Applebloom is incapable of speaking anything except French!
After the 'Cutie Pox' incident, Applebloom's talent problems - including the French-speaking fleur-de-lys Cutie Mark - seemed to be solved, happy as ever to be blank. That is, until that fateful flower re-emerges on her flank one night, and the Apple filly slowly dissolves from a laid-back country girl into a flat-out, refined Frenchie, going as far as to be incapable of speaking English, and only the language of love. Join us in her wacky tale of discovering the pros and cons of French culture.
Hi all, it's ping111 again, here with a quick side-story to A Little Twist - Mareci mon Ami. If we replace "Mareci" with "Merci", we get "Thank you, my friend" in French. This story was inspired by a second run-through of "The Cutie Pox" and my own ability to speak the 'language of love'. I also love just to look at funny fanart people have made on DeviantArt, and the story cover struck me. I give full credit to whoever made that dashing image. Luckily, this story was not jotted in Hebrew, but in fact, mostly in French. Another difference in the notes is that I actually wrote the first couple paragraphs (Waking up and the dream sequence) instead of just bullet points, with plenty of eraser marks where I accidentally continued to write in French. As you can tell, this story will make tons more sense if you have a slight knowledge of French and its culture (or a handy Google Translate tab open). Now kick back, relax, grab a croissant and beret, and enjoy the sweet song of my words weaved at the looms of the mind. Enjoy!
The distant sun's glare rose slowly over the looming horizon like fingers, casting long, crimson shadows on the endless rows of sturdy trees. The morning dew twinkled as it dripped off the sweet, juicy apples hanging from the branches. It was a brand new day in Ponyville, and Apple Bloom - well, wasn't quite brand new herself. Moaning lightly at the sunbeam who had targeted her tender eyes like a cruel sniper, she rolled over. Plushy down pillows found themselves further compressed, and warm blankets wrapped tighter than ever around her body. Her lips were turned up in a sleepy grin as she observed the machinations of her subconsicous.
"Wow, Apple Bloom," the orange pegasus cried in shock as she gazed upon the farmer pony's pastel flank. "You finally got your Cutie Mark!"
"What exactly is it?" Sweetie Belle questioned directly, and without flourish - so unladylike.
"Golly, thanks guys!" Apple Bloom beamed. "Ah think it's a flower or sumthin'. Ah reckon ah saw it during the whole Cutie Pox fiasco. It does seem awful familiar."
The Cutie Mark Crusaders laughed in unison before clumping together in a hug. However, it was during this warm show of affection that something strange happened. Scootaloo, looking crestfallen, murmured something the Apple pony couldn't comprehend, as if it were a secret language. Rarity's younger sister frowned, but nodded in agreement and replied in an equally strange fashion. It was so close to English, yet is just wasn't that. As the world faded to a blank white, one of the fillies remarked something about a "floor duh lists", and tried as Apple Bloom might to enquire just what she meant, her mouth made no sound. Yet, she heard accented chants of her name. A southern drawl, if one might be so bold. "Apple Bloom... Apple Bloom..." They were getting louder now. "APPLE BLOOM!"
That final shout snapped Apple Bloom out of her dormant trance.
"Whuddayouwant?" she slurred. "It's so... early!"
"No it ain't! Look at the sun! We have work to do! Anyway, come downstairs, it's breakfast time!" Applejack barked. She didn't believe in oversleeping in such nice weather, being an Apple at heart. Further than that, Cider Season Anyways, the sleepy filly sure was hungry.
"Alright, give me une minute, Ah'll be right with you. Is it really time for petit déjeuner already?"
Apple Bloom eloquently said. She didn't know why, but she felt pretty darn fancy today. She did a couple of yawning stretches and scratched vigorously all over her tiny body. When she was thoroughly satisfied, she strutted over to the bathroom. A vivid pink bow sat before her, but for some reason the filly ignored it. Practicing a skill she had learned from the girls in shcool, she wrapped her soft mane around her hooves and tied it into a long, winding braid. It just seemed more elegant, more chic. On the linoleum floor she spotted a maroon cape adorned with a midnight sky-blue, badly-sewn patch containing a lemon-yellow pony rampant insignia. Chuckling, she subconsciously folded it up neatly, but her hooves continued to wander without command, as they twisted and folded and tucked the flowing fabric into a half-flanked beret, which was carefully adjusted onto the top of the filly's head as to be just so. After splashing her face with a couple rounds of cool water from the sink, she finally glared up at the mirror to look at her visage. What else she saw shocked her.
