A story in which Applebloom and her many young friends come to realize that the emergence into adulthood for a young mare living in RGRE is a strange, trying, and often painful experience.
Spaghetti and Fillies is a multi-chapter work that began in the RGRE general of /mlp/ and has since begun to be remolded for the fine folks on FimFiction. While the story continues over several 'episodes' where the focus changes slightly and more characters are added, the overarching theme and tone remain the same: a lighthearted story in which a troubled farm-filly emerging into adolescence deals with the problems and societal pressures associated with such a time. In true /mlp/ fashion, many of her triumphs and failures will center around the human character Anonymous, as well as the various other RGRE counterparts for characters present in the show.
Though there isn't and likely never will be any real sexual content in this story, there will be allusions, crass language, and much, much spaghetti spraying - the latter of which only gets worse as the story goes on.
As the three of you tread down the dirt road back to the farm, the sour expression you can feel burning into the back of your head never ceases. You pin your ears as another sound of discontent reaches them, a glob of mud whizzing by in your peripheral as Sweetie Belle continues in vain to whisk and toss the collected grime in her mane.
You’d been apologizing since it happened, but nothing you said had been improving her mood at all. Not only that, but she made sure that you and Scoots could hear her assorted grunts and groans of displeasure all the way home.
It wasn’t like you made her fall or anything. She wouldn’t have anything to complain about if she just watched where she was going.
So what if the ground was still a little wet from the rain? Hiding in your treehouse for the millionth time in recent memory would have been a much worse fate than getting your hooves a little dirty! There was a whole world out there, and it hadn’t been this sunny in almost a week. Heck, it hadn’t been sunny period in almost a week.
’A little bit’a nature never hurt nopony, right?’ as your sister would always say.
Sweetie didn’t agree, and her constant reminders were starting to weigh on you.
“Look, ah said I was sorry! It ain’t even so bad. C’mon, we’ll be back in no time. We just gatta’ get you under the rinsin’ spigot and you’ll be good as new! Then we can go back, grab the ball an’—”
”I am NOT going back out there!” Sweetie snaps, your attempt at optimism rolling off of her. “If we just stayed in the treehouse like I said, my mane wouldn’t be messed up in the first place!”
She hadn’t spoken actual words in quite a while, and judging from her tone she’d been saving that little retort in her head for when the time was right. Your good sense reminds you that she is technically correct, but that only helps the frustration slowly overpowering your guilt to grow.
“Well… If ya’ll weren’t bein’ such a COLT all the time, we wouldn’t need to go back home at all,“ you mutter.
Two pairs of hooves plod up behind you and then draw in to your right, Sweetie Belle’s frowning face framed in a mane full of sun-dried dirt and muck. Before she can toss what is sure to be a fully-loaded barb that launches you both into long, drawn out argument, the third member of your party blocks your view of each other.
”H-Hey, look, we’re already here!” Scootaloo says. “Look, we’ll all get cleaned up, open that bag of Wonderbolt haychips I stashed away at the clubhouse, and by the time we’re all done Sweetie should be dry. C’mon, I’m hungry. You guys are hungry too... right?”
The off-orange filly smiles nervously, whipping her head back and forth between the both of you. Stubbornness shining through, you wait for Sweetie to concede her anger first – which she does with a reluctant nod. You parrot the gesture, and the issue is dropped.
For now.
Now walking shoulder to shoulder, the three of you cross deeper into the apple farm, passing up the clubhouse on the way. Your destination was beyond, to the water taps on the side of the barn. That was where the baskets of apples were rinsed after they were sorted.
Judging by the pink-peach color of the clouds and much of the horizon, you were probably coming up on four or five PM. The nearing evening wasn’t doing much for the humidity, but at least the raw heat was starting to let up. As Scootaloo educated the both of you on how her extra-cheesy hay chips were superior to regular hay chips on the merit that they had been pre-formed into goggle-wearing Pegasus shapes, you idly recall that your folks should be wrapping up the picking right about now, and wonder if you might meet up with one of them there.
No sooner had that thought crossed your mind did the three of you come around the south side of the barn and spot him.
The sight causes you and Sweetie to pause instinctively, the combination of your sudden stop and the sound of water hitting the ground quieting Scootaloo’s talking and drawing her gaze as well. Just ahead of you the freshly wet faucets glimmer in the fading sun, and standing above them is Anon the Human, clutching a small wooden bucket.
The first time you’d seen him was in your kitchen with Twilight Sparkle, but you didn’t get much of a look at the time. If you remembered right, the lavender mare was trying to convince your sister to let him work for them.
Now, Big Mac working on the farm was one thing; he was family, and he was expected to help out around the farm however he could, even if it wasn’t technically proper. Some colt just wandering in from the outside, though? That was gonna’ take A LOT of fancy book-talk to accomplish with your folks. More than even Twilight was capable of.
So, when talking didn’t work, Twilight called in a favor.
That recent ‘Apple-Slug’ infestation she helped clear up had won her some points on the farm. Enough, apparently, for your sister and granny to finally relented.
’I reckon It don’t matter none,’ you remember Applejack telling you , her expression betraying her feelings of uneasiness. ‘Alls I had to do was accept. It’s supposed to rain all this week if’in Dash can be trusted. All that summer heat’n rain, and mud on the hooves? He’ll be runnin’ on home in no time, just you wait’.
Well, there had been much waiting this week, and even though the rain was gone, they still had no shortage of stallions in the orchard. In that time it wasn’t strange to hear Granny and AJ speaking in harsh whispers when you and Mac were just out of earshot, presumably about your continuing hire.
You don’t really get the hullabaloo. Sure, it was weird for a boy to want to carry heavy baskets and knock on trees and what-not, but colts were just weird.
Really weird – and not in a quirky, funny way either.
Like, just recently, the boys in your class had started to talk funny and put funny things on themselves, little baubles or fetlock bracelets. It didn’t stop at cosmetics.
Their withers and necks were getting thicker. Their faces were becoming sharper, eyes more noticeable and piercing. They walked with a slight sway in their step, which always threatened to draw your eye to their rounded, perky, cutie-mark splashed flanks.
Sometimes they did this thing where they leaned on their hip and bit at their lower lip while looking up at you, completely oblivious to how they were making you feel antsy, and anxious, and short of breath, and scared, and-and…
And a myriad of other complex feelings you didn’t like to think about too hard. More and more of which were making themselves known as you and your three friends stared at the creature just ahead.
He always wore so many clothes, but at the moment his top half had been stripped away, and you could see much more of his strange, bare body. The water from the bucket he’d just turned over his head tumbled in subtle, ebbing waves down his wide, bare chest and barrel. He sighs coltishly from the sensation, and your breath catches.
Was it normal to hear your own heart? Could Sweetie and Scoots hear it? Could HE hear it?
The cool water comes rolling down his body again, the sound from the splash bouncing off of the side of the barn and dancing out into the orchard.
You notice that your mouth is slightly open and slam it shut like a vice.
He gasps from the cool shock against his skin, then rounds out the sound with a relieved chuckle as he trails his lithe claws through his mane and down his neck. You swallow as the water travels low and darkens the clothing on his bottom half. The band that held up the rest of his clothing sags slightly under the added weight of the liquid, revealing another scant inch of his hips and lower abdomen as well as the beginning mound of his flanks.
While thoughts of the like are no longer uncommon, the sudden and unnatural desire you feel to see what he might look like without his annoying, obstructive clothing is still mildly frightening to you.
Frightening, and familiar.
You still remember that Wednesday evening when Twist pulled the three of you aside after class with the promise of showing you ‘something rad’, something she’d witnessed her mother hiding under a box in her closet. The item of intrigue was a Playfilly Magazine, an object that you’d only heard of in legends and the sidelong whispers of smirking adults.
Every page was painted with doughy-eyed, breathless young stallions.
Stallions splayed out on beds, lying on the grass or up against walls, their manes fanned out behind them. Their open, inviting posture gave you an eyeful of their colt parts, all of which were swelled and purposely presented to the reader via strange or form-tight clothing. Sometimes they were even soaking wet like Anon was right now.
While at the time the much-awaited ‘books only for big mares and stallions’ had been brushed off with nervous chuckles and declarations of anti-climax from yourself and the crusaders, the feelings they stirred in you were never fully shaken, and in fact were making their appearance again right now.
Your head swivels slowly to the right to examine your two friends, both of whom you note have remained just as silent as you for the last few… seconds? Minutes?
Scootaloo’s eyes are trained ahead and shining with what you can easily make out as subdued excitement, the edges of her mouth neutral but threatening to twitch upwards. Sweetie is much harder to read. Her head is lowered just slightly, and she’s biting at her cheek. The knees of her legs all turn inward just slightly.
She almost looks ashamed.
In the blink of an eye the white filly whips her head around to face you, her eyes widening and her face burning just enough for you to notice.
”O-Oh! Uhh… Hey girls? What’s up?”
The human’s voice causes you and Sweetie to jump slightly, your heads whipping back around in surprise. Scootaloo opens her mouth to speak and, upon failing, pales slightly and turns her head to either side, silently begging for somepony to do something with her eyes. A rush of information comes flooding into your mind, scenes of Applejack scowling or even lecturing mares about ‘leering at innocent stallions’ when the family were out at the market with Big Mac.
“A-Ah’m, uhh… we were just, uhh… we weren’t, uhh… “
A voice to your far right cuts you off, the unmistakable squeak of Sweetie Bell drowning out your feeble attempts to properly speak.
”M-… My mane,” she manages softly.
”Your…? Oh… Oh yeah. Haha, yeah I see what you mean, ” the human replies. His five-pointed hooves grip the waistband of his pants and tug them up to a slightly more reasonable position, and he motions to her. “C’mere.”
There’s a pause, the cream-colored filly’s eyes widening.
”Ah… m-me?” Sweetie replies dumbly, unmoving.
You cringe slightly, but you don’t really know why.
”Yeah, you. C’mere,” he repeats, motioning again.
All you can do is watch as the muddy-maned filly anxiously trots up the large creature, the sun at his back causing the water bordering his skin to glisten just enough to reveal a faint and alien musculature that you hadn’t observed quite as well before.
The human leads Sweetie Belle several paces away and then kneels, delicately supporting her head as he cranes it under the dripping nearby pipe. With a twist of the wheel a stream of cool water falls from the pipe and mingles into the mess of mane and human claws.
Anon methodically weaves his tentacle-y hooves through Sweetie’s sopping multicolored mane, smoothly combing the dirt and small twigs out with patient precision. Sweetie winces subtly each time his feelers graze her small horn or ring around the back of her stiff ears, but her eyes never once close. She stares upwards eagerly, his wet mane framing and dangling from his face as he examines her with a mix of concentration and gentleness, completely unaware of how unabashedly the young pony was drinking him in.
”Pretty hot, huh?” he says.
Sweetie’s face burns, turning to embarrassment and momentary fear; she doesn’t dare reply.
”I wasn’t expecting it to be so warm today. Normally I would’ve just rinsed off at home, but this just looked so inviting!”
Anonymous smiles and dips his head, affixing his eyes back on her.
“The water feels nice, right?”
Relief pools in your chest as the cream filly nods – a little too fast – in affirmative, mumbling a reply that was just out of you and Scootaloo’s range of hearing. Soon most if not all traces of impurity are run out of your friend’s mane, and the creature stands. The reintroduction of his full height is a strange mix of comforting and intimidating.
”Th-thanks y-… Thank you. Uhh, sir… “ Sweetie stumbles pitiably, her face still prickling as she moves to rejoin you and Scootaloo.
”Naw, don’t mention it, ma’am,” he replies with a flash his teeth, clearly amused by her formality.
As your fellow crusader returns to you side you come to a startling realization.
Move; you can move too.
Your entire body twitches unnaturally as you remember what it’s like to not be a stiff, creepy pony that stares at gentlecolts without them knowing. What would AJ say if she saw what you were just doing?
Anon reaches down and reclaims his things, slinging the pale in his left hand over his shoulder by the handle and gripping what appeared to be his top-clothes in his right at his side. Sweetie Bell rounds you, placing you between her and the human, her face breaking into a dreamy grin.
”It’s gettin’ a little late. You girls gonna be alright getting home?” the human asks.
”Uhh, y-yeah! We’ll be fine! We’re having a sleepover at the clubhouse tonight!” Scootaloo replies, seemingly regaining her composure.
”That so? Alllll the way out there in the orchard?” he questions, turning his upper body towards the CMC clubhouse. Its chipping paint just within view between the trees in the distance.
“That’s pret-ty brave of you,” he enunciates, turning back to the three of you with a reserved grin.
Whenever he speaks his words hit your ears just right, in just the right way. Even the slight tease in his tone rolls off of you and draws you further in.
Is this… is this flirting? With the effect it was having on you, this HAD to be what flirting was. The deep, smooth tone of his voice is a contrasting battle of confident, playful and fatherly that sets him apart from the colts at school in your mind.
He had the unmistakable aura of an experienced, adult stallion. Just like the ones in that magazine.
The longer he looks down at you, the more you want to hide your face, curl up into a ball – anything to escape the raw sureness of his presence.
”Yeah… we’re REALLY brave… “ Scootaloo confirms dimly, the inelegance of her return drawing you out of your confidence spiral somewhat. She doesn’t seem to notice what she just said. The orange filly’s eyes are slightly lidded as she returns Anon’s gaze, the wings folded into her sides ruffling slightly.
”… Uhhhh-huh. Welp, you have fun then. I gatta’ head back inside and wrap things up with Applejack,” he says, turning away and juggling the pale in his feelers as he replaces his top-clothes.
