Rarity and Applejack don't have much in common at first glance, but they're better together.
Rarity and Applejack don't have much in common at first glance, but they're better together. A lowkey slice of life/shipfic exploring the changing seasons in their shared story. Writing this as ideas come so will update sporadically but probably not in a consistent chronological timeline, will try and keep it organized.
Her jaunt had taken most of the morning, but the ivory-coated mare grinned in triumph as the farm’s sign drew near. Absentmindedly adjusting her mane with a flick of her neck, Rarity tried to ignore the cloying dust and dirt that clung to her hooves. The old sign declaring Sweet Apple Acres’ name to visitors gently swung in a breeze that Rarity Belle knew would make her violet mane look divine.
It could use a touch of paint, she thought idly, but those vines climbing the archway are attractive. Some plants could really freshen up the boutique in time for my spring line release.
Rarity sighed and shook her head a little more deliberately than before. She wasn’t here to admire the rustic beauty of pastoral life, pleasant as it may be.
No, Rarity grumbled to herself, this is hardly a visit for pleasure. She continued on her way through the welcoming arch, carefully stepped around the chicken coop and the filthy, clucking hens, and trudged past the tall barn that crowned Sweet Apple Acres’ home front. This visit is purely for business.
The day had begun as normally as any other. Rarity’s parents were enjoying their retirement and had taken off on another airship cruise out of Baltimare, leaving Sweetie Belle in her older sister’s care. The little filly had been helping Rarity crack eggs for breakfast when her still-developing grasp of magic caused an egg to burst too soon, scattering shell fragments and messy yolks onto the kitchen counter and into their omelets-to-be.
By itself, that was just an annoyance. Accidents happen, and for Sweetie this was one of her less-destructive cooking mishaps. How the young unicorn reacted to it went far beyond her usually-impish tendencies.
“Horseapples,” Sweetie Belle swore explosively, her angelic face contorted into a grimace, “I broke the consarned egg!”
Of course Rarity was taken aback. Her immediate response had been to contain and clean the mess, then reprimand her little sister for her foul language. Of course it could not have been so simple.
Sweetie had retreated to Rarity’s charming kitchen table, but she was still flustered. “I’m just so peeved! Land sakes, how am I going to get stronger if I can’t crack an egg?” Face buried behind her hooves, Sweetie had no warning for what her sister was about to do.
“Darling, look at me.” Sweetie opened one eye to survey the disaster and immediately shut it. “Sweetie Belle,” Rarity continued, “I’m not upset with you, but we need to talk.”
That got her younger sister’s attention. She huffed, lifted her head, and opened her mouth to speak when Rarity levitated a bright pink bar of soap in front of her. Sweetie squeaked in alarm and tried to back away, but found her back against a wall.
Rarity glared down at the frightened filly, trying to ignore the irony of Sweetie’s coat matching the color of the broken eggshells. She willed the bar of soap a little closer to her sister’s mouth.
“Cleaning up your messes in the kitchen is work enough, Sweetie,” she said sternly, “but nopony should have to tolerate that kind of language in her own home.” The soap inched nearer. “Where did you learn such horrid words?”
Sweetie cringed and sunk closer to the floor, eyes darting left and right in hope of an exit. None presented themselves. She opened her mouth to apologize but Rarity cut her off.
“I should clean your mouth out with this soap for that outburst,” but then Rarity’s voice turned pensive. “Or maybe keep you in your room until mother and father return from Baltimare. I am quite sure they would prefer to discipline you.” Her eyes narrowed at the threat, but Sweetie was still resilient. Time to try a different tactic.
“Your little friend Scootaloo told you those words, didn’t she? I imagine Rainbow Dash, brash as she is, has filled her protege’s head with all sorts of dreadful oaths.”
“No, it wasn’t Scoots! Honest! I mean, she knows bad words, but we didn’t learn them from Rainbow.” The filly eyed the still-looming bar of soap warily, then sighed in defeat. “Apple Bloom told me, and I told Scoots,” she grumbled. Sweetie’s ears perked up at the admission and she rushed to continue: “But please don’t tell anypony! If her family finds out she’s been telling swears, her tan is hide!”
“I believe the countryponies threaten to ‘tan your hide’, darling,” Rarity mused.
“Whatever! If Apple Bloom gets in trouble we can’t go crusading, and then none of us can get our cutie marks!”
Rarity sniffed in derision and turned away from her little sister. “You should have considered that before using such base and crass language. I will be leaving to speak with Big McIntosh. As I recall, he handles discipline at Sweet Apple Acres.”
Sweetie looked like she was about to cry. Rarity’s glare softened, but she knew she could not let up just yet. “As for you, you will wait in the guest room until I return and think about what you have done.”
A look of relief washed over Sweetie’s face as the threat of her own demise receded, but concern for her friend quickly replaced it. “I don’t want to even think about what they’ll do to Apple Bloom. She’s gonna hate me.” Sweetie’s head fell behind her hooves again and into the kitchen table.
Rarity kept up a steely exterior despite the voices in her head screaming to console the worried filly. She exhaled deeply to maintain her calming - but resolute - facade, then levitated the now-cooled (and eggshell-free) plated omelets onto the table.
“Darling, Sweetie, right now all you need to worry about is eating this breakfast you helped me make.” Sweetie looked up again but didn’t smile. She knew this wasn’t over. Rarity nodded in approval and added, “clear the table and wash the dishes when you are done. After that, you are to remain in your room until I return.”
The prospect of washing dishes had no appeal to Sweetie, but it was better than chewing soap. Still, she had to ask. “I don’t have to have my mouth washed out?”
It was Rarity’s turn to withhold a smile. “Consider that discussion atop our agenda once I am back. We are not finished here.” Sweetie winced, but knew that was the most she could expect out of her big sister.
Rarity made short work of her own omelet and headed for the door, leaving the plate and tableware for Sweetie to attend to as part of her punishment. The young unicorn made no grunt or groan in protest, which pleased her older sister. Stepping outside, Rarity turned onto the long trot towards Sweet Apple Acres with a huff.
It was time to - how did Applejack put it? - nip this in the bud.
It took some time, but Rarity finally found one of the eponymous Apples of Sweet Apple Acres. A strong-limbed earth pony, orange fur slick with sweat, cursed and swore at the end of a harness and chain. At the other end was a tree stump wider than a wagon-wheel.