Was it an afterimage from yesterday's events? A morsel of dreams floating in her wide, golden eyes? Or did she finally have her Cutie Mark? She shook her head violently and rubbed her eyelids feverishly in anticipation. Once they finally opened, she was elated, excited, and just plain giddy. "Mon Dieu! Applejack, Ah finally got mah Cutie Mark! Ah don't believe it!" "Just a sec! Lemme get the camera!" She was so proud that her little sis has finally discovered her true talent! Applejack galloped upstairs, Granny Smith and Big Macintosh in tow, their eyes widening in pure pride when Apple Bloom's flank came into view. They cheered and whooped as the camera flashed like sparks off a fire in rapid succession, which made the pony in question very, very dazed. It felt as if the world were gazing upon her, smiling and cheering her on, chanting her name, just like in her long since forgotten dream.
"Sweet Celestia, Ah'm so proud, kiddo," Granny Smith croaked in her version of a shout as the enormous lump in her throat warbled her voice to a mere whimper. "Ain't you just downright proud, Big Mac?" A thundering "Eeeyup" from the stallion of few words answered the question with eye-opening gusto. "All Ah gotta ask ya is this: What in tarnation is it?"
"Well, Ah ain't quite sure, Ah'm guessin' it's a fleur of some sort," Apple Bloom explained, beaming, but her eyes apprehensive, "but Ah recall it somewhere from yesterday's crazy goings-down. It's still très bon in mah book!" Tears continued well up in the eyes of all, but old Granny Smith's emotional dam couldn't bear the load any longer, and she sobbed in pure ecstasy, burying her wrinkly face into Big Mac's muscular side. After some time of pure silence and smiles, the orange mare finally spoke up. "Just one more thing," she said kindly. "Would ya be so kind as to kick the Frenchie mumbo-jumbo? Ah can't comprehend a word o' that language." All present laughed wholeheartedly, except for the youngest in the group. "Ah don't recall speakin' no fancy-talk today." Gasps echoed around the room, so powerful they seemed to suck in all the air in the room into powerful Earth pony lungs. It's as if time stood still, and the room suddenly got a lot colder. The entire jovial vibe was dropped as horror dripped into its place.
"Whaddya mean, you haven't been talkin' fancy?" the worried apple farmer interrogated. "Was the first thing ya said to me, to give ya 'oon minoot'. Then, you said your Mark was a 'tray bomb' or summat like that! What's goin' on in yer noggin?" "Ah didn't say anythin' like that!" Apple Bloom snapped. "Je vous a dit-" "Right there!" Applejack screamed! "That's French you're talkin'! And you mean to tell me you aren't?" The now-multilingual pony said: "Je veux parler Anglais! Pourquoi je ne peux pas?" Salty tears ran down Apple Bloom's face, beckoning for her big sister to help her. "Alright. What's your name in English?" she pressed. "Ap... Ah.. Uh.." Tension warped the filly's face as she attempted to recall something she had used all her life. She was happy enough to comprehend the question, but the answer just wouldn't come. It was just out of reach... Like the best apple off a tree, always a bit too high for her... Believing she had finally found her name in a divine revelation, she blurted without second thought: "FLEUR-DE-POMME!" Teensy yellow hooves slowly found their way as they trembled onto their owner's mouth. She wanted to stomp her feet and buck everything in the world and damn Celestia for cursing her to lose touch with her own life. But instead, all that came out, in nothing more than a whimper: "Merde."