Your eyes are drawn low against your will, tracing the fine outline of his flanks as his wet bottom-clothes cling to them. When you lift your eyes again you are startled to find his staring back at you over his shoulder.
Oh heck, why does the air on your face suddenly feel so cool?
He saw you looking. He definitely saw you looking. Aw apples, say something!
“Ah-uhh… “
SOMETHING ELSE!
”You girls aren’t gonna get into any mischief while you’re all alone, right?” He grins over his shoulder, waiting for your answer.
Horseapples, he definitely saw you.
”Nuh-uh.“ replies the orange crusader.
”No, sir, we won’t,“ replies the white, drawing circles in the dirt with her hoof.
Okay, you haven’t said anything of consequence ‘till now; this is it! Show him how marely and confident you are, like your big sis!
You straighten your legs and puff out your meager tuft, adopting a face that you hoped to Celestia looked cool and confident and, finally, full of hope:
“Y-you too!” you squeak, and your developing voice cracks noticeably through your stutter.
AAAHHHH!Apple me right in the consarnin’ APPLES!
You almost choke, your face scrunching up as your body language instantly devolves from confident to the opposite. Your face burns as you hear the distant sound of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon’s chesty, mean-spirited guffaws echoing endlessly in your head. You SWEAR that Sweetie and Scoots whip their heads around to face you, but you can only judge through your peripheral since you don’t dare look up from the ground. For as much as you mentally flinched each time they said something odd, what you said easily took the grand prize in awkward.
Each millisecond ticks away individually in your head; you aren’t breathing, and a tightness has dominated your chest. You want to open your mouth to recover, but the words won’t come.
Thank goodness he has plenty to spare.
”Well, alright, you take care then,” he hums simply, and then turns to leave.
Your flub doesn’t even break his stride, as if he was completely immune to the hay flying out of your saddlebags. Like not even you, at your powerlevel, could shake his confidence. The filled-out human male turns the corner a moment later, leaving you alone with the water faucets and your two accomplices. Silence dominates for a long while, and you’re in no state to break it.
You can only silently hope that your slip would be ignored by your friends in the aftermath. From the look on Scootaloo’s face, it seems as though your prayers might not be so out of the question.
”Wow!” she exclaims, turning on you and Sweetie.
The volume of her voice makes you jump, and the ability to lift your head is suddenly restored.
”What a bombshell!” the orange filly yell-whispers, just soft enough to escape clarity from inside the barn – you hope.
”Yes, he was rather… rather… “ Sweetie Belle responds distantly, continuing her hobby of circling the dirt with her hoof.
”Yeah, and he had his thingies all over you! How did it feel? Were they soft? They looked soft… “
Sweetie closes her eyes and smiles goofily, shrugging occasionally as she feeds you vague, non-committal answers. The ridge in the ground under her right hoof grows deeper by the moment.
”You’re so lucky! Dang, it’s too bad I wasn-… A-Aw! My hooves!”
Your eyes are drawn to Scootaloo’s forehooves as she lifts them, showcasing the flecks of dried mud caking them to the fetlock.
”I was gonna wash them off anyways – I coulda’ asked him to help! Jeez, jeez!” The little filly bounces on her hooves, an almost pained expression on her face as she utters her further ‘drat’s and ‘dang’s.
You idly peer down at you own stompers, examining the scuffs of dirt, leaves and dry mud, wondering what it might feel like to have his fleshy grabbers run up and down your legs. Heck, you wonder what it might feel like to have them comb through your wet mane, petting you around the ears and head like he’d done with Sweetie…
A crisp breath fills your lungs, the aroma of clean sheets and moist air mingling in your nose as you lift your head from your patchwork pillow. Cherry-red locks spill down the side of your neck as you rub your eyes and take measure of your small room. Outside your window a blanket of thin morning mist decorates the apple orchard, shielding much of the breaking dawn.
It was still early, but it was today – and today is the day!
You reel your rear hooves back and kick down your comforter, pointing your limbs and stretching them toward the sky in the process.
Yesterday was the last day of summer, which meant today was the first day of autumn. Folks from all over Ponyville were due to come to the farm in droves to celebrate the beginning of the fall season. The Apple Family had been preparing for the event the entire week, and only yesterday had you finished.
The weather squad officially wrapped up seasons on the weekend for just these sorts of get-togethers, and you couldn’t wait for the culmination of all of your hard work to pay off. All sorts of pony-folk and non-pony-folk were going to flock to Sweet Apple Acres to enjoy the music and the farm-grown food, not to mention the extra catering you’d lined up as filler.
And, of course, who could forget the apple cider?
You certainly couldn’t. After all, you’d been prying at Applejack for years, silently hoping that this time, this hoe-down or this hoot n’ anny, would finally be the one where she let you try your lineage’s famous brew. None of them had been.
That is, not until today. The day that you made her SWEAR on her hat that she would let you sit up at the barrel with the other mares and have your very own glass. You made her Pinkie promise and everything.
You’d like to think it was because she and Granny were noticing how confident and marely you were becoming. You’d like to think that all the little jobs you you’d been completing for the celebration all on your own had shown your guardians how much of an independent and responsible young adult you were. That is to say, you HOPED it was for one of those dignified, thoughtful reasons…
Not because of, say, that time last week, when AJ came up to your room to check on you because she thought you were ‘choking’, only to find you hunched over your bed with a carrot from the farm – lodged half way into your throat.
She hasn’t mentioned it since, but you KNOW she told Granny and Big Mac, maybe even joked about it when you weren’t around. Nopony could trust your sister with discretion. You knew that better than most.
Granny had recently stopped calling you filly and instead resorted to ‘little lady’.
This small change in title, for what is was worth, actually made you much happier than you let on – until you started to notice it. That smile. That little smirk she put on whenever the words came out of her mouth. It was the same with Big Mac and AJ, but somehow worse. Like every time they saw you, they were thinking not of a proud pony growing into marehood, but a tiny, awkward filly clumsily slathering her mouth over colt-shaped vegetables.
That happened ONE DARN TIME and they were going to lord it over you the rest of your life.
You groan and throw your forelegs across your eyes in embarrassment of the memory, sprawling your body out flat along your comfy bed as you try to forget. You can’t, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the sudden hooffalls outside your door serve as a grim opposition. A reminder that there was always more to come; always.
”Uhh, hey Applebloom?” the unmistakable voice of your sister inquires through your door. Three slow but hard knocks resonate through your doorframe. ”Wake up cawll! Ahaha… hah. Ah’m, uhh… ah’m comin’ in…”
There’s a pregnant pause. A frown etches its way onto your face and deepens the longer it persists.
”… Ah’m ‘bout ta’ open up the door, now,” Applejack goes on cautiously, still not making a move to enter. You can hear the smile on her lips. “So if yer doin’ anything in there… best wrap it up.”
Your face scrunches up and you groan, forelegs shooting up to wrap your pillow tightly around your face and ears.
“Sis c’maaaaawn!” You whine indignantly, stifling your voice into your pillow. You kick your rear hooves in frustration at the muffled sound of her sniggering.
”Alright, alight! Ah’ll come back in a minute…“
________________
Once your morning routine is finally finished, you and Applejack take your first steps outside, reveling in the fresh morning landscape. The sun is just starting to win out over the morning fog around the trees, and multiple innocuous clouds were beginning to form high in the sky. A good start to a great day.
You and your sister trot up to the barn to find Big Mac tugging open one of its large red doors with meager difficulty. He releases the rope handle with a huff after he succeeds and turns to regard the two of you as you approach.
”Aw Mac, why’re ya’ up to that again?” Applejack says, frowning. “Ah thought ah said ta’ let me handle it? One’a these days yer gonna’ hurt yerself – and ah won’t pity ya’ none.” Her concerned look is rebuffed with a puff of the nostrils and a shake of the head from your brother.
You yourself couldn’t find much reason to fret over it – and it wasn’t on account of any sibling teasing, either. Mac had been working the farm for so long that it was almost stranger to treat him like the stallion he was than the mare he tended to act all the time. Not only that, but he was very fit, and not in the usual way that stallions tried to be.
Slim and flexible was the preferred norm, especially with city ponies and the like. Mac had never been much of either of those. For as long as you had known him, and no matter what he did, your brother’s frame had always been especially bulky and sinuous. It wasn’t terribly strange for ponies that didn’t know him to mistake him for a mare at long distances.
Though he would never say it – and would likely feel pride at being distinguished from trophy-shelf, dainty city colts – you always got the feeling he wished others besides his family would acknowledge his masculine side every once and a while. Sit down and get to know the real him.
Maybe that was why he and Anon hit it off so quickly.
A familiar tingle runs down your bright tail at the thought of that name. AJ, filling the basket on your back with supplies, pauses when she notices your shiver. She asks if the loan is too much, and all you can do is prickle pink and shake your head, hoping she can’t read minds as well as usual.
It’s been a little over a month since Anon started working on the farm.
The two of you are quite close in the rich fantasy world inside your head.
It is there he respects you, there that he observes you with subdued intensity as you confidently pamper and flirt with him. He laughs at all your jokes, face flush and eyes seductive as he confesses that he thinks about you as much as you think about him. Goes on at length about how he always fantasizes about holding you, and kissing you, and letting you touch him in all the places you’d always wanted to touch a colt.
Reality, unfortunately, was a little different.
In reality you had to put all your being into not lisping your words or bumbling over your own hooves whenever he interacted with you. In reality, when you aren’t avoiding him out of anxiety, you’re watching him from where he can’t see like a stalker. In reality he barely notices you, even when you’re focusing all of your strange, needy, throbbing emotion on him – completely out of your own control – and whenever he’s around.
—Apparently when he’s not around, too.
You sigh bitterly and turn your basket over into the grass. You were now standing out in the rear field, in the middle of a wide stretch of grass where the majority of the p̣̱̩̳̟̟a͕͎̪͉̣̳̍̐̅r͙̜̞̲͇̎ͯͦt̥̩̲̥̳̲̐ͣͩ̐̿ͤ̆ÿ̟̩͇̺́̽͒͘ would be taking place.
There’s no use in fretting over this stuff now. He’d probably be here any minute to help set things up and enjoy the celebration. You’ll have plenty of time for hoof sweat later. For now, you need to just relax and let your guard down while you can. You wouldn’t have the opportunity once he arrived.
Applejack takes a sharp exhale as she unhooks herself from the pallet, setting down the myriad of supplies she and Mac had just drug from the barn to join your own pile.
”Hey uh, Applebloom?” she says. ”We’re headin’ back to grab s’more stuff. I needja’ ta’ open up that crate there,” she motions, “spread everything out on the grass right there,” again, “then sort out the streamers’n wire’n tools’n so forth. You can handle that, can’t ya’?” Her confident smile is infectious.
“O’course! You can count on me!” you reply easily.
”That’a girl!” she returns, equally energized. “C’mawn Mac, I bet we can carry them plates’n such with the both of us.” The Stallion hums in affirmative, and the two of them set off.
Enthused, you turn and immediately place your hooves on the lid to the crate, heaving it upwards with your small hooves. Despite your best efforts, it doesn’t budge. Not only that, but now that you were up against it, you were noticing how heavy it was. Flipping this thing over on its side was probably going to be a lot harder tha–AAH CELESTIA PLEASE MAH HEART!
Your body flies backwards as the lid literally explodes off the top of the crate. The splintered wood soars high into the air and is quickly joined by something else; a ball of pink and glitter and raw, untapped energy.
”WEE-HEEE!” the flying pony cries, summersaulting in the air and scattering rainbow-colored glitter in all directions before landing smoothly in front of you on her rear hooves. Your small chest pounds furiously as you clutch at it with your hoof, eyes still sharp from the sudden and violent increase in sound and movement.
“W-What in–who’s—!? Pinkie Pah!?” You sputter breathlessly, a thin blanket of steely confetti still raining down all around.
”Hee hee! That’s me! And you’re n-… not… Applejack…?” Plinkie scrunches up her face and whips her head around, her sparkle-flecked mane flopping this way and that.
“You scared me half’ta death!” you detract weakly, taking a deep breath as you climb back onto your hooves – which DEFINITELY aren’t still shaking like a little colt’s.
The pink pony regards you for a moment before laughing raucously, quickly recovering from her disappointment.
”Hahah! Well then, at least all that effort wasn’t wasted! But don’t you worry, I’ll get’er before the day is through! You watch!” the cotton-candy menace declares as she gets on all fours and shakes the loose glitter from her fur. You shield your eyes with a hoof, peering at the party pony from around your foreleg with squinted eyes.
“Ah reckon ya’ll heard about our ‘lil event?” you say, a weary grin growing on your face. The expressive mare’s antics were always entertaining, if not a little fraying on the nerves at times.
Your face quickly falters to confusion as a thought crosses your mind. You look around Pinkie to the box she’d just come out of, small rivers of multi-colored snow still spilling out around the edges.
“It’s six in the mornin’… it was still light out when we shut up the barn yesterday. How long ya’ll... bin in that-there crate for?” you question nervously, turning back to the strange pony. “And what happened ta’ all the stuff that used to be in there?”
The pink pony grins manically. In a flash she reaches down and lifts you off the ground from around the barrel in one of her forelegs, collecting you against her side. Ignoring your squirming, she begins trotting on two legs towards the entrance to the field.
”No time, kid!” she cries. “The Cakes’ll be here any second with that wagon, and we’ll need lotsa’ tables for all the grub! Lets go! Double time!”