Rarity had heard her friend fighting the stump from back at the farmhouse, so took it upon herself to collect two glasses of crushed ice and a pitcher of lemonade from the icebox in the kitchen. Carrying the refreshments with a few handy dishcloths, Rarity returned to the field. She waited patiently for Applejack to finish pulling the dead stump from the ground, roots and all.
It happened sooner than she expected. One moment, Applejack was straining against an immovable force, hooves digging into the ground and her breathing haggard with effort. A heartbeat later and the stump was ripped from its place in the field, traced a graceful arc through the air, and fell crashing to the earth.
Rarity was impressed with the display of strength in spite of herself. Feats like this were hardly polite and proper, but it’s not every day you would get to see something like a great tree stump catapulted into the sky by force of muscle alone.
Applejack had been fighting that stump all morning. Big Mac had accompanied Granny Smith to market at the break of dawn, and Apple Bloom had taken off for the Crusaders’ clubhouse to “make some improvements” and patch a leaky roof. Applejack suspected carpentry was in her younger sister’s destiny, but she wasn’t a betting type.
Still breathing hard from the exertion, she didn’t notice the alabaster seamstress until Rarity was nearly at her shoulder.
“Applejack Apple-Smith”, Rarity gently chided, “what have I told you about working the fields like this on your own?”
Applejack smiled wryly and shrugged, letting the heavy harness slide off of her shoulders. “Was Ah on my own? Ain’t ya been standin’ there watchin’ all this time?”
Rarity huffed. “Supervising, darling.”
“Ain’t so, ya was over there in the shade like a bump on a log.” Applejack lifted her hat and made to run a foreleg across her greasy forehead, but Rarity intercepted with a kerchief held in her magic.
Before Applejack could thank her, Rarity gestured back at where she had been ‘supervising’ from, a low knoll in the orchard that was fortunate to catch the breeze while sitting in the shade of a nearby apple tree. Grateful, Applejack followed her friend and tried to control her descent, but went weak at the knees and collapsed.
Rarity talked as she poured the lemonade. “You work too hard, darling. Big McIntosh couldn’t have helped you pull that,” her eyes tracked the thick chain back to the freed stump, which was still tied off, “debris?”
Applejack shook her head, controlling a derisive snort. “Naw, Big Mac has been at Granny’s beck and call all week.” She paused to sip her lemonade, careful not to gulp it, then continued, “he’s been havin’ mare problems again. Miss Cheerilee stopped by th’other day, askin’ after him and wantin’ another date.” Applejack chucked, “So he’s asked Granny to bake’em an apple crumble, and he owes her one.”
Rarity smiled but said nothing. Applejack knew how she loved gossip, but pushing for too much too quickly could put the cart before the ponies.
Her patience was rewarded; “ o‘course, that’s just one o’the mares,” Applejack said coyly, taking another sip of lemondate, “there’s this little yellah pegasus outside o’town that mah big galoot of a brother fancies. He’s been takin’ apple fritters across town once a week now, an’ Granny’s got herself a whole heap of favors ta call in.”
Now that was news worth knowing. Stoic, broad-shouldered Big McIntosh - Ponyville’s most-eligible bachelor, and heir to the Apple family farm - had embroiled himself in his own love triangle? The tawdry romance novels Rarity borrowed from Twilight’s library couldn’t match it.
Sensing her friend’s interest, Applejack looked at Rarity from the corner of her eye. “This stays between us, sugarcube.”
“Of course, darling,” Rarity purred, flicking her ears idly, “though I find myself anticipating my spa day with Fluttershy next week from an entirely fresh perspective.”
“Just don’t go an' embarrass her,” Applejack replied mildly.
“Perish the thought.”
The pair sat in silence, letting the wind caress their manes and cool Applejack’s sweat-stained flanks. Noticing an irritated red spot not far up the earth pony’s foreleg, Rarity tut-tutted and began cleaning it with a clean kerchief.
“Reckon Ah sprung a leak,” Applejack apologized, grinning sheepishly. Rarity did not respond, focused on tying the protective cloth tightly around it. Part of her admired the dense, luxurious fur that grew protectively over Applejack’s fetlocks, but she would never admit it. She knew models and nobleponies in Canterlot who got extensions to mimic the distinctive tufts characteristic of draft-ponies like the Apple family.
Minutes passed with just the low hum of the wind passing them by. The comfort both ponies felt in each other’s company did not need to be expressed in words.
Applejack was readying to stand and haul the big stump to a burn-pile when Rarity spoke up. “I caught Sweetie Belle swearing today.”
Applejack shifted her weight and stayed put, a bad feeling about this developing. “She pick it up at school?”
“Nope.” Rarity daintily sipped her own lemonade.
“Scootaloo,” Applejack guessed, then quickly added, “from Rainbow Dash.”
“No, and no.”
Applejack plucked a stray strand of tall grass and began chewing it, brow clenched in thought. “Zecora? Celestia knows what kind’a words she’s picked up.”
Rarity scoffed. “Apple Bloom taught her the words.”
Applejack grunted. “Well, they’re fillies. We’ve been foalish ‘fore too, y’know?” She peered at Rarity, who was looking away pointedly. “Ain’t ya?”
Rarity rolled her eyes dismissively back towards the earth pony. “Hardly. I did not get caught. You Apples swear like sailors. Sweetie is being disciplined already, but I wanted you to be aware so you can deal with Apple Bloom as you so choose.”
“Thanks for th’permission,” Applejack drawled, but at a cross look from Rarity replied, “Really, thanks. Ah’ll talk with Big Mac when he gets home an’ figure out somethin’.”
Rarity gave a small, satisfied grin in response. “I trust your judgment.”
"Tried a swear jar? We did, got Big Mac to watch out 'round Bloom when she was little. Ain't worked much for Granny, though." Rarity barked a decisively un-ladylike laugh, but managed to regain her composure.
Another minute passed, and Rarity stood to stretch. Applejack tilted her broad-brimmed hat back and sprawled onto the grass, flexing and stretching her aching joints.
Rarity looked down at her and asked, “May I help move that stump to the,” she paused and thought in recollection, “burn-pile?”
“Naw,” Applejack replied easily, “hard part’s over. Just touch up th’kitchen on your way back t’town.” She chewed the grass held between her teeth. “Two jars o’apple preserves, one jar o’fig preserves in th’back o’the ice box.”
