkie’s ghost disappeared from the room. Applejack found her breath again as the memory let go of its painful hold on her heart, and slowly she laid down.
And Pinkie’s scent hit her like a train.
A whimper escaped her lips involuntarily and she closed her eyes. She breathed in again and shivered, biting her lip as memories flowed through her.
Their first night together, the day after, and, subsequently, every time after that. Every sensation and touch and kiss and hmm…
She frowned and opened her eyes.
Pinkie was dead.
It was the first time she’d thought that in this way.
What did it mean, exactly? Of course, Applejack wanted nopony else and she knew she wouldn’t for the rest of her life, so that meant…
Hm.
She looked around the room, as if making sure she was alone, and then she gathered her breath and held it.
She reached down and groaned.
Yes. Yes, it did mean.
It had been months, she realized with a stir, and then chuckled at the thought. It was a funny thing to suddenly realize that she didn’t have a sex life anymore.
She missed it already. She missed walking into her room, seeing her bed, and feeling images of Pinkie moaning beneath her pound over her. She missed walking through the kitchen, seeing the island, and feeling images of Pinkie laying her down flood over her.
She missed christening places and things.
She missed being wanted, and wanting in return. She missed being insatiable.
She growled out a moan, head dropping to the pillow to stare up at the ceiling through specs of color popping into fireworks behind her eyelids. She scrunched her eyelids tight to make them go away.
And then something hot and wet rolled down her cheek.
Was it even right to do this? How dare her body want this when the sole provider of its pleasure was gone?
“You’re being silly, AJ.” Pinkie giggled into her ear and Applejack mewled in surprise, back leg kicking out when she pressed down hard in her surprise. “Just relaaaax.”
She breathed the word, hot and moist on Applejack’s ear, and then she traced her hoof down to Applejack’s chest lovingly, agonizingly, to stroke little absent-minded circles in the short orange fur.
Applejack whimpered like a helpless foal. “You’re not real,” she half-sobbed.
“Shh,” Pinkie whispered like a summer breeze on the ocean, like the subtle hiss of fire or chemicals reacting together. “I can feel your heart. It’s racing.”
Not real.
She nibbled on Applejack’s ear and Applejack flicked it as tingles spread. “Do you remember our first night, Applejack?” A breathy giggle puffed again on the inside of Applejack’s ear.
“Ugh.” Applejack groaned, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Luna, Pinkie.”
“Are you saying some other mare’s name while we’re in bed together?” Pinkie teased, voice perfectly melting to teasingly disapproving like chocolate on a hot summer’s day.
Applejack blinked and then a laugh punched out of her chest.
She’d not laughed in…
Her roaring laughs came and came, in waves of unabated relief and shock, until she was gasping for breath and Pinkie was giggling along with her. And then Pinkie nuzzled her and Applejack sighed the rest of her giggles away into contentment.
“I love you, Applejack. You know that, right?” Pinkie asked simply, and Applejack nodded silently, closing her eyes as the words washed over her in Pinkie’s voice for the first time in forever.
“I love you, too.”
Not real.
Oh, hush, you.
Applejack rolled her eyes, and Pinkie sighed and settled her decidedly more heated eyes and flirty smile on her.
“And now that the romance is out of the way,” she growled, “Were we not in the middle of something?”
Yes, yes they were. Her hoof traveled back down and she groaned.
“You’re soaked,” Pinkie commented, eyes glinting appreciatively and Applejack slammed her eyelids shut as her face flushed. Pinkie was so… unabashedly straightforward in bed.
She swallowed and forced herself to continue.
“You close?” Pinkie asked her breathily after a bit, and again Applejack flushed and stumbled.
All things considered, she was. Or perhaps it was because of the things considered. She was out of practice, she had to admit, but it had been a long time.
She nodded wordlessly and squirmed at Pinkie’s small moan in response to the admittance.
“That’s so hot,” she groaned breathlessly. “You’re so hot, Applejack. I need you to come for me.”
Her breath caught, released, and caught again at the words and she lost her rhythm to a sharp press instead, and came with an inhale that hissed through her clenched teeth. Her hips rolled smoothly as she came off the bed and threw her head back to pant and moan Pinkie’s name at the ceiling, and then they bucked jerkingly with aftershocks as she stroked herself slowly on the slow climb down from her peak.
Finally, she settled with a happy grin and a lightness to her brow, a hazy calmness to her dark thoughts.
“Mm, that was glorious, Pinks,” she hummed and bit her lip.
There was no response, and when Applejack opened her smoky eyes to look to her side she found nothing but sheets. Her throat tightened with tears and she swallowed once, twice, three times all the while contemplatively staring at the sheets where Pinkie’s ghost once was.
When the tears clouded her vision into a blur of shadows and colors she closed her eyes and slammed her face into her pillow, if only to muffle her wails.
And Pinkie’s scent only made her sob that much harder.