Hey there! This story's popularity's taken a dip, so I thought now would be a great time for a story update. I've yet to write it (this being a foreword), so I hope this can reach over 1,500 words, and what I'm hoping to do is use more metaphors and other literary devices (as one commenter told me, "Don't tell it, show it!" And so I got a major muse for this particular chapter from where else than YouTube! Despite it being a totally non-pony video, it still gave me a great idea. So slip on your high heels, strap into a frilly dress, gird your dusters, and... Enjoy the show! ~ping111
As the universe rumbled into focus, a relieved sigh of many dry throats reverberated throughout the sterile white room. A dozen of brightly-coloured eyes implored into Apple Bloom's, cheering her on as she drifted back to consciousness, as if it were a major accomplishment. She was just sleeping, wasn't she? No, her head felt far too heavy for just being under for a couple hours... had she fainted? All of the Elements of Harmony were gazing on her as if they'd never seen her before, but their shining grins complimented their eyes and translated for them as 'It's good to see you're awake'. That is, all except one. Applejack was off some distance, bawling in relief in one of the comfy hospital chairs hooves shrouding her tear-stained face, though her wails were apparently now reduced to sniffles. Apple Bloom's mind shifted into focus as she tentatively cranked her frail body into an upright position. Before she could open her mouth to speak, in any language, a chestnut-maned stallion, donning a pearl-white button coat, interrupted her, spawning out of seemingly nowhere, as if he was the child of the countless apparatuses in the ER.
"Ah, Miss Bloom, it's good to see you awake," he said nonchalantly, seemingly not paying her an ounce of attention. "You've been a frequent visitor here as of late." As the medic waited for a response to his open statement, the realization that likely could not speak to him dripped into his mind, slowly filling the curves of his brain, until his conscious took note of it. "Oh, that's right. You were admitted here for a sudden loss of consciousness after a strange chain of events," his amber eyes seemingly bored holes into the hospitalized filly's very soul, intimidating her to no end with his sheer gaze. "Tell me, do you remember anything from yesterday? If you need, you can write it or act it." Apple Bloom made no attempt to speak, but instead gestured to an invisible cup, and her years of charades experience finally paid off as her request for a cool glass of water was swiftly granted. She grasped the cup and raised it, shaking, to her parched lips and sipped, closing her eyes in pleasure as the waves of refreshment flowed into every nook and cranny of her mouth, and finally trickling down her throat. After the cup was taken away by one of the kind nurses, the sun-yellow patient finally forced an "ahem" out of her throat. All eyes were on her yet again, as they were when the Cutie Mark Crusaders had choreographed a dramatic performance of an original melody. It hadn't gone too well, but the feeling of pure attention shone over the ponies like sweet, golden honey. Her lips forced themselves apart, and let out their first sounds for quite some time. However, nopony could've ever expected them.
"Why yes, docteur, I zink I may recall somezing." From Apple Bloom's mouth came not her high-pitched accented squeak, but a refined, thick, French tone. This surprised even her, and she recoiled from her own words. This lead to a couple of confused stares, before they were blotted out by a bright orange blur.
Applejack's elated, breathless yelp came next as she leapt on to her little sister in a hug, tight as a vice. "Oh lil' sis, it's just so grand to hear ya speakin' English again!" Tears streamed freely from emerald eyes to butter body. "Sure, it ain't quite yer voice, but you're talkin!" The embrace was cut painfully short by the doctor mashing the farmer pony's body off of the bed with his own. His horn continued to take notes, his pen shrouded in a maroon aura. "Ah, well, this is new! However, it does continue the pattern," he said coldly, transitioning from joy to grimness effortlessly. Despite seeing Apple Bloom's pondering eyes silently beg the question, he quickly shifted the topic, ignoring the questioning gaze. "That's odd. You've been in and out of here for two days, yet don't remember anything in particular. Tell me, what day is it today?" Apple Bloom thought quietly for a handful of minutes, but the tension expanded them to hours and years. Finally, she remarked, assured of her answer: "It iz ze tventy-furst of Augoost, I believe." Without a word from anyone, a bedside calendar levitated before the filly's eyes, with a date that was three days in the future from her guess. Her hooves yet again crossed themselves before her forsaken lips, as she mumbled: "Zut alors! What has happened in zis missing time?"
She felt faint again, the world spinning ever faster, her mind and body battling like contestants on a quiz show, trying to find the answer to a difficult problem first, when Twilight Sparkle rose from her seat. This quickly ended the metaphysical duel, as her insides settled back into their proper positions. Twilight seemed to know everything about everything there was to know; if there was something wrong with her, she was the mare to go to. However, her usually upturned, caring grin instantly flip-flopped into an ice-cold frown as she comprehended the difficult task at hand. "Apple Bloom, a definite pattern has been developing in your... let's just say... err, condition." Try as she might to stay calm, it was very hard remaining emotionally sound as she explained this devastating, life-ruining, and possibly embarrassing news.