Rarity smiled a little more broadly. “I will be sure to account for them.” She collected the glasses, pitcher, and dirty kerchiefs with her magic.
Applejack came to her feet and rolled her shoulders in preparation for lugging the big stump to a bonfire-in-waiting. “Ya go on an’tend t’yer sister. Y’all comin’ to th’bonfire in three nights?”
“We’ll be there,” Rarity promised, standing just outside her friend’s reach. They stood there quietly for a moment, taking in the view. Manicured clouds dotted a blue sky as bright as Rarity’s eyes. Verdant green summer grass and apple-tree leaves echoed Applejack’s own eyes. The friends hugged briefly with their forelegs, neither sure of which initiated it. Rarity told herself that, between the breeze and breather in the grass, Applejack had shed her sweat and grime. She had to believe it.
They lingered in each other's embrace, then broke off and said their goodbyes. Applejack went back to work into the field, and Rarity trotted up the path to the farmhouse.
The unicorn smiled to herself again, bigger and broader than she had all day. Maybe this visit had some pleasure in it after all.
Trotting through town always made the dusty cowpony nervous. You could tell that Ponyville wasn’t a planned city like Fillydelphia or Baltimare - the streets had a haphazard feel to them, lacking the order and organization that gave life structure. One minute, you were walking down the street between brightly-painted homes and storefronts. If you weren’t careful and didn’t mind your step, you’d end up in a dead-end alley or somepony’s front yard.
That’s not to say the little town lacked energy. Farmers like her and townpony merchants were bustling through the streets, hurriedly setting up shop for a day in the market. Everypony was busy and upbeat conversation pulsed through the crowd.
Talking, gossiping, laughing, and joking. The non-stop exchange of words and ideas had made her anxious as a young filly. She was a good listener, and always had been; patiently sitting through hours of family stories with her granny, coaxing a few words out of her older brother, always deep in thought. Eavesdropping on her parents’ plans for the future and the farm.
Applejack still liked to listen, but market day was a sensory overload. There was always so much going on, so many faces passing through the crowd. That’s partly why she loved her apple orchards so much; you could see for miles through them, every tree having been planted to-order and trimmed of barren low-hanging branches. It was quiet there, and though the trees spoke to her in their own way, it was a sanctuary for Applejack. She was grateful that Big Mac had market duty today, charged with selling pastries, apples, and apple pastries to hungry ponies.
So here she was, having finished her chores and rustled up her younger sister. Apple Bloom pranced next to her, keeping stride despite needing two steps for each of Applejack’s. The excitement in the crowd fueled the filly and made her chattier than usual, in spite of the small - but heavy - saddlebags she carried.
“Ah love when the harvest market is busy like this!” Apple Bloom squealed, her eyes dashing from one salespony’s wares to the next. They passed a cart full of bright yellow lemons and fresh green limes. The Apple family grew almost all of their own produce on the farm, but not everything took to Ponyville’s mild climate. Some vegetables grew better in cooler regions, and citrus like those lemons and limes needed a warmer environment.
Fishing out a hooffull of bits from one of her saddlebags, Applejack beckoned to her little sister. “Bloom, run over and get half a dozen of them fruits. Three yellah, three green. An’ be sure to thank the salespony.”
Apple Bloom paused before taking the bits. “Three lemons and three limes?”
Applejack nodded pleasantly and watched as her sister wove through the pressing crowd and made the exchange. Fruits safely in hoof, she stored them in her saddlebags and carved a path back the way she’d came.
Now why did I say the colors, Applejack asked herself. Her sister was still a filly, sure, but she was coming into her own more and more by the day. She knew what limes and lemons were, and didn’t need color-coded direction. Were she a little older, or maybe a little more proud, Applebloom mighta been insulted.
The tall pony sighed and continued to move through the crowd once her sister rejoined her. Little Apple Bloom was growing up, and nothing would stop that. Pretty soon she’d be bucking trees herself rather than running between baskets, tossing in the spares that initially missed their mark. But apple-bucking season was still a few weeks away, so they had at least another year to wait until Apple Bloom could really come off the sidelines and lend a hoof.
Their progress slowed as they got nearer to the town’s central square. The blocks immediately around town hall had been planned neatly, thank Celestia, and Applejack would have had a clear view from one street to the next if not for the thriving harvest market. They’d gotten the fruit sooner than expected, but now Applejack’s mental checklist was thrown out of order.
She needed someplace to think. She also needed to empty her own saddlebags before loading them up again with more groceries. Thankfully, she knew just the place to get both done.
Turning off onto a side street and out of the bustling crowd, Applejack looked over back her shoulder to check for Apple Bloom. She was a step behind but hustled to catch up, walking shoulder-to-shoulder in pace with her sister. Applejack couldn’t help but allow a little grin at the pony’s persistence.
Of course she was smiling for another reason. The Carousel Boutique towered over the both of them, ribbons tossed lazily in the wind. The polished bay windows looked out onto the street and Applejack briefly saw herself and Applebloom reflected in them.
She paused not far from the door and shook quickly, whipping her tied-off tail from side to side. A cloud of dirt and dust from their journey to town fell away from her flanks. Satisfied, she looked down at Apple Bloom with an expectant eye.
“Do we hafta?”
“You know Ah won’t hear tha end of it if we don’t, sugarcube,” Applejack replied. “Miss Rarity doesn’t track mud in our home, we won’t do any less to hers.”
Apple Bloom glowered but complied. She watched the motes of dust fall away, some shining in the light, and settle to the earth. “Ah don’t know why ya care so much. A little dirt never hurt nopony.”
“Ah don’t,” Applejack answered easily, but then she pursed her lips and went on, a little more slowly, “but it’s important to her, so it’s important to me.”
That seemed to satisfy the filly, who cocked her head off to the side, ears flicking in curiosity. Or maybe in mischief. “And she’s important to ya?”
Applejack looked at her sister steadily, her mouth set in a firm line. A smile tugged at the corner but she suppressed it. “She sure is. Just like your friends Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are ta you.” Apple Bloom nodded innocently and started for the door, eyes averted.
She wouldn’t understand, Applejack mused, at least not ‘til she’s older. But another voice in her head asked uncertainly: Or would she? Would Big Mac understand, much less Granny? What about their friends and neighbors?