________________
The only predictable thing about the next few hours were the break-neck speed in which they passed you by. Just like Pinkie predicted, the Cakes arrived next. Also true to her word, their wagon overflowed with sweets and goodies of every kind imaginable, all of which were created with a care and quality that demanded to be shown off.
Applejack’s friends arrive soon afterwards.
With the added help of the other elements of harmony, stands and tents populated with the Cake’s sweets, bags of popcorn, sweetened carrot juice, and apple confections of all manner began to appear and multiply rapidly out from the place where you and your family began. Sweetie Belle had arrived with Rarity, and in the commotion of the preparations Scootaloo eventually appeared as well.
Beyond that, you started to lose track of specific faces. By the time noon started to roll around you could already feel your legs aching from all the hard work. The next time you see your sister, it’s from the ground. You and the other crusaders have collapsed dramatically and now lie panting on the grass, trying In vain to keep the sweat collecting on your brows under control.
”Alright girls!” she says, drawing your attention. ”Ah reckon ya’ll done yer parts. Go on ahead and get yourselves somethin’ ta’ drink, take a sit-down; ya’ll earned it. Everypony’s startin’ to show up and the grub’s pretty much all set up anyhow. If’n I need ya’, I’ll be sure to holler.”
“Sweet release!” Scootaloo cries with a flap of her wings.
At your sister’s recommendation, your group promptly rises from the dead and crosses the field, each collecting a cup of cold carrot juice via a nearby tent from your uncle Orange. The three of you round that same tent to sit on the side opposite the sun. It wasn’t very hot of course, being autumn, but the shade still felt nice on your warm bodies. Sweetie volunteered for the food run, and soon each of you had a big, fat chocolate cupcake for your drinks to wash down.
By noon your small group of three family members had morphed into well over seventy, each one conversing, eating, or shuffling food trays in and out of tents. The once quiet orchard was now filled with the loud hum of dozens of mares and stallions arriving and enjoying themselves.
The sight of various pegasi fluttering and darting about in the sky draws your gaze up high to admire the weather team’s early morning work, the otherwise powerful sun obstructed by large, puffy white clouds.
A comfortable silence had fallen over the three of you as you drank and enjoyed the scenery, ignoring much else but the vague blur of good company. Your head was so in the clouds, in fact, that you didn’t even notice the filly rounding the corner on your small group until she decided speaks up.
”Eyyyy!” an accented voice exclaims.
Each of you turn your heads to acknowledge the cocoa and pink pony that was now addressing you. Your eyes widen when you come to realize who she is.
“… Babs?” you say.
In less then a second you’ve set your cupcake wrapper and cup onto the grass and leapt to your hooves, awestruck.
“Babs Seed It really is you, hohmahgosh!” you exclaim happily as you wrap your cousin into a tight hug, one that’s quickly followed up with the inclusion of Scootaloo and Sweetie.
As the three of you embrace, you idly notice that she’s nearly two inches taller than when you remember her. In fact, she’s bigger in more ways than one. Her hips have grown slightly wider, her face is a little rounder, too, but it doesn’t look like she’s gained any weight.
”It’s been so long since we’ve seen you!” Sweetie squeals, smiling brightly.
Scootaloo nods vigorously. ”I can’t believe you’re here!” Her tiny wings flap in excitement as the four of you break apart.
”Eyyy, you’know,” the Manehattan filly begins, shrugging her shoulders casually, “I heard about all the eye candy in Ponyville and I figured I should get my flank down here before all’a yoos took’em all for yourselves, know what I mean?” She grins wolfishly and nudges each of you with her foreleg.
As the four of you chuckle, you take note that out of all of you, her voice is the deepest. If only by a bit. Just enough to make an impression.
“Why didn’t ya’ tell me ya’ll were comin’ in!?” you say. “How long ya’ been in Ponyville?” You take a seat in the grass as your three friends do the same.
”Aww, I wanted it to be a surprise, ya’ know? I got in last night and just lay’d low with my folks until you guys were startin’ up the fun. I figured we could just hide under you mooks’ noses and you’d be none the wiser,” Babs jokes, smiling triumphantly as each of you feed her false pouts.
“Well, it worked ah guess. Welcome back to Ponyville, cousin,” you say, smiling ear to ear.
You find yourself losing track of time again as each of you trade stories about your various adventures and mishaps. The three of you tell Babs about the time Scootaloo got her head stuck in a honey jar. You tell her about that other time Twist was cleaning her desk and one of her colty magazines fell out for everypony to see. You even tell about that OTHER time when you all tried to help cheer up Diamond Tiara after she farted herself awake in class and everypony was laughing at her for a week straight.
Good times all, ones you’d never forget.
Once the ponyville-faction of the CMC exhausted their tales to tell, the four of you decided to trot around and see the sights as Babs told you some of her own. A lot of them were about her and her Manehattan crusader palls getting up to no good, or her being forced to use the fire escape for a quick retreat when mares came home early from work to find her kissin’ on their sons and what-not. Apparently there was even a time when she was ACTUALLY taken home by the Ponice after they caught her trespassing in a warehouse after dark.
Each of you reacted to your cousin’s exploits with a mixture of mirth and subdued awe, scarcely believing how much she’d grown and charted her own path since you’d parted ways. You were actually a little embarrassed in hindsight at how mature her stories felt compared to yours. For good or for worse, she’d done a lot since you’d seen her last, and she was only a year-and-a-half older than you.
With all the time spent absorbing her various adventures, you hardly had time to notice that the amount of guests arriving and leaving had slowed to a crawl. Everypony who was still around was beginning to settle down and mingle with each other.
Just as you started to wonder where your folks might be a hiding, a tall shadow crawled across your face and drew the attention of the other fillies.
The shadow was made by a long, thick wooden pole slowly being hoisted into the air by a strong rope. Below it sat a large collection of pallets from the barn, each lined up with small gaps in between that were all connected by a long, thin sheet of particle board to create a makeshift stage.
But that wasn’t what you were looking at.
Behind the stage, hunched slightly with a piece of rope clutched tightly in his fleshy claws, was Anon the Human: Destroyer of Confidence.
When did he get here!?
A wave of nervous goosebumps washes over your body as you examine him. The muscle in his arms draws tight as he helps your brother hoist up the beam, one of two which would support the various banners each act would hang up to advertise themselves as they played.
You instinctively find your shadow on the ground, using it to gauge how your mane and bow looked before you twisted your head around into the other direction to check your tail.
Everything looked… okay?
Or maybe everything looked TERRIBLE.
As you stare intensely at the cherry tuft that sprang up from above your rump, you can’t help but notice it as well.
THAT was okay, right?
It looked a little boney…
As your mind suddenly swims with mildly troubling visions of the various mare plots you’d seen recently – n-not that you were lookin’ at’em or anything fooler-y like that – you can’t help but size yourself up in comparison. Soon your entire being is engaged in carefully scoping your flank for flaws, brain whirring as you anxiously dance on your hoof tips.
”Wa-hoh, what’s that thing over there with Mac?” Bab’s voice questions east of your boney flank.
”Who? Oh! Yeah, yeah that’s Mr. Anon,” Scoots replies to the west of your boney, flabby flank.
”He works here on the farm with Applejack and Mac. Isn’t he a sight?” Sweetie Belle comments wistfully to the west of your tiny, boney, flabby flank.
”Ehh… yeah, ya’ know? I guess I see it.“
You take several deep breaths and tear your attention away from your hindquarters to see Babs craning her neck to the side, examining the far off human as he bends his body, shifting his weight to give him better leverage. His face contorts cutely with the effort.
“… If you’re in’da that sorta’ thing… “ your cousin continues distantly, a tiny, satisfied smile spreading on her lips as she watches the two males finally hoist the beam into position.
”Goodness, that seems very dangerous, dears!”
Rarity’s unique voice is soon joined with her presence. The regal, pretty mare (with the confidence draining flanks) approaches Anon and your brother in the distance with a concerned look.
”You poor things shouldn’t be doing this all alone. Where’s Applejack, darlings? Shouldn’t she be helping you with this? Applejaaack!?” Rarity calls out over the crowd of ponies, drawing several stares in the process.
While Rarity apparently had her principles set, it didn’t seem like they were enough for her to strain her prissy little hooves with the effort – that would get her sleek, hoity coat all sweaty, after all. Contrary to what some might assume, you’d heard the stuffy, proper mare was quite popular with the fairer sex.
Anon approaches her and places his fleshy hoof on her snout, silencing her and humming something out of earshot with his perfect, chocolatey voice. Mac draws up to his left to agree with a firm nod of the head.
Anon was wearing all his clothes today, but they were trimmed back slightly so you could see his forearms and legs.
He’d changed since he’d been working on the farm. Not by much, so nopony else really seemed to take much notice. You did, though. When you first met him he was a little rounder in the barrel and thighs, and his arms weren’t quite as ridged. He’d gained a teeny bit of muscle in various areas, but he’d mostly consolidated his figure by slimming down everywhere. If you compared him to Mac’s bulky and muscular frame, he was more ‘athletic’, almost lithe.
A month ago you probably thought it wasn’t possible for him to make you any more antsy than he already did, but you were younger back then.
Younger and dumber.
While you had constant crises about your gangly appearance, he was busy becoming more and more desirable, flying farther and farther away.
”I gatta admit, I wasn’t really expectin’ this,” your cousin comments thoughtfully. “I mean, we got workin’ boys down in Manehattan, but out here in the country? Forget about it! I thought they was all gonna be wearin’ sun hats and blowin’ kisses.”
”Naw, it happens all the time here.” Scootaloo replies “Just, you know, maybe not on farms and in construction and stuff. Anon and Mac are special cases, I guess.”
”—Look, I’m telling you, it’s fine!”
The voice of Anon the human draws the attention of your small party. You’d apparently been leading the other fillies by example, drawing in close enough to hear what was going on without realizing it.
”Look, I’ll prove it. Hey, uhh… you? C’mere a second,” the human says, pointing out a male earth pony with a light brown coat and dark brown mane.
The earth pony smiles sheepishly and looks around before pointing to himself for qualification.
”Yeah you, uh… uhh...“ Anon snaps his fingers and scrunches his eyes shut in thought. “Caramel! Caramel, right? Come over here, help me prove a point.”
The amber stallion blushes faintly as he becomes the center of attention and turns to a cyan mare at his right (Sassaflash, if you remember correctly) for support. He turns back to Anon and shakes his head nervously, a wary smile settling on his lips.
Rarity looks unimpressed.
”Aww, c’mon. I’m not gonna hurt you, I just wanna prove a point. You’ll be fine. C’mon, don’t make me beg,” Anon insists with an encouraging smile. Predictably, the combination of his energy and raw charisma is too strong even for another stallion, and Caramel, with subtle prods from his marefriend, trots up to the human.
”Look, it’s easy. Just pull on the rope with Mac here; anybody can do it,” Anon says, flashing a sly smile in Rarity’s direction.
Caramel reluctantly joins Mac and, with Anon’s direction, takes one of the two ropes tied to the tip of the second wooden stage beam into his mouth. The bottom of the beam rests in a small crevice that slants sharply into a deep hole, readying the beam to catch onto the top of the drop and then fall into place once it was hoisted up straight. The stallion looks a little nervous, but nonetheless seems ready. Anon stands at his side, arms folded, observing.
”Okay! Ready? Mac?” Anon says enthusiastically, peering between the two stallions, “PULL!”
Both of the ropes whip taught and the wooden pole hovers a few inches off of the ground. Though Mac has begun a slow, steady trot backwards, Caramel stays completely still. That is, if you ignored the sharp twitches in his muscles as he struggles with all his might to handle the weight.
The poor stallion didn’t have Mac’s bulk, Anon’s size, or the built-up muscle from doing much work. It was probably taking all of his will to simply keep the rope gripped in his mouth.
Regardless of the small cheers from the stallions and even a few mares that were trickling in to watch the spectacle, Caramel simply didn’t have the raw power to meet the demand. Mac had taken to strafing to the side as he pulled in an attempt to keep the beam pointing upwards as it rose, but eventually he was side to side with the other earth pony and it was tilting in his direction again.
Their work is barely a quarter of the way done when Caramel’s body jerks forward suddenly. Gasps ring out in the crowd as he slides, and it looks as though he could lose his side completely at any moment.
Chivalry fills you, the crusaders, and several of the mares nearby, your bodies moving forward instinctually to assist the overburdened stallion. Before anypony can do anything however, a fleshy claw snaps around the rope just in front of Caramel’s snout.
”Hwoah! Easy, I gotcha’! I got it, Mac. Don’t stop now, c’mon, you can do it!” Anon assures the pony, adding his own force to the pull.
The human’s body slowly morphs around Caramel’s, his taught front pressing into the stallion’s lower back. Cheers from the scant few stallions and the few interested mares reignite in the crowd, and Rarity’s worried expression changes to one of cautious optimism. You silently cheer in your mind, a smile you can’t hold back spreading across your lips.
Anon was amazing; he could turn any bad into good in the blink of an eye, and he could do it without losing his composure. Sure he and Mac had done this by themselves before and he was cheating a little, but in the moment it doesn’t seem to matter.
The human’s arms tighten reflexively, increasing and decreasing Caramel’s loan as he deems necessary; you can tell Anon wants him to earn this.
Several more mares join the group of spectators from the fringes. They eye the two males and whisper amongst each other, strange looks painting their faces.
”Hnnnnnn-nngg!” Caramel whines softly, turning his head and pulling back with all his might, his slim back meshing smoothly into Anon’s toned front.