"You'd wake up, not being able to remember anything you did that was French-related, and slowly over the day, become more and more like you are now - and even further." Twilight's face screwed up with worry as she wiped back the sweat beading on her lavender face with a forehoof. "You'd start by wanting eat to French cuisine, like coffee and pastries, and then develop an accent, then start tossing in French words like you did four days ago. And it only gets worse." Apple Bloom gulped tensely as she attempted feebly to absorb this revelation, but the bombardment of embarrassment kept coming. "You'd quickly lose all sense of yourself, and just become an all-out Frenchie. You'd totally forget English and your name and whatnot, and - " She stopped abruptly. Twilight Sparkle, protege and personal student of Princess Celestia, Holder of the Element of Magic, couldn't bring herself to tell such a young filly her own subconscious fate. She backed down into her seat, whimpering at the mere thought of the horror that had befallen her. "Et quoi? Ce qui s'est passé?" Phase two had begun, and Apple Bloom's waterworks began to crawl to life, her lower lip convulsing and quivering, nervous of learning her unbeknownst past. Imploring eyes forced a certain honest mare to speak up before the hospital room flooded with salty tears from pure worry. Applejack took a deep breath and looked her young sibling straight in the golden eyes - assuringly, but direct. "Sis, you ain't gonna like this, but's it's gotta be told." She sighed audibly and looked straight back to her previous focal point. "By 'bout eight o' clock at evenin' every day, your eyes would glaze right over, as if you were in some crazy trance, and then... You'd do something very stereotypical of French people, the kind of thing you'd see in movies," Apple Bloom was appalled at herself, but tentatively listened on. "You broke into mah private cellar and the barn, and ya ate cider and cheese all night in the shed, and were out cold by mornin'. Yer first trip here. Day after you got out, we came home from work to find ya teeterin' about in Granny's old high heels, dustin off everythin', and you were wearin' one of them silly, frilly maid's aprons! When ya saw us watchin' ya, yer face turned all red from blushin' and you collapsed again. Second visit. And just wait 'til the third time!..."
The subject of this story couldn't take it any longer. Her cheeks burned like flames, identically as red as her mane, and she dove under the covers to hide it. She slapped her ears on her hooves, but only to have the duvet ripped away, Applejack's burning glare paralyzing her in place.
"Well, here goes... I had 'ta pick ya up from school early, because Miss Cheerilee sent me a message that somepony was flirtin' with everypony, tryin' ta pick 'em up with French, before passin' out in the middle of a half-flanked love song for Scootaloo!" Rainbow Dash smashed the solemn mood like the visible light spectrum in her signature Sonic Rainboom by laughing heartily, snorting loudly and convulsing from laughter. "Truffle Shuffle was still starin' at ya half-eyed until ya left! You shoulda seen it! BAHAHAHAHA!" Her fit didn't see a possible end until it was pierced by a loud sniffle, followed by a wail that could be heard across the hospital (along with a backhoof across her cyan face from Rarity for being insensitive). That final story had broken the filly's heart, realizing just how stupid she had become. She slammed her face into the springy mattress and sobbed, her only accompaniment from a rhythmic pat on the back by her big sister. After what seemed like years of non-stop crying, she finally mustered up enough courage to sit up again, and, trembling, remarked: "J'ai besoin de réfléchir. Est-ce que je peux boire du café?" The question was refused an answer, blocked by the language barrier thick as the layer of stone that had frozen Discord in place for thousands of years.