“Can I knock?” asked Apple Bloom, a hoof already at the door.
Applejack nodded, Apple Bloom knocked on the door, and after a few heartbeats a muffled voice from inside the boutique beckoned them inside. Rarity was usually open for business on market day, entertaining customers in the lobby while adjusting her apparel arrangements.
But today the only pony in sight was a bored Sweetie Belle, idly doodling with some markers and paper. The little unicorn looked up and halfheartedly greeted them.
“Hey,” she huffed, “Rarity’s in the upstairs workroom. There’s some fashion catastrophe or something, she won’t let me help.” Sweetie Belle’s frown deepened as she pantomimed Rarity’s inflection, “She says, it is too delicate, dear, even for your considerable talents.”
Applejack cut in before Apple Bloom could say something regrettable. Why did she assume the little filly would do that, though? Her studies with Zecora and Twilight, not to mention Bloom's upbringing among good ponies, had done wonders for her manners.
“Ah’ll check in on her. Just here to drop off some apples, but Ah’ll be quick not to get caught up in her hurricane.” Applejack smiled knowingly at Sweetie Belle. “Ah know how she gets with these fashion disasters of hers. Y’all play in here ‘til I get back.”
Rarity liked having refreshments set out for her guests, and that included apple slices fresh from the farm. So Applejack made the journey every week to deliver fresh fruit. All to support her business, of course. If a couple of choice selections or a mason jar of cider made its way to Rarity’s personal kitchen, it was hardly worth noting.
But Applejack didn’t understand the Canterlot-minded ponies that frequented Rarity’s boutique. They seemed to exclusively prefer the tart, almost-bitter green apples from the northern orchards. The sweet, crisp apples that Ponyville’s townponies cherished were always passed by. She’d asked Rarity about it, once, but earned an earful about “the aesthetic” for her trouble.
Saddlebags emptied into Rarity’s cupboards and a tasteful wood-carved bowl in the kitchen, Applejack turned her attention to the upstairs workroom. It seemed to be a maelstrom of activity; just as she had feared. She carefully climbed the stairs, turned the corner down a hallway, and arrived to a closed door. Something was banging against a wall in there, and the sewing machine’s whirring had not ceased since they had entered the boutique.
Steeling herself, Applejack nudged the door open and peered inside.
It was a chaos of industry. Fabrics, pincushions, measuring tape, ribbons, a shimmering cloud of sequins, and bits of clothing Applejack couldn’t begin to identify were all soaring through the air in a flurry of activity. She watched as the stitches and knobbed buttons detached from a thick winter coat, reducing it to neatly-trimmed fabric, then all were stored away. The sky-blue magic aura enveloping everything pulsed with energy.
Applejack gulped. She’d learned the hard way not to get too deep into that tangled mess of materials. One misstep had cost her half a day’s labor as Rarity’s model, the threat of a thousand pins, needles, and flashing scissors keeping her in place. It wasn’t an experience she was eager to relive.
“Rare,” she called out uneasily, trying to spot an ivory flank or violet mane inside the whirlpool of motion, “it’s me, Apple Bloom is downstairs with Sweetie Belle. Yah alright in there?”
There was a pause, maybe a hesitation before Rarity responded. “Fine, darling! Everything is fine!” A forest-green dress trailing fringed lace nearly caught in a buzzing sewing machine but was jerked aside at the last moment. “This is fine!”
Applejack snorted but did not enter the room, still talking through a crack in the doorway. “Sure it is, sugarcube. Anyway Ah I can help?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Rarity’s clipped tones answered. Applejack squinted and was able to make out the unicorn’s silhouette buried inside the mess. She continued: “I have everything I need upstairs!”
“Well, what about downstairs? Sweetie Belle’s holding down yer storefront?”
“The boutique is closed! Appointments only today and tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
That was surprising. Few ponies were as industrious as Rarity or as generous with their time. “So what’s the occasion? Looks like yer taking these fancy clothes apart rather’n stitchin’ things together?”
Rarity wailed. “That is the heart of my problem! All of my seasonal lines are created two seasons before they are due to hit hangers in my boutiques, yes?”
“Ah reckon?”
“You do! But the danger in planning so far ahead is that fads may arise and throw everything awry. That is the misfortune that plagues me,” Rarity’s voice turned venomous, “and it is all Charming Chic’s fault.”
“What now?” Applejack leaned harder into the door but kept her feet rooted to the floor. To cross that doorway was testing fate. A series of vacant metal hangers crashed and spun through her field of vision, making the earth pony jump in surprise.
“Charming Chic,” Rarity pronounced flatly. Applejack could hear the unicorn’s eyes rolling in disdain. “She is hardly charming, and her sense of chic is debatable. But that mare has the ear of influential ponies; Hoity Toity - you remember him, yes? - among them.
“Chic has it in her mind that silk is the lining of choice for this winter’s series. Regardless of the cost to ponies whose means are less well-off,” Rarity coughed demurely, but emphatically, “nor to the cares of suppliers all over Equestria. She believes the sheen it presents is irreplaceable, even if impractical.”
Applejack scratched her head in thought. “Ain’t none of this practical, if ya don’t mind mah asking?”
“That isn’t the point, dear,” Rarity replied in a lilting sing-song, “but now every winter coat, frock, jacket, and shawl that I have designed must have its satin replaced with silk! Every stitch and button removed, the satin returned to its bolts, new silk measured and trimmed to fit. On everything!”
“Sounds an awful lot like tha worst poss-”
“It is!” A hamper of spare fabrics fell over inside the room and Rarity shouted in alarm, but followed up with a brief, “I’m okay!”
“Well can’t Ah do somethin’ while you're all tangled up like this?”
Rarity paused in thought while her magic continued to the rapid assembly around her. “I suppose you could go to market for me. I shan’t escape the house while dealing with this.”
Applejack’s chin rose at that prospect. “Want me to take Sweetie Belle along? She an’ Bloom can lend a hoof. She seemed awful bored down in the lobby.”
Rarity sniffed in derision. Applejack wasn’t going to question how she heard it over the crash and din of Rarity’s workshop. “Sweetie was minding the foyer, darling. Hotels have lobbies,” she huffed, “not my boutiques.
“But yes,” she answered, “today’s only appointments have come and gone. I imagine Sweetie was at her wit’s end; I will have to make it up to her. But if you would not mind, escorting her to the harvest market would be very generous of you.”