The human grunts and presses forward, keeping his body folded tightly around him as they work with each other. His hot, steamy breath pools in the amber pony’s soft, wispy mane as it tumbles gently in the wind, face twisted with determined passion as his body rocks back in time with-with—
…O-Oh.
As the boys continue to pull their shares, you notice instantly that more mares are beginning to take interest in the scene ahead of you. The males in the crowd haven’t noticed. They cheer and shout words of encouragement, totally oblivious to the slow but subtle change in atmosphere. Even Rarity seems to be picking up on it.
”Nnng! C’mon, don’t stop now, keep goin’… that’s right…” Anon breathlessly goads the labored… innocent… needy stallion as he pools his toned flanks against the human’s hips, grunting cutely with the effort through the rope obstructing his mouth.
Rarity is digging into the ground with her right hoof, the outline of her jaw standing out on her face.
There are no words. You have no words for what’s happening in front of you right now.
”Y-You was sayin’ tha-… that this, uh… this kinda’ stuff happens ALL the time ‘round here?” you hear Babs mention in another dimension.
Beads of sweat dot Anon and Caramel’s brows as they shift their position, the beam ahead of them steadily growing in height. Their pace is ponderous but consistent, and growing. Growing to a peak.
”You’re-ahh… doing great… almost… almost there…“ Anon groans. His tone is sultry, but only in the minds of every virile female present.
You peer at the amber pony’s struggling form as he shakes with effort against his partner. The poor stallion is almost out of fuel, but you know he doesn’t want to give up. He wants this more badly than he lets on. He wants to show his marefriend and all the other mares how he could do everything that they could. His body aches but he doesn’t care. He’s so close; he wants to finish this so, so badly, and Anon’s going to make sure they finish together.
H-Hoh mercy, oh apples.
Something is pounding hard in your ears, and after a bit of reflection you realize that the sound aligns perfectly with the heavy strum of your heart.
Nopony could know everything there was to know about this big, complicated world – not even Twilight. Probably not even Princess Celestia herself. You could be sure of some things, though. For example, you could be quite sure that things weren’t supposed to line up like this in real life.
Is this… real life?
”H-huff! It’s almost… alllllmost…“ The human groans, his chest heaving.
“Hnnnnnnnnngg!” Caramel’s barrel arches as he puts the last of his strength into crossing that delicious, triumphant finish line.
Somewhere in Equestria – you didn’t know where, but somewhere – there’s a special ‘thought crimes’ division of the Ponice designed to hunt down degenerate mares and fillies for thinking the kinds of thoughts about stallions you were thinking right now. They were coming for you any second – but at least you weren’t going alone.
Not a single female spectator has blinked in the last several seconds. Sassaflash is biting her lip, and you don’t even need to look at the other crusaders to know they’re squirming in place.
Anon, Caramel and Mac gasp as the stage beam suddenly loses all of it weight and warbles dangerously, pointing directly into the sky. A moment later the large pole sinks deeply into the ground with a loud thud, their task officially completed. The males involved release their holds on their respective ropes, pausing for a moment to observe the result of their hard work before turning to acknowledge each other, smiling brightly.
”We did it!” Caramel pants jovially, climactically, his legs wobbling and bringing him down to a sitting position on the grass.
There’s a sound then, like dozens of creatures simultaneously letting out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Yours was among them.
”See? What’d I tell you? You worry too much,” Anon comments smugly to Rarity as he runs a forearm across his hairline, completely oblivious to the horrible, wonderful seeds he’d just planted in the minds of every mare who’d witnessed what just occurred.
”W-… Why, yes I… I suppose you’re right…“ The element of generosity concedes distantly with not a shred of reluctance, peering out at nothing with great interest as she fans herself with a hoof.
The ponies who had gathered to enjoy the show were beginning to disperse now, various looks of frustration, satisfaction and confusion dotting their retreating faces. That was more intense than it had any right to be.
You follow Caramel as he retreats from the scene to his suddenly very aggressive, out of breath marefriend. Just as the thought of making an intelligent retreat yourself crosses your mind, your eyes suddenly find themselves locked with Anon’s. He’s looking right at you.
You feel your fur ruffle, your breath catching as your lose yourself in those eyes. He’s waving at you now, and smiling that smile you like to think about in the bathtub…
D-Do somethin’…
DO SOMETHIN’. WAVE BACK.
You lift your hoof slowly and wave it.
… Up and down – in the goodbye motion.
CRABAPPLES.
His expression changes to one of slight confusion, your dread building as he lowers his arm. To your right you can just barely make out Babs and the other crusaders trailing your gaze to the human, wondering to whom you were just waving. You have an audience.
It’s okay, you can recover from this.
You can do this.
Uhh, smile!
Your sister tells you all the time you have the nicest, most respectable smile she’s ever seen on a young mare in her life; just smile! It’s easy!
Your cheeks stretch, and you hit him with The Applebloom Classic. Not too much teeth, not too much gum, not too wide, eyes shining, head tilted slightly downwards. Everything aligns perfectly. It’s perfect…
Until the massive glob of saliva you’d been unwittingly holding in your mouth shifts and spills out over your bottom lip, drooling onto the ground before you can catch it.
NO.
You hear one of the other fillies hiss through her teeth. Anon smiles sheepishly, blinking as the hay starts to pile up around your knees.
Hah! Hahaha!
OKAY, NEW PLAN.
You tear your eyes away from him and turn stone still; if you don’t try to interact with him, then maybe he’ll get bored! Just ride it out! It’s easy! Oh Celestia.
You stare at the ground, certain that the horror is now uncontainable in your desolate, shame-filled eyes. It’s nearly impossible to tell if you’re flushed or pale but it’s definitely one of them. You don’t dare look up too soon for fear of finding him looking back, stifling a chuckle at your unmarely performance.
And your ropey legs.
And your sub-par flank.
You can’t remember the last time you were this embarrassed. You’re thinking about it too, hard. Nothing but the flush of your self-esteem as it circles the drain is capable of entertaining your cruel mind at this point, and it does for a long while. Cautious, you turn your head, looking for guidance or relief or SOMETHING from your friends, only to find the same unamused looks that you were dreading to see from the human painting their faces, and none-so more than your cousin.
”Umm… what was that?” she comments incredulously, brow furrowing.
Scoots and Sweetie share knowing looks before you turn to chance a lightning-speed scan of the stage area. Anon is looking away now, smiling and chatting with your brother about something. That would have been fine, perfect even, but you noticed something else. Your brother was glancing in your direction as he spoke, and he was smiling a familiar smile.
Not a sweet smile, no.
A devious, teasing, bastardy smile, like when he had you in the frog of his hoof after catching you misbehaving, and had only but to squeeze in order to wring extra chores and errands and audible declarations of his own attractiveness and superiority out of his burdened little sister…
What’s he saying about you…? Oh Celestia, what’s he telling Anon!?
You hear a high-pitched noise; it’s you. It was the sound of you squeezing air slowly out of your lungs like a pursed balloon.
”That was some sorry display, cousin,” Babs continues. “I mean, I was jokin’ around when I was talkin’ about you fillies snatchin’ up all the colts, but, uh… I didn’t know I was jokin’ so hard, ya’ know?”
Your expression is sullen as you kick around a few errant pebbles near your hooves. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle approach you on either side and lace their forelegs over your withers for support. While they might’ve wanted to poke fun themselves, they didn’t have much room too. They could’ve rejected Bab’s assumption that ALL of you were bad at talking to colts, but they didn’t; they didn’t command the force of will to lie so completely to somepony’s face.
Several memories bubble up in your mind. In one such scene, you watch on in suspense as Scootaloo approaches a small group of schoolcolts. She retreats moments later to the sound of derisive, coltish giggling, her withers hiked and her face twisted up in distress.
That time when Sweetie Bell approached Pipsqueak at the summer dance also comes to mind. The bold statement of ‘never sitting at the nerdy-fillies-table during a party ever again’ was still wet on her lips when she left said table to enter no-fillies-land on the other side of the auditorium. She actually did great at first, but things went south fast when she reached for the punch ladle and instead landed her hoof INSIDE the punch bowl, tipping it on its side and spilling its contents… right onto Pip’s nice blue suit.
She made him CRY and got dirty looks from the other schoolfillies for a week afterward.
In other words, they were in the same boat. The three of you explain as much while your cousin listens on, cutting in only at the end.
”If you guys was havin’ so much trouble, why didn’t ya’ say so? Who do you think I am, huh?” Babs totes confidently, motioning to herself.
You lift your head at this, eyeing her with a mix of uneasiness and hope with the other Ponyville crusaders – but mostly uneasiness.
”What, what is this? What’s this look? You don’ believe me or somethin’?” She comments in disbelief. The light brown filly frowns and turns away in mock offense. “Eyy, ya’ know, sorry I said anything, huh? I thought you fillies wanted me to give you some pointers or somethin’. My mistake. No biggie.”
She’s smirks as she looks at you out of the corner of her eye. She has you three hooked on her every word and she knows it, and you know that she knows that you know it.
”Hokay! Hohkay, fine!” you relent, gazing quickly at your two partners. “We get it, cut us some slack, alright? How do ya’ do it? How’re ya’ s’possosed to talk to’em? What’re we doin’ wrong?”
Babs’ grin turns up full blast and she laces her hoof around the back of your necks, leading you all forward to walk and talk with her.
”Thaaaaat’s more like it! Now listen up ladies cause I ain’t repeatin’ myself. Maybe you’ll learn somethin’…“
________________
The sun is starting to set, and the air around the orchard has noticeably cooled.
Mostly cloudy throughout the day, moderate in the morning, warm in the afternoon, and slightly breezy in the evening – just as the weather-ponies advertised. The smell of cakes and popcorn has diminished and is slowly being replaced with the heady scent of cold apple cider and freshly baked apple pies.
The crowd on the farm has lessened as well, and now radiates out from a central point; a round, makeshift outdoor bar strung together with old cider barrels. The Apple Family comes to and fro with baskets piled high with pies fresh out of the oven. In random points around the inside of the bar sit more cider barrels. Those ones are the genuine articles, filled to the brim with sweet and sour nectar.
Around the bar sat tables and chairs arranged in rings, the ones farthest out the fodder of families who decided to stick around with their foals for happy hour, but predictably didn’t want them near all the drunks. The chairs rimming the bar support many pegasi, earth ponies, unicorns, and a single purple alicorn – all in various states of inebriation. Among them, too, towers a tall human, balancing his rear awkwardly on a pony-sized step stool as he converses with the nearby equines.
As you approach, the previously mentioned alicorn flutters from her seat next to Anon, clearing you a path to glory as she stumbles with slowly increasing urgency to the cornfield, no doubt to do some spring cleaning in her stomach.
Your time is now.
You’d spent nearly half the day with your knowledgeable cousin. Smiling and laughing and enjoying yourself, yes, but never forgetting what your objective was. Each story she told, each epoch she painted had been a new page in the guidebook splayed out for you to absorb. She cemented each tale with a lesson of sorts, a rule to take with you into battle to counter or avoid your previous bitter defeats.
If you could do this, if you could impress lovely Anon with your banter and at long last gain his respect, you could talk to ANY simple schoolcolt. If you could best him, you could best anypony. If you could do this, then you could do anything.
You control your breathing as the empty seat ahead grows larger. Babs and the other crusaders are sitting at the table you just left nearby, their eyes watching you with mild excitement. Babs holds on to a weary smile as you go, but her eyes are just as trained on your approach. She looks nervous for you, but she wants you to succeed. She knows you have what it takes. Just keep going, and speak up first.
That was Rule # 1: Always be the aggressor.
Babs said that colts loved aggressive mares, so you needed to start the conversation and then lead it. No more surprise appearances from Anon the Human catching you off guard. This time he was in YOUR sights, and he was going to love it.
“H-Hey there, s-s—“ You swallow the lump in your throat. “…sweetheart.” Heart skipping at your unintentional hesitation, you take the seat next to him. Nearby, your brother’s gaze shifts to you as he hoofs a stein of cider to an olive-colored earth mare.
Your cousin’s voice echoes in your mind: Always stay cool, a small stumble here or there is nothing to worry about. Colts aren’t big on the details. They’re emotional creatures that pick up on mood and confidence.
Stay cool.
Anon shifts on his step ladder to look at you, the conversation he was having with the now departing Fluttershy apparently concluded.
”Oh-? Well! Hey there, redhead. Whatcha’ up too?” The human replies cheerfully, reaching out to comb a soft claw through your recently brushed mane.
You suppress a sigh at his unanticipated affection, your stomach tingling pleasantly from the relatively alien sensation. The ‘stay cool’ mantra in your head begins to run on repeat.
Physical contact – and he initiated it first. That was good. According to Babs that meant that he was very comfortable around you. Sometimes, it even meant that he was open to more physical interaction. Hungry for the ‘V’, in Babs’ own words, which you were 87% positive was in reference to your lady-parts.
The sigh you were containing until a moment ago comes out as an excited huff. The human male’s raw, sensual confidence overpowers your control for a moment, and you have to fight to get it back. Mature stallions are no joke.
You turn you head a fraction to scan the crusader table and find Babs, your eyes wide and your mouth upturned, silently celebrating and confirming to her how well this was going. She smiles at you in turn, but she still looks very nervous. Surprised even, significantly more so than Scoots and Sweetie, both of whom were shaking their hooves in the air and silently cheering for you.
Babs had advised against all of this from the beginning.