Eyes shifted back and forth, looking for an answer, upon murmurs, attempting to interpret individual words, when a particular fashionista suddenly got up with a nod to nopony in particular and exited the hospital room, not leaving the slightest note as to where she had gone. The translation party continued without one member, with Pinkie suggesting that she wanted food from the café downstairs, and just as the ponies were about to reach consensus, Rarity returned, swaggering with her normal perfect mane bouncing just so. She could melt a stallion's heart with just one gaze, and could convince anypony to do anything for her. Balanced on her back was a metal tray holding a steaming mug of coffee, with an arsenal of creams and stirrers on the side. The ivory pony carefully slid the piping-hot beverage down her tail (pulling Spike's tongue out in lust in the process, which earned him a gentle buck across the room) and onto Apple Blooms lap. Before returning to her seat, she whispered "de rien" into the French filly's ear as sideways as possible. She proceeded to mix and match the flavours of creams and sugars like alchemy, having it down to an instinctive science, like any good Frenchpony should. She picked up the wooden stirrer in her mouth and stirred vigorously, before staring intently at the brown elixir before her. The dark swirls of the coffee rotated and morphed, pulling Apple Bloom's eyes ever closer to the centre. She just wanted to drink this potion of wonder... To learn its secrets... Perhaps it would help her remember what had happened... The ceramic mug felt cool in her hooves, spiting its scalding contents.
Her eyes fluttered shut in bliss as the strength of the coffee titillated her taste buds, before the fresh creams washed it all down smoothly... the buzz of energy from the caffeine zapping around her like electricity, giving her a whole new being. All thoughts and worries were shoved away... Background noises faded to nothingness... She was alone in this ecstasy... But she needed someone to join her... To be hers.... Her eyes heavily drew open, only to see the doctor glaring into them yet again. Just her luck! He seemed so perfect to live in nirvana with... Apple Bloom crossed her legs elegantly, tinkered and tussled with her braided mane, and gave out a soft giggle. She wasn't focusing on anything, just staring out into space, but happy as can be to do so. "Bonsoir, docteur. Bonsoir, mon bel étalon."
The filly giggled drunkenly, the heavenly aroma remaining in her olfactory system intoxicating her with love. No wonder she had acted this way in class: It was pure ecstasy. Her laughter grew to a snigger, before exploding into a guffaw. Apple Bloom stood up on her hind legs, crossed her forehooves behind her back, and leaned forward to meet the doctor's supple lips... Only moments away now... But the target suddenly blurred, everything darkening. Her face felt like it was on fire, but it didn't matter much - she was slumped over the footrest of the bedframe, still beaming under the sweet influence of the magic that is coffee. Rainbow Dash had to bolt out of the room to avoid hurting herself with laughter, and even Applejack was chuckling at her sister's plight. It was going to be tough, living with a sister cursed with becoming a hopeless romantic every day at random times.
Hi! It's time for another juicy update! Sorry for the wait, school and life's been a bugger. Anyway, slap on your thinking caps, kick back, don your brony shirts (I know I am), and... Enjoy the show!
The familiar mallet of wakefulness smacking upon Apple Bloom's head lifted her spirit from dormancy as the busy shuffle of a hospital room dripped into her tender ears. Her mind reeled as she attempted to grasp at the dregs of memory her half-awake being could muster. Not only did yesterday's events drip into the curvaceous matrix of her brain, they all did. They only appeared as coin-sized chunks at first, running the past backwards, but they slowly came to a stop and beckoned for their contents to be read like a book. Despite her eyes being closed tightly as light was rudely denied access, the filly could feel her face begin to camouflage with her frizzy mane, whose braid has long been undone. Attempts to writhe to point furthest away from the blasted window were futile, as thick bands of a slick material seemed to hold each appendage down. Unless she wasn't actually in a hospital, but instead of an evil lair, she would have every reason to believe she had been tied up. Dejected, Apple Bloom's struggle ended prematurely against her fabric assailants as she expanded on the cloudy fragments of forgotten history that had finally drifted back to their owner. The images began to play like a tape, and the projection began...