“We’d be happy to,” Applejack began, tipping her hat. She stopped herself mid-salute - nopony would see it. “Ya got a list of groceries?”
“It’s on the kitchen counter!”
Taking Rarity’s rushed tone as her sign to get out of Dodge, Applejack shouted back her good-bye: “We’ll get right to it. Don’t go and overwork yourself in there, Rare.” She thought for a moment. “Don’t forget to drink lots o’ water.”
Rarity laughed and answered with something indecipherable, though it was lost beneath the sounds of her work.
Applajack trotted back down the stairs towards the kitchen, grinning in satisfaction.
Applejack studied the list Rarity had made and forgotten when her fashion disaster had struck. Like its author, the shopping list was dressed to the nines; embellished with flourishes of penhoofship only magic could create, each item carefully placed just-so onto a sheet of custom boutique stationery. It carried a faint scent of vanilla perfume.
The cowpony had initially rolled her eyes in dismissal. All this effort - delicate cursive writing, and special paper? Who had time for that for just a list of groceries?
But her thoughts returned to Apple Bloom’s prying question, and to her response. It’s important to Rarity, so it’s important to me. The farmer had stopped trying to make heads or tails of the seamstress’ quirks a long time ago. At this point they were almost endearing.
The two fillies escorting her to market were chattering away. Sweetie Belle, overjoyed to be freed of the barren boutique, was pressing Apple Bloom for information.
“You’ve got all that farmland, and you’ve never grown watermelons?”
“We ain’t,” Apple Bloom insisted, “Granny says the ground ain’t right for ‘em. They just rot away or turn right to mush.”
Sweetie Bell screwed up her face. “Wait, what’s the difference between rotting and getting mushy?”
Apple Bloom shrugged in exasperation. “Ah don’t know, Ah just work there.”
“Watermelons just don’t take to Ponyville soil,” Applejack interjected, “it don’t get hot enough for long enough, so most o’the seeds never sprout. Those that do get sick and go ta rot on the vine.”
“Oh,” the crestfallen pale unicorn replied, “I wanted to try one after hearing Pinkie Pie talk about them at that bonfire a couple moons ago. She said they’re her favorite fruit, and if anypony knows sweets…” she trailed off and looked at Applejack with eyes the size of saucers.
The stocky earth pony laughed in the filly’s face, earning a surprised look. “Just like yer sister. Sweetie Belle, you can just ask if you’re wantin’ somethin’. Yah don’t got to go an’ give me the puppy dog eyes.”
Sweetie Belle blinked, taken aback. She stammered but Applejack continued on.
“Watermelon’s almost out of season, so they’re more pricey now. If Ah’d known you wanted one Ah would’ve got one for that midsummer bonfire. But if we’ve got enough bits leftover between Rarity’s errands an’ mine, we’ll see about pickin’ one up.” She winked for good measure, and that got Sweetie Belle to giggle.
Applejack reviewed their list again. For Rarity: two liters of bottled mineral water, a dozen eggs, three bundles of fresh flowers, a loaf of bread, two jars of honey, three bushels of kale and one bushel of arugula, and soap and shampoo. That seemed easy enough. The Apple family grocery list shared enough stops with Rarity’s that they wouldn’t be going too far out of their way.
Apple Bloom snapped her big sister from her thoughts with a simple question: “Can we grab some breakfast?”
“It’s brunch time,” Sweetie Belle offered matter-of-factly.
“And we already ate before leavin’ the farm,” Applejack replied, “Ah saw you put away that muffin with mah own two eyes.”
“But Ah’m hungry, big sis,” Apple Bloom protested, “and those griffon scones smell so good!”
The little filly did have a point. Applejack knew her way around an oven, but a nearby merchant’s wares impressed her. The griffon baker behind it did his best not to scowl at the crowd, though his sharp beak, talons, and intimidating navy-blue plumage did him no favors. Spices Applejack had no hope of guessing held Apple Bloom’s full attention. The older pony realized too late that the pastries had her in their grasp, too.
It was a shame nopony stopped to sample the griffon’s wares, especially after he had traveled such a long way. Applejack stepped up to the baker and ordered three of his freshest scones, dropping some bits into a terracotta jar on his stand. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle thanked him - without prompting, she noted with no small satisfaction - and they continued on their way, eating as they trotted down the street.
“First stop,” Applejack tried to say, a mouthful of dry scone impeding her, “we’ll pick up the mineral water from that salespony. Ah remember her cart up ‘round this corner, an’ Ah could use a drink myself.” The two fillies, all smiles now, nodded in agreement.
Applejack greeted the pony at her cart and ordered three glasses of cool water for her and the fillies. The merchant turned to a large keg under her tent and exchanged the drinks for a few bits.
Thirst quenched, Applejack thanked the pony and asked, “Ah’ll also take two bottles of mineral water.”
“Great,” the salespony replied, “would you prefer water sourced from Neighagra Falls, or the Whitetail Woods?”
Applejack blinked in confusion. “What’s the difference?”
Sweetie Belle interrupted them: “Rarity wants Neighagra Falls water, she says it’s the only spring pure enough.”
“Someone knows her mineral water,” the merchant said approvingly, smiling and lifting two glass bottles onto the counter, “you won’t find a clearer wellspring in all of Equestria.”
“Seems awful picky to me,” Applejack grumbled, passing over some bits. She set the bottled water into her saddlebags, thanked the salespony, and began walking to the next stall.
“Is Rarity this picky about all her groceries?” Applejack asked cautiously.
“I guess so,” Sweetie Belle answered uncertainly. A look of revelation washed across her face and the little unicorn continued brightly, “But I can help! I know lots about what she’s wanting.”
“That’d be mighty helpful of ya,” Applejack responded, “the sooner we get these chores put away, the sooner we can find y’all a watermelon.”
From there they visited the town florists’ shop, which did double-duty as a produce co-op on busy market days like this one. Valley Lilly and Daisy were running behind the counter, taking orders and setting out prepared bundles of flowers. Roseluck had just finished helping another customer when Applejack stepped up.
The cowpony consulted her list again and looked up to the raspberry-maned mare. “Ah’d like three bushels of fresh-cut flowers, please.”
“Sure thing,” Roseluck answered politely, a thin, expectant smile dressing her face. “And which flowers would you prefer?”