She said it was way too early for ‘the hunt’, and that maybe you should wait a while before trying her tactics on real-live colts; but you insisted. You knew that with your newfound knowledge you had a real chance for the first time. You weren’t going to let it slip out of your grasp when you were so close.
Don’t get rooster-y now filly, the dance was only just beginning. Don’t forget your training when it matters most. He handed you the reins, he wants this. Lead the conversation!
“Wellllll, ah was just figurin’ that a nice, single colt like you would want a big, strong mare like me to keep’em company.” You eye him unabashedly with a smirk.
Mac isn’t looking at you, but you notice his brow arched as he plates several more pieces of pie to divide among the partygoers. That must’ve been smoother than you thought. Even your own brother couldn’t help but notice your charm.
”Haha… is that right?” Anon replies.
He looks… confused? Why does he…? Wait… did you mess up? Did you slip up again and not even realize it?
Lost in thought, you jump slightly as a loud sound hits you. It’s the rough peel of your older sister’s slightly-too-loud laughter as she slams her hoof repeatedly on the bar-barrel in front of her on the other side of the barrel ring.
Anon is momentarily distracted by the noise; perfect.
Just keep going, keep the lead. Talk about yourself! Babs said that colts love it when you talk about your accomplishments. ‘Be a conqueror, and they’ll want to be conquered by you’. Subtle, brilliant.
“Uhh… did y’all know that I, uhh… carried three WHOLE trays’a cupcakes at the same time all the way across the field this mornin’? Pretty impressive, right?” You flex your forelegs just bit against the barrel counter, hoping he notices.
He turns back to you and smiles, but it’s not a smile of awe or respect. It’s more… amusement. Like he isn’t sure how to respond to what you just said.
”Oh? Well, that is pretty good…” He shifts on the step stool again before glancing back into his cider mug. It was subtle, but it happened again; you lost his attention.
Where was it!? Where did you mess up this time!? Did he really find that unimpressive? How is that possible? You’d even… exaggerated your performance slightly…
Two trays was pretty much almost three trays anyways, right?
“Haha, naw, a-ah mean… it wasn’t that much,” you respond quickly. “A-Ah usually, uhh, carry more like FIVE trays usually, so it weren’t nothin’ much. Ya’ know, compared to, uhh… usually.”
You cringe slightly, noticing how you rambled. Anon is back to being confused now. He peers back at you, sliding his wigglers against the cool side of the cider glass.
”Oh yeah? Do you help out miss Cake a lot in your spare time?” he says. “I don’t usually see that many sweets on the farm.”
You feel yourself pale, caught in your lie. A line of sweat crawls down the inside of your mane.
“W-Well… Ah, uhh… w-well yeah… ah do?“ you stumble, lying yourself in deeper as you peer away, looking to find Babs for support.
This is too much. Anon is too much. Was he immune to your tactics? Was he immune to your cousin’s experience?
You find the cocoa and pink filly where you left her at the table nearby. She’s sweating, her expression noticeably anxious. She’s having a hard time looking you in the eye.
Was this really all a mistake? Was this really too soon like she said? Were you screwing up so badly that she couldn’t even watch? Oh jeez, oh no…
You feel your stomach swish as you turn back to Anon. Mac smiles in the background as he works, energized. He’s been throwing periodic glances your way.
Is he enjoying this!?
You take a deep breath, knowing that the more you fretted the more desperate you probably looked. Just keep going, if you keep going you might be able to salvage this. There was something you weren’t seeing, a secret that would make itself apparent with time if you just focused hard enough; focus!
Okay, Babs said… Babs said that colts love a mare who’s going places. A mare who was rising up in society and making lots of bits, or going to make lots. They wanted a mare who could take care of them through thick and thin and make them real comfortable like a colt should be.
You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady through the nerves. “U-Um, did ya’ know that Sweet Apple Acres has been in the family fer a real long time?” you try to say casually, straitening your back and putting on a dignified front.
He’s looking at you again, giving you his full attention. It’s working! Keep going! You’re so close!
“And, uh, since Ah’m the second youngest Mare in the family, Applejack’n me’ll be sharin’ control of it all one day,” you continue, heart strumming. “You know, when I’m all grown up an’ all—”
You freeze, realizing your mistake a second too late. A second too late to stop the words from coming out. Your blood turns icy.
Granny had been telling you for years, since you were a teeny foal, that one day you’d be running the family business with your sister. You often mentioned it to the other fillies with a knot of pride in your chest, knowing that one day the responsibility on Granny’s shoulders would be passed on to Applejack, and Applejack’s duties would be shared and then passed on to you.
As one of the Apple Family mares you had a great and noble profession awaiting you; at least one-half of the modern management of generations of hard work. You’d been saying it all throughout your childhood, and you’d just repeated it. ‘When I’m grown up’.
Like a child would say, like a foal pining to be an adult! Colts didn’t want little fillies! They wanted real mares!
Anon is smiling at you warmly and nodding his head, but you know without confirmation that you’ve just struck out again. You whip your head around, your crisis of confidence quickly welling back up in your chest. Suddenly it feels as though you haven’t learned anything, like the last several hours never happened. The look you settle Babs again is surely horrified, petrified, begging. You soundlessly call out to her with your pained expression, and even the other crusaders seem to notice your despair.
You need support.
There had to be something you missed, something you were forgetting. A key to everything that would solve all of your problems, a key hidden in her eyes. If only she might look your way to communicate what it was, if only!
You silently plead with her to look at you, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Sweat dots her brow, her expression an amalgam of fear and tension and guilt and…
… Guilt?
The world around you slows to a grind. Your cousin’s eyes finally meet yours, just for a split second. It’s all you need. You get a message, yes, but it isn’t the one you were hoping for.
The dilation dread amplifies. Individual droplets of cool apple cider pirouette slowly through the air, reflecting a million and one shades of light as they fall into readied mugs. Your sister’s mane swims slowly around the back of her neck like a river of wheat as she laughs. As you stare into the soul of the dark brown filly, the sounds of merriment and foals crying intermingling into a dull buzz that you can no longer translate, your expression becomes absolutely neutral, and the realization finally sets in.
It was all a lie.
Her encounters with the Ponice, the dazzling, adrenaline-pumping adventures she got into with the Manehattan crusaders, and, most importantly, every colt she’d ever been with. Babs hadn’t told you one single thing that was true. She was just like you.
She was a kissless, awkward, virgin filly who’d never had a coltfriend in her life.
Pale and spiraling, you suddenly wonder if her statement about coming to Ponyville yesterday was but another fabrication. If, in reality, she was actually still in Manehattan. Like the being centered in your gaze right now was some sort of phantom that was never truly there, but just present enough to doom you.
It’s hard to tell exactly how long it took for the flow of time in your head to return to normal. Once it had, you found yourself staring blankly over the bar barrels in front of you, finally and at long last defeated. Your will is gone, stolen from you when you weren’t looking.
Anon is yelling something across the bar to Rainbow Dash, unfazed by your failures yet again. As hard as you focus, you can’t seem to make out what he’s saying through your cold descent. His presence has become a great blinding void in your reality, like a star that you couldn’t stare directly at for fear of it showing you how insignificant all your struggles are.
As you wallowed in yet another attempt undone, you remember something from the morning.
There was only one thing you had left, and you were going to make sure that you collected on it before it was too late.
You wave Mac over, your posture slumped and sickly. You no longer had any reason to put on a show for him. That ship hadn’t sailed; it left harbor days ago.
“Cider,” you request simply. A funny look from your older brother is the only indication that what you said had sunk in. “Sis said ah could have some today, she promised. It’s today, ah want some,” you explain with a frown.
”Mmmm-hm…“ Mac responds, flashing you a skeptical look.
Your frown morphs into a scowl, one that you train on him until he leaves you. He doesn’t go to one of the cider barrels, but he does go to AJ. Your sister is still absorbed in a bout of hysterical laughter with the mares at the other end of the ring when he grabs her attention, whispering something in her ear with a stale look.
She DID promise, and you did have faith, but… trust wasn’t really your ally at the moment, and she had twisted the rules in the past.
You lower your head, wondering if, after everything you’d gone through, your sister might go back on her word and betray you as well. It would be a fine end to your evening. Some just deserts for getting full of yourself and flying too close to the sun; it would be perfect. So perfect, that you actually begin to entertain the thought of leaving before Mac comes back with the bad news. It would be much, much easier to leave the bar and rejoin your friends at the fillies table – where you belonged – before the final hurt could be delivered.
You actually make it half way off the high stool before something touches you.
A warm grabber runs gently up your spine, lithe little claws rolling back the tiny tufts of fur along your back. His hand comes to rest over the top of your withers, stroking you comfortingly. Disbelieving, you turn to find Anon peering down at you, offering a kindly look.
”Hey… you alright?” he asks softly, massaging the back of your neck with his hand. The concerned and distinctly male tone of his voice is cryptically familiar, like something you might remember if only you thought back hard enough.
Uh oh… this is bad.
Your chest begins to tighten to catastrophic levels, and your breath suddenly feels heavy and hard-won. Swallowing hard, you clench your jaw as a wave of accumulated stress hits all at once from out of the blue. You didn’t even cry in front of Applejack, but suddenly you were getting dangerously close to doing it in front of Anon.
Your first impulse it to speak, to let all your awkwardness and fears and questions and desires flood out of your mouth in a steady stream. You wanted to bawl like a little colt and lay everything in your life out in front of sweet Anon, hoping that he would understand and judge you fairly.
But you can’t. You know it isn’t your place to lay all of your burdens on him like it was his responsibility to fix whatever it was you’d become. You also knew for a fact that your voice would betray you if you spoke, so you don’t do that, either.
Instead, you lie.
You shake your head and lie to him again, not daring to meet his eyes as you do. He doesn’t answer, and seeing as how you know you can’t be trusted to speak yet, you keep silent as well.
Several ponies shift about in the edges of your vision, each one lighting a fire with matches or some other implement and approaching various points along the orchard. Slender, simple torches lined up for the occasion spring to life at the tips one by one, the individual glass candles at each table lighting in kind shortly after as all of the guests pitch in in small ways. The dusk that was settling over the populated field waned slightly with their effort, each twinkling light bringing new clarity to the far away tables and abandoned food stands.
The silence between you and Anon persists during this time, his hand never leaving your shoulders. It feels warmer than the first time he touched you, much warmer, and now the mood between you and human feels different. Eventually, inevitably perhaps, he speaks, drawing your attention instantly.
”I can’t say I know exactly what you’re going through,” he says. “Getting older is… well, it’s different for everyone, and it never really stops…” His voice comes out collected and gentle, and he peers out past the lights and sounds in Sweet Apple Acres, eyes focused on nothing. ”But… whatever’s happening, you don’t have to go through it alone. No matter how it might seem in the moment, your family is always there for you.” A comforting and genuine smile settles on his lips when he finally looks at you.
This time you don’t look away.
”I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, too. If you ever feel like you can’t go to your folks about anything, you can come find me. I’ll listen to anything you have to say, alright?”
There’s no lie in his eyes, even as you search them with all your might.
The pressure in your chest has lessened considerably, and your breathing feels like it’s returned to normal. You pull away, turning your eyes to your lap. A heat has collected around your face, but you don’t know why. It’s embarrassing, but also… pleasant.
“… Okay… Mister Anon,” you whisper, just loud enough for him, and only him, to hear. Your heart is pounding again, and you can feel a steady, pure warmth flowing out of your chest.
The human chuckles and places a hand on your head, ruffling your mane around your bow and playfully before pushing it sideways.
”I forgot to mention that that what I said only applies if you stop calling me ‘Mister Anon’ and start calling me ‘Anon’,” he replies.
A real laugh rumbles in your chest for the first time in what feels like years.
Anon offers you another warm grin before turning and motioning to Mac with his empty mug. The red stallion was just returning from the other side of bar ring, the drunk mares there whining comically and pleading for him to return as your sister, who was close in hoof, shot them dirty looks. Your brother quickly pours the human another glass and, to your mild surprise, places another one down in front of you.
You juggle a questioning, hopeful look between your siblings, both of whom were now eyeing you with great interest.
”Ah was figurin’, what with mah promisin’ and all yer hard work lately, that ya’ll deserve this. Yer old enough, after all,” your sister says. Her eyes are mirthful and sure, even if the cadence of her speech is a bit off. “Ah guess this has been a long time comin’. Enjoy; you deserve it.”
”You sure you weren’t meanin’ to ask for carrot juice?” Mac cuts in with emphasis, eyeing you slyly. “Ah know how much you like your… vegtables n’ such...”
The sneer in his voice sets your face ablaze. You chance a look at Anon who, thankfully, seems to be ignorant to your brother’s implication, before huffing loudly and dragging your mug closer. You mean to retort, but you sister gets there first.
”Hey now, don’t you go a’teasin’ her like that,” she says. “Ya’ gots no right to talk mighty on the subject, and I know that fer a fact.” Your perfect, beautiful sister’s face brims with knowing superiority as she defends you, nudging Mac gently in the side.
The red stallion, despite his coloring, flushes noticeably at this and shoots Applejack a dirty look before turning to fill more glasses.
Anon was right. Even if Mac was a jerk sometimes, your family was always there for you. Just in the nick of time if they had to be. They would be there.
”After all,” your smart, sweet sister continues as you finally bring your much-awaited mug of cider close to your lips, your anticipation mounting.
“Everybody goes through it! What she’s doin’ is totally natch’rul,” your understanding, wonderful, beaut—
W-Wait…
You see Mac pause behind Applejack. His eyes widen in disbelief shortly before a large smile begins to break out on his face.