The sweet taste of apples is best complimented with the bitter kick of careful fermentation, thought Frenchy Bloom as another wave of the fruity elixir washed down her throat, leaving a spicy aftertaste that only the finest cheese from choice cows could sate. She tipsily rose from her personal tasting convention, swaggered to the other end of the compact yet spacey room, and shoved the creaky door open. Stumbling, she snatched a package of creamy Apple-brand bleu cheese with her anxious teeth from the cooler and dashed for no discernible reason to back her beloved cider bottle. Expert hooves deftly unwrapped the cellophane chamber of the cheese, and then shoved the cylinder forcefully into the filly's mouth without consent. The creaminess instantly cooled the delightful burn with an even more wonderful sensation of coolness and smoothness - possibly even completeness, ecstasy. However, the desire for hydration and sweetness rose and blossomed once again, and the glass bottle was swiftly lifted away from the linoleum floor and swigged from repeatedly, followed by satisfied "ah"s. The process continued for hours on end, and the purity and silence of privacy in Applejack's cellar was only perforated by the occasional drunken giggle at that oh-so-hilarious refrigerator (Where did you learn to be so funny, monsieur Refrigimare?), or choice French phrase when a drop of the apple-y gold or two (or ten, or twenty) dribbled onto the filly's butter-yellow fur and veined through it. The disappointment of soiling her well-kempt body was only matched by the loss of such a precious (and delicious) commodity. One particular guffaw rang out against the walls for too long, and seeped through the iron trap-door. Meanwhile, the noise issued from her own mouth rang back into her ears, and hit her upside the head like a frying pan. As her vision faded to black and her muscles betrayed her, the last thing she heard was the muffled grinding of metal, hidden behind the ringing in her ears.
The sound waves floated and dissipated through the crisp morning air, and floated to the bedroom. Orange ears pricked up to attention, and soloed out the laugh. The high-pitchedness was unmistakeable, and came from an improbable source. Could it be? Anyhow, there was plenty of time to affirm suspicions, and the mare was full of energy from a good night's rest. Applejack's legs swivelled off the soft mattress and rear hooves gently touched down on polished hardwood. She gingerly trotted down the stairs, slapped on her trusty cap, and was out the door, to that bush. She rotated the adjacent plastic flowerbed away to reveal the grate beneath. The ever-closed lock was open, which was strange... It appeared to be finessed open, and wasn't even broken. The rusty ponyhole pivoted open and Applejack slipped in, landing unceremoniously with a loud clop.
The laughter had died down now, but the stench of alcohol reeked around the room and wafted into suspicious nostrils. The luxurious canter had evolved into a gallop. Her Stetson hat stopped just short of the final locked vault door and dropped even lower onto her blonde mane, blocking the mare's eyesight. This didn't stop Applejack from cracking the code that locked the door shut, taught to her by Granny Smith on her twenty-first birthday. The door groaned heartily as it brushed open. What Applejack saw in there betrayed her eyes, except they didn't lie one bit, just as honest as she is.
Puddles of an oddly familiar amber mingled with those of white saliva, sourcing from a clump of flesh that was her sister. Her face was easily spotted, being red like a target. A wheel of cheese lay half-eaten and dejected several feet away, covered in dust. If Applejack hadn't been sympathetic, caring, or just dog-gone confused about the whole situation, she would be her fair share of angry at the waste of money that was.
As the logical story began to piece itself together in Applejack's eyes as slowly as if Tank and a sloth had a child, and her thoughtful conscious was busy solving the puzzle, her on-the-spot, cannibalistic being did the only logical thing. It laughed.
It snorted and heaved and rolled around on the floor. And it didn't care one bit that it was laughing at its most valuable possession. It just cared that the moment was funny. And it wanted to keep it that way. It heated up the irons of grief and branded the farmer's brain painfully and permanently with the image. It would never leave. And it didn't now.
Applejack visibly shuddered, drawing concerned glances by her fellow Holders of the Elements. However, another shocking event ripped their attention away from the minor wince, and for good reason. Apple Bloom, though still in yet another quasi-coma, was writhing and screaming, apparently trying to escape some monster that had invaded her subconscious existence, even harder than she had on her first day of school. Despite her family's best wishes, her nerves overcame her and clouded the images of their sympathetic words, and she positively refused to go anywhere near that wretched bus. She had bucked and squirmed and even left Big Mac with an embarrassing black eye. But even that violent episode paled in comparison to this.
Apple Bloom wasn't used to nightmares. She lived in such happiness and serenity that there were no need for them. That one time, when she had that near-death experience at the claws of the cockatrice when rooming at Fluttershy's abode, she did have some unpleasant dreams for some time after, though she's too ashamed to say it. They would often end with two ovals of red glaring at her even harder than the doctor does now, and the filly would awaken wailing, drowned in sweat and sitting erect. Her blanket suddenly became a life-or-death possession, and would not have been removable from her cold, dead hooves. Her family would rush in, and comfort her, which was nice enough, but much to her chagrin, they would often coddle her a bit too much for just a little nightmare. Besides, they were just dreams, right? They could never happen, she told herself. They can't hurt her...