Applejack cringed and looked to Sweetie Belle, who was similarly taken aback. “D’you know what kinda flowers yer sister likes?”
“Um,” Sweetie began, then hesitated. An awkward silence suspended between them and Roseluck’s gaze wandered impatiently to other waiting customers. “Purple ones?”
“Lilacs?” Roseluck asked politely. Then she recognized the little filly and sighed gratefully, “You must be here for Rarity’s standing order. She picks up a few arrangements of fresh lilacs, tulips, and lavender buds every few weeks. I’ll be right back with them!” The mare hummed to herself cheerily as she stepped into the back.
“Well, thank Celestia for that,” Applejack breathed in relief. She took half a dozen bits from her saddlebag and gave them to Apple Bloom. “Ah’ll wait here an’ pay for Rarity’s flowers. Y’all go ‘round back an’ get the greens from Carrot Top. Sweetie Belle, d’you remember what to get?”
“I do!” the filly answered excitedly, bobbing her cotton candy-toned mane. “Three bushels of kale, and one bushel of arugula.”
“Mighty fine,” Applejack said approvingly, “an’ Bloom, just tell Carrot Top yer there to pay fer the Apple family order, an’ I’ll be ‘round in a bit to pick it up.” Roseluck returned a few minutes later and sold Applejack the flowers, then thanked her for their business.
"Give my best to your brother for me," the florist called out hopefully as Applejack left the shop.
Lunchtime had come and past by the time they made it out with the fresh greens, so Applejack allowed the fillies to stop and grab some pretzels from a nearby street vendor. Sweetie Belle had wanted a cheese-filled pretzel and now Applejack was wrassling with how to explain the mess on the filly’s coat to her older sister.
Up ahead loomed a tall tent patterned with honeycombs. The local beekeeper, a lanky gray stallion, was busy inside reorganizing jars of honey.
Seeing their opportunity to get in and out before another line could develop, Applejack dashed inside and asked, “Two jars of honey, please.”
The bookish stallion, a friendly mailpony named Parcel Post, looked over his shoulder and greeted them. He kept his beehives on land neighboring Sweet Apple Acres. “You’re after local honey today, Applejack? Or something imported?”
“Ah’d be just fine with what we’ve got here in Ponyville,” Applejack answered reluctantly, “but Ah’m doin’ a friend’s shopping today, an’ her tastes are a mite-different from mine.” Apple Bloom whispered something conspiratorially to Sweetie Belle and the two fillies giggled.
“That’s kind of you,” the beekeeper answered patiently, “but with the harvest on, allergens will be in the air before you know it. A local product would be a good ward against that.”
Applejack chewed on that thought. It made sense, and what difference could it make if Rarity had honey harvested here in Ponyville, or off somewhere else?
“Good thinkin’,” she said confidently, “Ah’ll take two jars of yer best honey, local all the way.”
“Do you know which varieties your friend prefers?” The tall pony looked at the the two Apples, then turned an appraising eye to Sweetie Belle. “Unless I miss my mark, are you lending a hoof to Miss Rarity Belle?”
Applejack nodded in thanks. “Ah am, she’s awful busy at her boutique. D’you happen to know which honey she likes the best?”
“Oh, Miss Rarity has sampled all of my wares. The local offerings are sourced from alfalfa, apple, aster, basswood, blueberry, buckwheat, clover, dandelion-”
Applejack wanted to scream. Why couldn’t it be as simple as grabbing a jar of honey and swapping it for a few bits? Why were so many ponies so picky?
“Apple,” she said suddenly, interrupting the beekeeper, “Ah’ll take two jars of yer finest apple blossom honey.”
The stallion smiled in recognition. “That’s a good choice, Applejack.” They traded bits for jars and Applejack stalked out of the tent shaking her head, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trailing her.
“All’s left is soap and shampoo,” she grumbled in irritation, “how hard can that be to sort out?”
The crowd was thinning out as the afternoon sun began its descent, most ponies’ errands run. On the way to their final stop, the three ponies passed the Apple family apple stand. It looked like Big Mac and Granny Smith had seen a good day’s business; no fritters or apple pie slices remained, though a few bushels of red fruit from the southern orchard remained, shining in the sun.
Applejack had meant to just offer a friendly nod and wave at her family, but Apple Bloom had other plans.
“That’s Big Mac an’ Granny!” the little pony insisted, tugging on her big sister’s hoof. “Ah’ve got ta go an’ see ‘em!”
“Bloom, we live with ‘em. Ya saw ‘em both this morning.”
“But that was then! An’ now they’re here! Ah wanna tell’em all about what we did today.”
Applejack’s eyes narrowed. “Ya want ta go an’ tell ‘em about grocery shoppin’.”
“Yes,” Apple Bloom replied, voice very serious. “An’ Ah can tell ‘em about the new spices Ah got from that griffin-”
“Ya what?”
“Cardamom! Cloves! An’ some others. Ah talked with that griffin baker, Gilroy, who we got those scones from fer breakfast.”
“Brunch,” Sweetie Belle said insistently.
“Second breakfast,” Apple Bloom compromised, withdrawing a few canisters of dried spices from her saddlebag, “but Ah think these new spices could go great in Granny Smith’s bakin’! Ah wanna tell her all about ‘em!”
“Apple Bloom Apple-Smith,” her older sister began, expression shrewd, “did you pay for them spices?”
Apple Bloom looked insulted. “Yes! Ah paid with ‘em with my own allowance. I fixed some cabinets at Sugarcube Corner for Pinkie Pie an’ she gave me the bits.” She lifted her chin proudly, challenging Applejack.
This filly really is growing up too fast. Applejack sighed, then allowed, “Go on an’ see your big brother an’ granny. Ah’ve got just one more stop to make before droppin’ all these groceries off with Rarity, so y’all stay put here at the apple stand.”
Apple Bloom’s smile was beaming and victorious. She and Sweetie Belle ran over to join the other Apples.
Applejack bought a dozen fresh eggs from a stall set up further down the road. Mercifully, they were all the same and Rarity’s pickiness wasn’t a problem. She made a note to herself to start bringing eggs along with her weekly apple deliveries - the henhouse on their farm made more than the Apple family could cook themselves, even in spite of Apple Bloom’s growing appetite. A baker’s cart across the street had sold everything but a few honey-oat loaves, so Applejack purchased those, too.