For the first time tonight, you really pause to take full account of your sister’s physical and mental state. Even while standing still in one spot, she sways, and nudging Mac before nearly caused her to topple over. Her smile is wide and goofy with no restraint or modesty added in.
Your sister is absolutely smashed…
And drunk Applejack… means NO FILTER Applejack.
Your pulse quickens as Anon chuckles besides you. ”What do you mean?” he asks innocently, taking a small sip of his drink and sucking on his lips gently from the tartness.
”D’aaw, well, you know,” Applejack replies. “Young folks gettin’ to that age when they start—“
Your hooves slam down onto the barrel in front of you, the sudden loud sound giving your sister pause.
“APPLEJJRRRRKKKKKKKK,” you hiss slowly through your clenched jaw, horrified and blindsided.
You’re standing now, eyes stuck in a silent scream as you stare at her. Mac tries in vain to hold back his laughter in the background.
”Aww, now c’mon sugercuuuube, it ain’t nothin’ to be ‘mbarassed about,” she assures, her words noticeably slurring as she reaches out to pat you on the withers.
She misses.
Her face is twisted up in what you think she thinks is understanding, and you can smell every drink she’s had tonight on her breath. You hear hoofsteps to your right and whip your head around to see Twilight and Fluttershy returning from the cornfield. The purple alicorn groans, and Fluttershy flinches as all the attention and all of your intensity is flung onto her at once, your eyes pleading.
”W-We’re back everyone… what’s… going on?” The canary-yellow pegasus asks timidly, eyeing you with mild concern.
”D’oooh, Applebloom’s jus’ ‘mbarrassed she’s becomin’ a real mare!” your sister slurs without missing a beat. ”With allllll it brings, if ya’ll falla’ me? Ya’ll know what ah mean… the ol’… ‘manual mister’, if ya’ catch muh’ drift?” Applejack motions below barrel level with her hoof, smiling lewdly at what she must think is cleverest bucking thing anypony has ever said.
Twilight is too out of it to notice, but Fluttershy’s expression noticeably shifts to uncomfortable as her face brightens against her light coat.
An aged, light green pony suddenly pops up in your peripheral; Granny Smith. She’d probably just finished up making her last pie and was coming outside to enjoy the last gasps of the party. Shaking slightly, she maneuvers herself onto the now empty seat on Anon’s left.
Sweet Granny Smith, who’d always looked out for you and treated you right, like you were her own foal. This was your way out. She’ll definitely understand. She’ll definitely know. She’ll definitely—!
”Who’s pettin’ it?!” she chirps loudly.
GRANNY NO.
”Applebloom,” your sister answers, gesturing at you.
ANON WAS WRONG. YOU WERE WRONG. YOUR FAMILY ISN’T THERE FOR YOU AND THIS IS TARTARUS.
The sound of the human beside you chuckling softly morphs your face into a rictus of horror the likes of which you’ve never before expressed. That ‘balloon losing air’ sound begins again, and yet again it’s coming from you. Mac has both hooves clasped over his mouth and his chest is shaking violently.
Your sister stumbles sideways, approaching an unopened cider barrel and working at the high cork on its side with her hooves.
Lightheaded, numb, queasy. You’re hyperventilating. You need to get out, you need to run.
Everyone but Applejack is silent as she works at the cork, her head wobbling listlessly back in your direction.
”Nows c’mon now, Ah’s saids there ‘taint nothin’ the matters with it,” she babbles. “There ain’t no reason tuh be bein’ allllaaAAAHHHAAAPPLE-SPACKLIN’ CELESTIA MAH HEART—!”
Your sister suddenly screeches and flies backwards. The lid that topped the cider barrel, thought to be sealed forever, erupts off of it and soars high into the air with an eardrum vibrating pop. A bright pink ball of cider-soggy glitter and raw, untapped energy flies out of barrel not a moment later, soaring high into the sky.
”WEE-HEE!” The flying pink pony cries, summersaulting in the air and splashing everyone in the vicinity with sprinklings of tart alcohol and faintly luminescent confetti.
You’re moving, and you’re moving fast. As fast as you can, tables, chairs and torches screaming by you. As the fillies table draws near Babs and the other crusaders rise to meet you, confused. Scootaloo tries to wave you down but you continue on your path.
“Applebloom?” she says. ”W-What’s—!?“
“NO!” you cry, surging past her.
”P-P-… PINKIE PAAAAAIIIIH!” your sister bellows to the melody of hyena-like cackling far behind you.
You don’t look back.
A cool wind whips by your face as you cut through the last line of tables and finally break free of the party’s parameter. Lungs burning, eyes stinging, screaming, you push on harder and harder, escaping deep into the night and the safety of the apple trees.
It’s six in the evening when the four of you finally meet up on Sugarcane Ave. A crisp autumn evening, with a mellow but constant breeze that moistened the air and occasionally broke into quick, whistling gusts. The leaves toss and turn across the road and through the grass, hissing with the wind in the perfect spooky fashion to anoint the season you now found yourself entrenched in.
Though you didn’t mention it much, especially as you got older, Nightmare Night was always your favorite holiday. You didn’t know of any other time of the year that your surroundings changed so much so quickly. Not only would the entire orchard break into vibrant oranges and golden reds, but every house and stoop and yard you passed was due to be packed with colorful, attention-catching decorations. Jack-o’-lanterns, black and orange garland, streamers, creepy wind chimes, the works.
Some especially gruesome or courageous ponies had even hung plastic skeletons on the lamp posts in front of their own or some other unlucky pony’s yard.
All this, and it wasn’t even Nightmare Night yet; about a week shy.
Ever since Princess Luna had returned to her seat in Canterlot – personally endorsing and attending the event each year – the hype and fervor for it had grown immensely. Enough so that ponies were starting to have pre-celebration parties to herald its coming like they did with Hearth’s Warming and other holidays. It was a little ironic considering that before the princess’ return there had been an ACTUAL Nightmare and there was ACTUALLY something real to be afraid of on ‘her’ night. Then again, maybe it was the opposite, and the real fear being gone helped?
Who knows?
Certainly not this farm filly – ah, farm MARE, and you don’t care. There are bigger things to think about tonight, namely the party. THE party, Mr. Anon’s party – the one all the coolest ponies would be attending. The ADULT party. With adult conversations, adult music, and adult drinks for all of the mature adults who were attending. It was the reason why all of you had assembled this evening.
Truth be told, as much as you still secretly loved Nightmare Night, you weren’t planning on dressing up this year. You were pretty much a grown mare after all, and only little foals dressed up in silly costumes for the occasion. Your opinion on the act changed real quick when you heard that Anon’s party was strictly a costume party, and that anypony caught being – in his own words – ‘a stiffly stifferson’, would be kicked out.
You doubted Mr. Anon would actually kick ponies out, of course. He’d probably just… stick them in a silly hat or something. Still, you weren’t too keen on finding out the hard way.
What you had on was pretty last minute, and you had to destroy one of your very few dresses to get the look just right, but all-in-all you were a PRETTY scary Pony Mary. You didn’t go over the top, either; that’s the real trick. Just enough quick-dyed, tattered black dress. Just enough spray-canned white mane and makeup to make you look the part. Add some odds and ends, clothespins, vague trinkets and beads, and it was perfect.
If you had to wear a costume then it was best to stick to the basic rules of cool.
Too much prep and you were a big dork. Too little and you were a party-pooper. You had a perfect balance, and you’d impressed the importance of this onto your pals before the big night: No store-bought full body costumes, no crazy wigs, no silly masks, and DEFINITELY no frilly princess wings. Keep it simple but noticeable. Tonight had to be perfect if you were going to impress Anon and wipe the slate clean after the catastrophe that was the fall festival.
AKA, ‘the event that shall hereby go unmentioned in the Apple House under penalty of precision teenage whinging’.
Tonight he’d forget all about how your big dumb cousin made you look like a big dumb foal. Tonight, your smashed sister discussing your – your PRIVATE MATTERS THAT DON’T, HAHA, DON’T EVEN ACTUALLY HAPPEN, LIKE, EVER, would totally slip his mind. Dust in the wind. You’d make sure of it.
After all, this time you had backup you could trust.
To your right trotted Sweetie in a tame white dress, her mane and tail powdered an even brighter eggshell color to match and give her a pale, ethereal appearance. Her eyes have been highlighted with black makeup around the edges, deepening her stare and completing her ‘ghostly banshee’ look.
”Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asks, turning her head to scan your surroundings. “We’ve been walking a really long time.”
The first pony to your left is Scootaloo. She’d powdered herself with a light green dust, stuck thimbles to either side of her neck and head, and sprayed her mane black and white. She’d even painted fake stitches into her fur. A little less subtle, but you couldn’t complain.
”Are you sure Mr. Anon lives all the way out here?” she adds with an anxious look. “Maybe we shoulda’ just walked with your sister like she wanted…”
“An’ y’all don’t see ANYTHIN’ the matter with goin’ to Anon’s party bein’ hovered over by mah sister like we’re just outa’ the cradle?” you say with an adamant shake of the head. “No ma’am. We can make it ourselves, thanks. ‘Sides, y’all’r worryin’ fer nothin’. Ah know where ah’m goin’. We’ll be there any minute.”
”I hope th’o.” replies your forth companion.
The farthest filly to your left is Twist, a more recent addition to the group. She’d always been a funny, decent pony, but nowadays she tended to make friends much more easily on account of her, erm… connections. The kind of connections that were important to stimulate the growth of every healthy, normal young lady. The kind that got you those rare and completely article-based magazines hidden between your mattresses in the dead center – the ones that not even Scoots or Sweetie knew about.
She’d become quite popular lately.
Ever pushing boundaries, she had come tonight wrapped from hoof to snout in bandages, and she wore a dingy, store-bought crown atop her head.
”I don’t think I’ve ever been thi’th far away from home before...” Twist says, squinting at a nearby pumpkin-topped street sign.
“Has Mr. Anon had you over to his house before?” asks Sweetie.
”W-Well, yeah… yeah, ’course he has,” you mutter.
The other three fillies quiet down, scrutinizing your claim with their silence as you try and fail to seem busy adjusting a clothespin in your dress.
”… well… sorta’... ” You cringe at the instant chorus of groans and synchronized face-hooves that follow.
”Awww, c’mon filly!” Frankenloo laments. “I KNEW we shoulda’ just went with AJ! Where even are we?” She twists her head in all directions, likely trying to recreate the scenery around you in her mind sans the decorations and the gloom of night.
”Maybe we should have brought a map…” Sweetie says, her ears drooping. “Maybe we should knock on somepony’s door and ask for directions…”
”We don’t NEED no directions,” you retort, “ah know where ah’m goin’! Ponyville ain’t barely a mile across! Ain’t even big enough for no map…”
”Big enough to get lo’tht in…” Twist mumbles sullenly under her breath.
You refrain from replying beyond a stubborn huff, electing instead to continue on in focused silence. Despite their dissent your guests manage do the same – for now, at least – and continue to follow you down the street in an uneasy but long-lasting peace.
Honestly, it HAD been quite a while since you’d seen anything you distinctly recognized, and in light of their doubt you were starting to get a little nervous. Sure you knew where the human lived… er, approximately, and he’d given you his address, but it was so, so dark, and you could barely see the numbers on ponies doors anymore unless you walked right up onto their porch. Maybe you messed up somewhere farther back, and that was why?
C’mon, you’re not really lost, are you?
Okay, just think about this, retrace your steps. Little left of Mrs. Merrywheather’s house, past Ms. Cheerilee’s house, head east toward the edge of town, passed that ‘Cola Lounge’ place with the big flashing sign of the dancing pony...
You’d done all that. Now it was just a trek. A long… dark trek, where even the slightest change in direction could lead you off course of his place by three billion miles. Horseapples, you spent so long focusing on being there that you completely forgot about GETTING there. Oh jeez… what if you actually can’t find it and they stop the party to come looking for you? What if…
…what if they’re doing it right now?
’We’re lookin’ fer four lost lil’ fillies dressed up in cute little Nightmare Night costumes!’ the voice of your sister cries in your head. ‘They’re all probably good’n scared on acounta’ the dark. Wettin’ themselves with fear like little colts I imagine, so be sure to be thorough! And call the Ponice! Call the National Guard! Make sure the Ponyville Gazeteknows what’s goin’ on, too!’
Oh Celestia, they’re going to print that really embarrassing picture of you crying on picture day in the morning paper, aren’t they? Th-That was totally justified! Diamond Tiara said the flash was gonna blind you forever if you looked straight into it! Oh apples, they’re gonna put you on the front page aren’t they?! Oh apples!
They-they can’t, they couldn’t, y-you aren’t—
You pause a moment, halting your mental breakdown long enough to focus your ears in just ahead. Scootaloo tilts her head questioningly at your sudden stop, stepping closer to you.
“What’s wrong? Why’re you—“
“Shh! Shush now,” you hiss, quieting your pals long enough for everypony to get better reception on the far away sound. “Hear that?”
It’s faint, but you’re SURE you can hear it. Music; and not just any music. It was a low, bassy strum that bounced around in your ears and, if you were real close, would probably rattling you deep in the chest. It was the distant sound of dance music.
More specifically, party music.
“Now see!? Listen ta’ that! Ah told ya’ we wasn’t lost!” you proclaim, puffing up your chest with pride. “We was goin’ the right way all along and y’all doubted me! C’mon now, we’re almost there girls!”