But what if they were not dreams, but memories? What if they were projection of what has verily happened, rather than paintings of overactive imaginations, blended with merely a subtle hint of reality? Then she was in trouble. There is no escaping from the weavings of time, no matter how much you attempt to fray and snap the threads. This bed was too hot; the mess of noises were too loud; and worst of all, she was being held back, restrained. This was too much for Apple Bloom to bear. And when fear and stress fail you, you often resort to anger and wrath. And that's just what she did.
Forget Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Forget everypony who has ever had the audacity to vex Apple Bloom. Right now, the thin bands of this lustrous, flexible substance are her worst nemeses. They will meet their end, if it means spending hours on end quickening their demise, even if it means acting like a total lunatic. Come to think of it, she was certainly being treated like one. Nurses, visitors, even her loyal friends gaping on her wide-eyed, as if she were some zoo exhibit. Being tied back as if she were dangerous. A little filly who couldn't hurt a fly! Well, it was time for this pony to fit the label. It was time to get crazy and dangerous. Even if it meant losing everypony and everything she held dear; water under the bridge, those betraying imbeciles. It was time to break free.
And all it takes to light the spark is a single buck.
A teeny twang of guilt coursed its way through Apple Bloom's adrenaline-pumped veins as she saw a lone sparkle descend along her beloved sister's shapely face. She could tell it was for her, but to what exactly what, that was anypony's guess. However, rage is like a cloud that only grows stronger as it sucks away at all other emotions, and it had already penetrated sympathy's barriers. The moment was lost and only added passion to her escapade. She could hear metal buckling - this must be it! The quarantine would soon fall, and she would be free! And it was growing louder, too, even drowning out the cries issuing from her throat! Wow, she knew she was strong from all that apple-bucking, but she never expected to smash the connectors this fast! The noise reached its peak, but as it did, a hazel hoof steadied the swinging stethoscope clacking endlessly against his clipboard, and the racket died instantly - almost as fast as his last patient. The red ovals of horror that haunted Apple Bloom's dormancy was replaced by an even more horrifying shade of brown. Hot breath sailed down her sore neck, flowing forth from the flared nostrils soaring above. He again was birthed out of a wall with no doors, as if he were brethren with the metallic apparatuses that covered the room. The doctor was back, and he was angry.
"You'd better explain yourself, Ms. Bloom!" He grunted through gritted teeth. "Je-I-er, I'm s-so sorry, monsieur!" Apple Bloom warbled, skitting by the boulder that had moved into her throat all of a sudden. "It's just that.." "I don't want to hear it!" The stallion snapped, mentally shoving the filly even deeper into the fluffy pillows. "After your - let's just say - episode yesterday, I decided that it would be best for all of us if I restrained you. And I see that doesn't suffice." He added that last sentence with a cruel flair. He disappeared yet again, as the others crowded in, trying to extract an alibi from Apple Bloom. However, only mortified whimpers replied to their pleas, along with the shoos of the ever-calm nurses, claiming that "she needs her peace". That was most certainly untrue; the only way for her to calm down is to share her dreams with understanding ponies, of which now there seems to be an odd lack. She just wanted to explain her tale, but the doctor soon returned, this time through an actual door. In his magical grip was a tiny, strap-laden ball, seemingly just the perfect size for little ponies' mouths. Before she could protest, a foreign pair of hooves ripped her aching jaw wide open like an evil dentist, jamming the gag in, and slamming the filly's mouths closed like a crocodile. As soon as she attempted to voice her concerns to anypony who would listen, the rubbery sphere suddenly expanded in her mouth and hardly a whisper issued out. She tried to charade her desires to remove the blasted thing, but nopony dared disobey the physician's orders.
Turning around at last to face the visitors, the doctor boomed: "Nopony will dare to even attempt to remove this! This is for your - and her - own good. Understand?" A wave of nods affirmed it, and the hazel pony swaggered out of the room, snuffing like a wild bull. Gazing around helplessly, Apple Bloom's amber peepers met a violet haze, which suddenly flew out of its common symmetry to flash a wink.
This gesture would have made her smile, if only she could move her mouth.