The ivory soap was an easy find, but her luck didn’t hold out with the shampoo. The shelves were packed with dozens of varieties, maybe a hundred. The cowpony looked down the cavernous aisle without hope. It was madness. She checked the list again to make sure that Rarity had not specified a brand or scent; no such luck.
The vendor was a traveling merchant, too; the disinterested pegasus behind the counter was watching the sun descend to meet the horizon. She wouldn’t be of any help for finding what Rarity wanted.
Applejack’s thoughts returned to her busy seamstress. Which shampoo would she want? Land sakes, what did the prissy unicorn even smell like?
There, that was a breakthrough. She could almost hear Rarity’s sing-song “idea!” calling through her head. Resolute, Applejack did the only thing she could. She started with the first bottle of shampoo. She opened it, sniffed, and put it away. No good, onto the next one.
The bell chimed as Carousel Boutique’s front door opened and shut, but no greeting from the owner accompanied it. Applejack thought she heard her friend curse under her breath from the kitchen, so that’s where she went.
She was in luck. Rarity was sitting at her kitchen table, head resting on her hooves and a tea kettle heating up on the stovetop. The unicorn was a mess, but it looked good on her. Loose hairs from her indigo mane stood out in contrast against her silver-gray coat, and she had washed most of her makeup away after finishing her work for the day.
Rarity looked up and grinned slowly, worn out from her hours in the assembly room. “Applejack,” she began warmly, “I am oh so grateful for you taking the time out of your day to go to market for me,” her eyes searched the doorway around Applejack, “and for escorting dear Sweetie Belle around town. You’ve been my own knight-errant. But where is she?”
It was Applejack’s turn to smile wanly. “Her an’ Apple Bloom ran into little Scootaloo on their way back here. Ah guess Twilight is havin’ a harvest moon sleepover at the library to show all the colts an’ fillies the stars.”
“A night of stargazing? That sounds delightful,” Rarity thought for a moment, hoof tapping her chin, “and I do suppose we have nothing on the agenda tomorrow.” The unicorn’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, ears flat to her head, “At least Sweetie has a freed schedule. I will be receiving an emergency shipment of stock from Canterlot to be adjusted.”
Her grumbles about Charming Chic and conniving fancy ponies trailed away as she noticed Applejack’s saddlebags filled near to bursting. “Applejack, come set those down. Carrying those groceries all day must have been exhausting.”
“Sure thing sugarcube,” Applejack answered in thanks, stepping over to empty her bags, “least it’s fer a good cause.”
Rarity jokingly rolled her eyes. “I’m no charity case, darling.”
Together they spread the bags’ contents across the table. Rarity turned an appraising eye over everything and a small voice in Applejack’s mind whispered cautions about having gotten the wrong variety of honey. The tired cowpony ignored it steadfastly.
“You know,” Rarity said while inspecting an amber honey jar, “it occurred to me that I had not specified what I was looking for. Yet you’ve managed quite well in finding my favorites.
“But I have to ask,” her voice turned suspicious, setting aside the honey and levitating a bottle of shampoo, “How did you even find this melon daiquiri blend, much less know it was what I was hoping for? It’s a rare thing among Ponyville wares.”
“The best things are,” Applejack replied easily, surprised at how smoothly the words came to her, “it just seemed like somethin’ ya’d like, so Ah got it.”
Something flashed across Rarity’s face, but her expression remained still and smiling. A memory? “Still, you have been an amazing help for me today, Applejack. I’m not quite certain how I may repay you in my time of need.”
Applejack stepped awkwardly from one hoof to the other. Where had her confidence gone, wilting under the unicorn’s steady gaze?
“Well,” Applejack started, remembering a promise, “Ah told yer little sister Ah’d get her a watermelon - talk o’ yer fancy shampoo reminded me. But Ah mighta run outta spare bits for it,” the cowpony chuckled anxiously, “promise ya won’t remind her? We ain’t likely to see anymore watermelons ‘til next summer anyway.”
“Of course, darling,” Rarity replied, “I doubt Sweetie Belle would like trying it, though. Too many seeds, and her magic is not keen enough to deal with them yet. But is that all you’ll ask of me?”
Applejack swallowed, then surveyed the greens, eggs, bread, and honey spread out on the table. They nearly had a meal already, after some quick assembly. The nerves came screaming back into her head and she crushed them ruthlessly. “How about dinner?”
Rarity hummed happily as she trotted gracefully to the door. It was closing time at the Carousel Boutique, and she’d done a brisk business today; market days were always busy, but nearly half a dozen unicorns had placed a group order that would keep her busy for the week.
The cohorts were regular customers, but usually in the Canterlot shop. Lemon Hearts, Minuette, Twinkleshine, and a nervous Moon Dancer were in Ponyville visiting Lyra Heartstrings, and they wanted custom dresses to celebrate some anniversary. Lyra promised to deliver a sixth pony’s measurements later to complete the order, but divulged no details. Rarity always respected clients’ confidentiality, though she had her suspicions of who Lyra had in mind.
She had just turned the “open” sign to “closed” and was preparing to lock the door when a familiar orange coat caught her eye.
“Woah, girl,” Applejack called out, cantering up the street, “Rarity, Ah’ve got big news!”
Rarity blinked and held the door open, raising an eyebrow and flicking her ears expectantly. Applejack came to a stop just outside the doorway, pausing to whip the dust from her flanks and clean her hooves on a stiff-haired brush set by the threshold.
It was a small gesture, but it still brought a small smile to Rarity’s face after all these years. Applejack’s consideration for her marefriend’s business was appreciated; muddy hoofprints were quite the turn-off to would-be customers.
Applejack followed her inside, Rarity shutting the door behind them with her magic. They walked together past the well-dressed ponyquins, some still wearing designs created by Rarity’s fashion show contestants from a few moons prior. Rarity struggled to keep up with Applejack’s excited storytelling, which intrigued her - it wasn’t like the farmer to gush like this.