You let out an excited laugh and trot forward. Assorted ‘wait for me’s crop up behind you as you pick up your pace, the sound of your hurried hoof-steps echoing in between houses and alleys until they were slowly drowned out by the muffled but powerful beat you’d heard the blocks prior. You were panting and probably sweaty now, but the buzz from finally identifying your destination after all of that internal strife was giving you energy in spades.
It’s only a short while more before you and your companions stop to stand before a small white two-story with a green roof and a moderately-sized front yard. Its grassy stretch is absolutely covered from road to porch with stray Nightmare Night decorations. Even the mailbox is wrapped in a thin cocoon of fake glow in the dark spider webbing. It’s difficult to make out the small number between the various neon-green threads, but once you can your heart soars. The number matches.
This is definitely the place, Anon’s house.
Cutting the yard in half is a simple stone path that broke up nearby the stoop and stopped at a dark brown door. The lights under that door flash to the tempo of the music inside. Every partially-curtained window strobes colorful silhouettes of ponies through the fabric and far into the street. The light also brings attention to the slow, steady stream of fog crawling out from under his entrance and tumbling down the steps, the dense mist brightening to the hum of the party inside.
As the four of you cross the yard and climb the tiny ascent to the porch your heart begins to flutter in anticipation. Now that you’re closer you can see the hooves of partygoers cutting shadows in the muddled light under the door, and you’ve become more aware of the laughter and chatter of the guests within. You turn to the girls, giving each of them a slight nod which is returned immediately.
They hadn’t said it, but you doubted that any of them had been to a real adult party before that wasn’t tinted in ‘family friendly’ like the ones on the farm, and it looked like Anon had pulled together a full house. It wasn’t just your time to shine, it was theirs as well.
Your awkward virgin bond of solidarity resonates, synchronizes as you raise your hoof to knock on the door to your cool, mature future.
Despite how relatively quiet it was outside, the inside was undoubtedly bustling. You’d probably have to knock pretty hard to—
”GRAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
“G-Guhh!?” you choke out feebly, your heart pounding as you wheel around to face your unseen attackers. Scoots, Sweetie and Twist do the same, the lattermost’s gasp breaking into a violent coughing fit as you find yourselves staring into two pairs of eyes.
Familiar eyes.
Somewhere in the combined sound of their obnoxious cackling, you can just about make out the sound of your smooth entrance going straight down the toilet.
”Heeheehee! We got you wienies GOOD!” Silver Spoon chortles, hunching up and wrapping her forelegs around her stomach in an attempt to contain her laughter.
”This IS a Nightmare Night party, right?” Diamond Tiara adds. “Shouldn’t you scaredy-cats be hiding somewhere with your tails between your legs?” Despite struggling to get back her breath from laughter, you could almost see the smug radiating out of her smirk.
You forcibly calm your breathing in an attempt at minimizing their satisfaction from getting the drop on you, but you can’t seem to steady the distressed pulse in your chest. Twist is now gasping for air and fiddling in her bandages for something.
“Ya’ made it… thank goodness,” you say flatly, not bothering to hide your sour tone or sapped expression from the schoolhouse’s resident jerks-in-training.
”Mmhmm,” Diamond humsl, making a great action of eyeing you up and down superiorly. As she does you can’t help but do the same, noticing that neither she nor her cohort are wearing a costume of any description. In fact, it looks like neither of them dressed for the occasion whatsoever and simply came along in their fur.
Your stomach suddenly flips at the possibility that somewhere down the line you got poor information concerning the dress code. Even as your mind races through the pertinent conversations you’ve had up to now to make absolutely sure, the two of them stand confidently before you, bare as they day they were born. Totally assured despite your growing fear.
Anon said so, didn’t he? He wasn’t just joking, right? Right?
… Or was he?
WHY CAN’T YOU READ SOCIAL CUES!?
Even covered up by your bleak dress you suddenly feel quite exposed. The sharp, judgmental eyes of the pretty fillies examining you isn’t helping the situation, either.
”Aren’t you girls a little old for… all this?” Silver Spoon says, gesturing vaguely at your group as she pinpoints your worst fears, like you were actively making a list of insecurities for her in real time.
”Whadaya’ mean?” Scootaloo replies, frowning.
Twist, who was now wheezing aggressively, finally finds the small device she needs and presses it to her lips, breathing in her inhaler desperately.
”You’ll have to explain a little slower for that one, Silver. She’s a little, erm… well, you know.” Diamond Tiara stares your pegasus friend straight in the eye with her implied insult.
”And you? What’re you even supposed to be?” Silver Spoon asks, focusing in on you and squinting her eyes through her glasses. “A tramp?”
”Pfff– A tramp!?” Diamond chokes out, covering her mouth with a hoof as the two fillies share another rude chuckle.
Scootaloo tightens her jaw in and shoots you a look questioning whether or not you were down to throw a few hooves in that dress. As much as you hate to admit it, fighting is the last thing on your mind. Those two always knew exactly how to drag you down. They’d been doing it for years by now, and their quick wit for harshness certainly hadn’t dulled when they hit puberty.
Self-esteem spiraling. Confidence draining. Urge to run home and bury your head under your pillow rising. Great start to the ‘perfect’ evening! Hah, nothing ‘perfect’ ever came paired with ‘Applebloom’. Heck, all that was missing now was for Anon to come and-and…
W-Wait…
No, no please! Wait a second! I ain’t thought of it! I was only — I WAS ONLY JOKIN’, I—
”I’m going, I’m going!”
A muffled, masculine voice chuckles behind you a moment before the dark porch is overwhelmed in a mixture of light, fog and uninhubited music. Your combined entourage has to lift their forelegs to shield their eyes from the beaming entrance, a tall dark figure shifting into place before you to offer some respite from the sting. Even if you were getting pretty good at judging when the universe was going to rear its back hooves and nail you right in the flanks, you didn’t need self-defeating omniscience to guess who it was at the door considering the size and tone of voice.
O-OKAY. It’s okay! It’s show time! You’re ready for this! Just like you practiced!
”Oop– hey ladies!” he says, his shadowburnt form coming into further focus as your eyes adjust. The human leans on his forearm in the arch as he peers down at you, sinking down on one hip casually. Anonymous is just like you remember him; shapely, aloof, utterly unattainable. There’s a few key differences this time around though, and they’re… they’re doozies.
Clutched in his right claw is a slim but deep glass of dark amber liquid with two cherries submerged within. He’s dressed up from head to hoof like usual, but his specific choice in attire is what really catches your attention. It takes several moments for you to piece together what it is you’re looking at exactly, but once you finally get it through your head you’re sure it’s an image that will stay with you forever.
The thin, form-fitting, spandex-y material of his clothing hugs his every curve, emphasizing the tone of his limbs and chest. You might wonder what beguiling, sinful sights his black bodysuit was hiding from your eyes if it wasn’t full of long gashes and holes, each one revealing slips of his supple skin with an almost surgical attention to what would set your hormone-ridden body off the most. Atop his head sits a headband, the thin wiring holding it down buried deeply in his hair, making the small black pony ears that peeked out all the more convincing. As his hips shift you can just about make out a few strands of long, onyx tail hair curling around his thigh, probably pinned in place just above his rear to mimic a genuine pony tail.
”I’m glad you girls made it,” he says in a voice like silk, his eyes shining within the shadow of his face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Something in the last sentence makes you shiver, and every small movement he makes as he steps away from the door makes you feel like he could burst out of that tight, stretchy fabric at any second. Any second…
His soft lips curl into a smile. “Please,” he whispers, “come in…”
You hear a snapping sound. For a few harrowing moments you mistake it for Anon breaking free of his costume like you suddenly couldn’t stop imagining. Silly of you. See, what it actually was, was your confidence BREAKING IN TWO. HOH LORDY THIS WAS A MISTAKE. YA’ AIN’T READY. IT AIN’T SHOWTIME, SHOW’S CANCELLED! RUN! NO, STAND STILL!
Your body jerks backward violently and then and freezes as your mind gives it ten different conflicting commands. The light brown mummy filly on your left is suddenly gasping down copious amounts of inhalant from her tiny blue puffer, her eyes pinned wide. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo seem just as surprised, both of whom stare into the mature male’s inky-black costume without shame, the latter seemingly having forgotten all of her anger from the moments prior.
You can’t see the queens of mean but you have to assume they’re at least speechless considering that, like you, neither of them have returned his greeting.
”Is that the girls!? Are they here!?” a voice you faintly recognize to be your sister’s calls over howl of the party.
”Yeah – yeah it’s them, they’re here!” Anon replies, turning his head and peering inside to give his reply a better chance of reaching her over the crowd.
Twist suddenly laces a bandaged foreleg over your withers, holding onto you for support as she tries to satisfy her needy lungs.
”Babe–” wheeze, “h’alert!” she hisses under her breath just loud enough for you to hear.
You wet your dry lips with your tongue, brain whirring with activity as it mentally catalogues every single slip of soft, muscular thigh on display for your wandering eyes.
There are no words.
Is this – Is that supposed to be a Nightmare Night costume!? Who MADE that!? It has to be some sort of-of… custom order or something! It would have to be, regardless of how it looked. Before Mr Anon got here his specific shape was practically unheard of in Ponyville.
This-this level of HOOF SWEAT is practically unheard of in P-Ponyville, oh gawsh.
Now, it was practically impossible to miss the differences between stallions and mares lately, even when it came to clothes. Sometimes ESPECIALLY when it came to clothes. You’d only just recently started catching on to how Nightmare Night costumes differed between genders beyond the obvious stuff though, and had been mentally preparing yourself for the sights you might witness tonight and beyond. A little more coy, a little more tease. That’s what you were expecting.
You weren’t expecting anything like… like this. Nothing like this.
”Well?” The human suddenly says, your stricken face jerking up from his body to meet his eyes in a millisecond. “You girls coming in?”
He chuckles and steps away from the door a little further, offering the six of you a wider birth to enter.
You clear your throat and try to smile. “A-Ah’m uh, haha, ah mean, um, ah’d love you – L-LOVE TOO, uhh – that is, what ah MEANT was, th-that’s, u-uhh—“ you sputter, your horror growing and your volume dropping with every botched half-sentence.
A saintly hoof bumps you hard in the side and you instinctively pace forward and abandon your ruined attempt to speak, crossing close to the human as you slip inside his bustling home. You can’t stop yourself from looking him over close up as you get within breathing distance, your proximity intensifying the burn in your cheeks when you find him looking down at you, smiling invitingly.
M-mercy, he smells like… like chocolate and warm pumpkin…
”I know, I know,” he says, closing the door behind you and your companions, “I’m a bit of a mess. I was up really early getting everything ready and my last minute order here had a few, uh… issues? In development?” Anon laughs softly and pinches up a bit of fabric on his chest between his fingers, drawing attention to a large opening.
“It was either this or nothing. I mean, with it all sliced up it’s probably spookier than before, at least? Eh, no biggie, right? It’s a party! Wooo!” Mr. Anon lifts his glass as he hoots, inspiring many other random party guests to mirror his cheer.
The raw power of his amassed work hits you, the murmur and cry of various ponies finally baring down on you unrestrained. To your immense relief you notice that it isn’t just you and your family dressed up; happy ghosts and ghouls of all description line every wall and occupy every couch and chair. The muffled music you heard outside now surrounds you on all sides, the unmistakable scratch of a record turntable occasionally interrupting an upbeat melody that you’re almost positive is composed entirely of ‘spooky’ sounds cut up, mixed up, and re-toned.
There’s a large bucket near his door with a massive chunk of dry ice floating inside. It casts a wide sheet of thick, chilly smog around your ankles that crawls across much of his living room floor. There are lit jack-o’-lanterns littering various tables, shelves, and wherever else there had likely been spare room before tonight. The walls are plastered with creepy fake portraits, streamers, mounted candles, and even bats cut out of black construction paper. Every single breath you take is thick with the muggy warmth of multiple ponies in snug proximity, as well as the homey smell of sweets and fresh pumpkin pie.
”Too much?” the human asks sheepishly, gesturing at the utterly transformed house with his glass.
”It’s… it’s perfect...” Scootaloo whispers, eyes glittering with awe as she hops in place with restrained excitement.
”You did all this?” Sweetie remarks quietly, swishing her foreleg around in the dry smoke.
”Not alone, thankfully,” he replies, turning to you. ”I had a lot of help from your brother with the pumpkins. We were actually finishing them up when everyone started showing. Right about now he’s probably… hrm... ” Anon hums and furrows his brow as he peers upstairs. “He said he’d be back soon. He wanted to go upstairs to put his cos-… costume on! Ohoh! What’s this!?”
The human suddenly turns on the rich filly duo, looming over them with an ominous grin. The two of them – intelligently avoiding the stunning human’s attention thus far – smile anxiously and squirm in place under his gaze.
”Somebody’s not wearing a costume! Oh Pinkiiiiiee! Pinkie, we got s’more!” he barks across the house to various ‘ooo’s and knowing snickers from various party goers.
A flash of pink hauling a large brown box rounds the upstairs hallway almost instantly and flies down the stairs to your location. She stops before you to menacingly bear down on the un-festive offenders.
The pink pony has her mane done up in a fluffy afro, and the wide-collared, cone-shaped dress she has on perfects the simple ensemble; she’s a big scoop of cotton candy.
Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon exchange apprehensive looks, noticeably swallowing as she continues to stare them down wordlessly. After a moment Pinkie lets the large cardboard box gripped in her forehooves drop to the floor with a ground-shaking thud. She throws her upper body inside and scatters clown noses, wigs and other assorted costume pieces into the air before she emerges with her prize. Her ghoulish, terrible prize.