“... so after we visited Goldie Delicious - ya remember her from th’ reunion? - we tracked down Burnt Oak, my Pa’s foalhood friend. He hasn’t come ‘round much, but he was a mighty big help on th’ farm back in th’ day. Ain’t seen him in quite a while, though, but Big Mac was awful glad ta see him. So after he told us about all the foalish things Pa did courtin’ Ma, we hustled on over ta Sugarcube Corner, an’ it turns out Missus Cake used ta call herself Chiffon Swirl…”
Rarity grinned sheepishly and stopped Applejack’s mouth with a hoof. She couldn’t hold the torrent of emotional explanation for long, so spoke quickly, “Applejack, darling, I cannot keep up. This is about your parents?”
The muffled earth pony nodded frantically.
“Well, that is quite exciting!” Rarity exclaimed, though she still did not move her hoof. “I will brew some tea while you collect your thoughts.” Applejack stepped back and began to speak again, but Rarity cut her off. “Lots of sugar in yours, I know.”
Applejack’s energy was infectious. She tried to chat politely while Rarity prepared the tea, but Rarity could tell the goings-on around the boutique did not quite draw the farmer’s interest. Still, minutes later they sat together at the kitchen table and Rarity beckoned for Applejack to begin her story.
“So there was a new pony at market today,” she began cautiously.
“I’ve heard,” Rarity replied, encouraging Applejack to go on, “some of my customers spoke highly of his pear jams.”
“Yeah,” Applejack said flatly, “his pears.” Was that a hint of long-buried tension? “Ah guess Grand Pear ain’t new to Ponyville, but he was new to me. He’s my Grandpa. My Grandpa Grand Pear, like Apple Bloom called him.”
“So your mother was a Pear,” Rarity responded thoughtfully, assembling a Punnett square in her mind, “making you half of a pear, and half of an apple.”
Applejack spread her forelegs wide in shared surprise. “Ah reckon so! And Ah never knew it. Ma always went by Buttercup aroun’ town, but her first name was Pear Butter.”
“I never knew that,” Rarity mused, nodding for Applejack to continue. The cowpony obliged.
“Ah don’t know that ya ever met ‘em,” Applejack went on, “ya didn’t move here ‘til after the accident.” Her voice was becoming strained, and Rarity was quick to put a supporting hoof over Applejack’s. A thin smile put Applejack back on track.
“But anyway,” she breathed deeply, “Granny has never been too forthcomin’ ‘bout Ma and Pa. So me, Apple Bloom, an’ Big Mac made a visit to aunt Goldie Delicious.”
“I thought she was a cousin? The pony who smells like cats?”
“She might be both,” Applejack admitted, eyeing Opalescence’s litter box, “but she might even be on the Pear side of this family tree. Or the Pie side, if there is one. It’s got a bunch of branches, an’ some grow close together.” Something glinted in Applejack’s green eyes upon mentioning that tree. “Either way, she filled us in on the Apple family feud with the Pears.
“But that’s all Goldie Delicious could tell us. Like I said earlier, we came back to town an’ found Burnt Oak’s firewood stand at the market. He an’ Pa were tight like me an’ Dash growin’ up. This one time, they were plow-racin’, an’ Pa broke Grand Pear’s water silo…”
Rarity sat patiently and listened, entranced, as Applejack relayed the story of her parents’ secretive courtship. It was a story not unlike some of Rarity’s favorite stage romances. Burnt Oak played the part of a level-headed counsel to Bright McIntosh. Mrs. Cake - then Chiffon Swirl - was a conspirator in the conflict between Buttercup's heart and her mind. With the help of their best friends, the star-crossed lovers mostly kept their trysts away from prying eyes.
After a while, Applejack paused to drink her tea. She found her voice again and continued, “They loved each other, Rares. They truly did. Ma even wrote him a love song - Ah’m gonna go through their things up in the attic an’ the sheet music someday, if she wrote it down at all.”
“I didn’t know your mother was a musician,” Rarity observed, then asked: “did she teach you?”
“Just the guitar,” Applejack answered, “Ah figured the bass an’ the fiddle on mah own. An’ the banjo.
“But they married without telling anypony,” she said sadly, “nopony but Mayor Mare, who did the ceremony. An’ Burnt Oak an’ Missus Cake their best ponies. Granny an’ Grand Pear didn’t even know ‘til the vows were said.”
“And he made her choose,” Rarity guessed, grappling with the realization, “Grand Pear made her choose her family.”
Applejack was quiet for a moment, eyes shut. “He did.”
They sat together, contemplative. Rarity squeezed Applejack’s hoof and the pained earth pony squeezed back, then moved closer to share an embrace. Applejack was not prone to such public affection, and Rarity relished it.
But it still stung. “I can’t imagine,” Rarity began.
“Neither can I,” Applejack confessed.
“How could you forgive him?”
Applejack swallowed. “He asked.”
Rarity stared, dumbfounded. Emotions ran through her in a flash. She settled on shock, choosing it before anger could convince her.
“How? How could you forgive him? As if it were so easy?”
“It ain’t easy, Rares,” Applejack answered in a small voice, “it never is, except with family.”
Rarity was quiet again. She focused on her breathing, knowing how flushed her face had gotten.
Applejack took the opportunity to again lead the conversation. “Grand Pear did us wrong, an’ he did Ma wrong most of all. But he knows that,” she started deeply into Rarity’s eyes, looking for something. Confirmation? Approval? “He knows what he did to his daughter, an’ to us, an’ me givin’ him a hard time for it won’t make things better.” It won’t bring Ma back.
It was a lot to take in. They sat there together as the tea cooled and stars began to shine through the setting sunlight outside.
“Grand Pear is all Ah’ve got left of Ma,” Applejack said slowly, choosing her words thoughtfully, “an’ Ah want him here in Ponyville. Ah want him here with my family. Ah want us together again.”
“I can respect that,” Rarity offered helpfully.
Applejack stared out the window. “But ya don’t forgive him.”
“No,” Rarity said quickly, “I don’t understand him, Applejack. Not yet. I can’t fathom doing what he did, much less to my own daughter.” She paused to breathe and gather her thoughts, “I haven’t even met him, but I’ll give him a chance. If you want him in your life, I will respect that. Maybe someday he can find a place in my life, too.”
“In our life?” asked Applejack.
Rarity smiled and nuzzled her marefriend. “Of course, darling.”
The tension left Applejack’s shoulders and she exhaled deeply. Minutes passed in silence, each of them contemplative, before Applejack shrugged off of Rarity and grinned, eyes shining.
“C’mon with me, over to th’ west orchard. There’s some trees ya need ta see.”