”N-Now, now you stay away…” Silver Spoon demands in a quiet voice, taking several steps back as the menacing cone of candy approaches her and her companion with grim determination; and a weapon. A tiny paint brush gripped in her teeth and a pallet of face paint balanced on her right hoof.
”Stay away, we said! My-my parents—!” Diamond adds weakly, paling as her and Silver Spoon’s rumps flatten against the door at their backs, sealing their fate with the unfazed Pinkie.
“My mom w-will… n-no… no, we’re too old! Stop! Stop, I said! I’m-AAAIIIEEE—!”
You cringe as the pink pony descends on them mercilessly, a duet of coltish shrieking filling the air as the deed is done.
”I warned’em…” Mr. Anon sighs with false regret, smirking as he sips from his glass. “Costume party.”
You’re happy to gain back some self-assurance and a little justice in the process, no question. That doesn’t stop you from flinching at some particularly broad and furious brush strokes, the pink pony’s victims falling chillingly quiet as she finishes with them. Once she finally moves away you are gifted to the sight of the ‘new and improved’ Diamond posse.
The scowl Diamond Tiara is sporting does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her face is now a giant pumpkin. Silver Spoon, now quietly sobbing to herself, has had her face painted black with thin white lines traced on her cheeks, as well as eye and mouth outlines; she is now a cat. As the final touch, Pinkie tops both of them off with big, goofy hats; Diamond’s is covered in taped-on candy and other treats, and Silver Spoon’s has a small motor attached, allowing the broom-riding witch sitting atop it so spin around in place.
”Don’t worry, kid!” Pinkie exclaims cheerfully, slapping Silver Spoon across the withers as she fans her wet face, “It’s water-proof!” The pink mare quickly bends down and puts herself at eye level with Diamond, her harsh squint forcibly evening out the rich filly’s frown. “Just TRY and get it off…” she whispers, deadly serious.
Pinkie, quite finished, hooks her foreleg under her cardboard box and morphs wordlessly back into the crowd. She never takes her eyes off of the rich fillies. She even turns her head back to fake like she wasn’t looking, only to catch Silver Spoon’s fearful, misty-eyed glance. The grey filly flinches away from Pinkie’s harrowing gaze, swiping her hoof under her glasses and sniffling deeply to clean up her embarrassing display before anypony of note saw.
It was too late for that, of course. You had more than enough ammunition for later.
”Anooon!” an unfamiliar pony hollers from out of sight, breaking the human’s attention away from the party pony’s antics.
”Mm—“ he hums into his glass, briskly gulping the rest of his drink down before setting the empty onto a nearby coffee table. ”Phew! Okay – gotta’ go. Your sisters are in the, uh, kitchen, I think?” he offers, speed walking across his living room towards the back patio through throngs of ponies. “Make yourself at home! Sit down wherever you want!”
You’re given little more than a wave as he retreats out of sight. Gone, just like that. Like a five minute thunderstorm. You can still feel the powerful presence of that skimpy outfit even after he goes.
Twist, clearly noting the exact moment the human is safely out of earshot, smirks. ”… I’th your, uh… LAP a th’eating op’thion, big boy?” she remarks impishly, nudging you in the side with her knee. “Huh? Right?”
You can’t help but share a relieved chuckle with her and the rest of the girls as you run a hoof across the back of your neck.
You catch a quick glimpse of the rich fillies slipping further into the house and out of sight; a wise retreat. After how they treated you outside it would practically be immoral NOT to give them a little payback.
”Yeah! What is he even WEARING? What do you even call that?!” Frankenloo comments with disbelief as you turn and wonder westward, leading your friends toward the kitchen where your sister supposedly was.
”My new feti’th.” Twist replies huskily, adjusting her glasses with a heavy breath before turning to you. “And I never heard about thi’th… how?” she lisps accusingly, motioning a hoof in the general direction that Anon left in. “The candy I’th better when you TH’ARE it with FRIEND’TH, you know. Aren’t we friend’th?”
You can only offer the mummy queen an apologetic smile as she looks on at you with a nice big helping of fake hurt.
”He said he ordered it… do you think he asked sissy?” Banshee Belle asks as you all stroll into the kitchen, bringing up a good point that had flown clear over your head.
Rarity; that’s… that’s it, isn’t it? Who else was capable of something like that? She HAS to be behind this catastrophe. This… this beautiful, heart-pounding catastrophe. You have lots of question, and thankfully, you’ll have plenty opportunity to ask them.
The pretty white mare sits at a small, on-wheels island in the center of the kitchen with both your sister and Rainbow Dash, not ten hooves away from the entrance. She chats away with her friends, paying no mind to the other ponies passing her by, nor you as you draw near. She’s dressed up as what looks like some sort of Neighponese clay doll. A long, excessively frilly salmon-colored dress wraps around her midsection, and small red tick marks have been placed in specific locations around her mouth and eyes.
To her left sat your sister, the ‘Werepony’. Applejack had mangled her old lion costume into a shape that was a bit more intimidating for the party. She’d cut out much of the light brown body suit, darkened the neck ruffle in places, added a torn flannel shirt, and wore some new, gnarly-looking claw gloves on her hooves.
To her left sat Rainbow Dash. If her sickly green face paint and big, tombstone-shaped hat were anything to go by, she’d come without a costume this evening and suffered the same wrath as the rich fillies.
She looked agitated.
But, not like ‘I’ve got important stuff to do so outa’ the way’ agitated, like usual. Something was off about her. She looked jittery, couldn’t sit still, and her head whipped around to look after male partygoers as you approached, heedless of her company. She sips from a glass of what was probably cider religiously; her lips are practically pinned to the cup.
”Well heya girls!” Werejack greets, turning on her stool to face you. “We was startin’ to get right worried until Anon said ’ya was here. How y’all likin’ the shindig?”
You friends each greet Applejack with some mild small-talk, their voices drowning out as you focus in on Sweetie’s sister. You aren’t sure whether to glower or stare up at her with admiration, so you do a combination of the two. She clearly notices, and after a moment of mild sweating and trying not to make eye contact, she clears her throat and peers down at you, venturing a smile.
”Is… is something the matter, darling? Is there something on my face?” she asks, turning to try and find her reflection in the linoleum.
”Yeah, a whole lotta’… DUMB… and ANNOYING. It’s alllllll over your face…” Rainbow Dash remarks with a surprising amount of acrimony.
You expect Miss Rarity to bite back with something, but she doesn’t. In fact, the dull shot seems to whiz right by her and your sister’s heads. Heck, they might’ve even brightened up.
”Y’all, uh… alright over there, Dashie? Ya’ want I should getcha’ s’more ice?” your sister asks with a small grin. Her words are polite enough, but underneath them is an undercurrent of satisfaction.
The cyan mare laughs haughtily and turns her head, ignoring your sister’s offer. This noticeably tickles the werepony, enough to stretch her grin face-wide.
“What’s goin’ on?’ you ask, frowning. “Y’all alright? Yer actin’ kinda’… funny.” You can’t help but shrink back slightly when Dash huffs in annoyance at your question.
”Naw, naw nothin’s the matter, sugarcube,” AJ replies, turning back to you. “Miss Dash is just goin’ through a tough time, is all. She has some, uh… visitors? In town? That right?” she remarks superiorly, flashing a smile at Dash before turning it to Rarity. “A, uh… cousin or somethin’?”
”Haw! Yess’siree, cowpoke!” Dash suddenly snaps, clearly speaking in an insulting imitation of you and your sister’s drawl. “An’er name’s Wave! HEAT Wave! YUH GETTIT? HEAT!? Golly, that-there joke sure is funny the – the FIFTH TIME,” the cyan pony growls, dropping her accent on the last few words.
”Ohh, don’t be such a sour grape you big foal!” Rarity Doll remarks, waving her hoof dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll be feeling right as rain in no time.”
”No thanks to you!” Dash replies incredulously, scowling.
”I’ve no idea what you mean, I assure you.” Rarity returns calmly, continuing to tend delicately to her drink.
“Ohoh really!? So-so Anon’s just—“ Dash begins heatedly, cutting herself off when she spots something moving in the window overlooking the kitchen sink.
It catches your attention as well. It’s pretty much impossible not to look.
It’s the vanished human, returned.
He’s in between the side of his house and his fence, trying to reattach a line of tissue paper ghosts that had fallen loose from the edge of his roof. His lean body tenses, flexing against that tight, nylon-like body suit as he stretches to reach the space above him. You feel your fur bristle as he presses his front up against the glass window, straining himself to get that last piece of twine wrapped around that last hook.
Twist growls something unintelligible under her breath as the tall human bites down on his lower lip and grunts cutely, trying to force that last necessary inch or two out of his pointed human hooves in order to achieve his goal.
You swallow hard as the slow torture continues for an amount of time you’re no longer cognitively capable of recognizing, another unforgettable scene crawling ahead one second at a time before you.
C-Celestia. Now… now all he needs to do is… sprawl himself out on your bed, in that same getup, look up at you, and whisper your name. Just your name, just once. Then you’d be alright.
For life.
You could die happy.
A soft purple light suddenly envelops the bit of string in the human’s hand, an aura of magic pulling it taught and then sliding it into place. A familiar lavender snout and matching horn pokes into view from the right of the pane, murmuring something to the human out of your range of hearing on account of the party noise and the shut window.
Anon shakes his head, smiling at her all the same before catching sight of what you had to imagine was a fraction of her friends ogling him through the glass. He gives your group small wave – which you can only return, trance-like. He parts just as soon as he arrived, leaving all of you to your thoughts.
After that moment of reflection you turn to Dash curiously, wondering if she might ever continue her thought.
Her face has become an inferno. Even under all the face paint you can see how puffy her face has become.
”So… so alllllll that is just a big accident, huh?” she finally continues, narrowing her eyes at fashionista doll. “All that is just a big, silly, totally innocent mistake, huh? Silly old Rarity! Always mangling clothes! Not like stitching them together is her JOB or anything!”
”Now Rainbow Dash,” Rarity returns softly, weathering her friend’s accusations as if they were a light breeze, “surely you can’t be implying that I, oh… took great offense at you saying that no real mare would ever want to wear my colty, froo-froo dresses.”
Dash pauses at this, clearly rendered as confused at the strange segue as you are. Oppositely, your sister’s eyes widen, and she plants them directly on the white mare.
“You did not…” she whispers.
Rarity simply stares ahead at nothing, swirling her wine glass absentmindedly in her baby blue aura. Her eyes have become cold, focused.
”… Surely you aren’t implying that I, oh, noticed that you were going to be ‘due’ any day, lied about forgetting to finish dear Anonymous’ costume until just yesterday, fibbed about lacking most of my significant stock of fabrics after all the other Nightmare Night pre-orders, used that supposed shortage to convince Anonymous to use a more enticing choice of fabric and then cut pieces from main body with my scissors in a – what was it, Dashie? A big, silly, totally innocent mistake? – so that I could pay ‘the prank master’ back in her time of greatest need for her grievous and personal insult to my life’s work?”
The hue of Dash’s face has now swung in the opposite direction, paling to an even more unhealthy pallor than the dark green shade that had been painted onto her fur. The cyan pony was obviously just venting, blowing smoke. She had no idea of the sinister machinations that had gone into toppling her tonight. YOUR worries were merely collateral damage, an aftershock. SHE was the true target.
You shiver as Rarity turns slowly toward the Pegasus and takes a single, solitary sip from her cherry red glass, her lips upturned just a bit. Just enough.
”… I would never do that to you, darling… “
”Uggghhhh, uuuuaaaaa.” Dash whines, dropping herself back down in her seat and flattening her face against the countertop, defeated.
The demonic doll giggles, kicking her rear hooves and swishing her tail giddily from the reveal of her master plan.
“And stop popping those dreadful lightning bolts outside my shop!” she continues. “You’re scaring customers away and giving me dreadful headaches.”
”Ah don’t much appreciate all that lyin’ to sweet’ol Anon,” your sister responds, turning her snout up a little, “even supposin’ she had it comin’.”
”D’ohh, you worry too much! He’s having a lovely time in his little outfit,” Rarity assures her, swiveling her head in search of something. “Mmm, now, if only he’d come where we could see him, we could be having a lovely time, too.”
The white mare chuckles wolfishly, inspiring a frown in your sister as she addresses you and the other fillies. “Don’t y’all go takin’ after Miss Rarity, now. She’s bein’ a right scoundrel with all that drink in’er.”
Rarity Doll simply scoffs at the implication, mumbling something about ‘party poopers’ as she swivels around on her stool to face the counter.
”Speakin’a which; y’all ain’t tried gettin’ into the drink yer’selves, have ya’?” Werejack asks, pointing her hoof at you accusingly.
“No no, no ma’am,” you reply quickly, turning to your friends for their testimony. They all nod, easing the stern look on AJ’s face.
”Good, and ya’ best not try, ‘cause I’ll know! Twist’s papa would have my flank in a sling if his fine young lady got into it under mah watch, so ya’ll best not get any funny ideas about peer pressure,” she warns, turning herself back around as well.
”Y’all go have fun now. The way ah hear it, Anon’s hid all sorts’a candy n’ such around the house, and he’s got all kinds’a games out back if’n you’re interested,” she says, giving you all a small wave as you turn to depart.
As the four of you cross through the threshold of the kitchen back into the living room your sister’s stool creaks again as she twists to talk after you.
”You mind yer manners in Mr. Anon’s house, now! Oh, uh, and if ya’ happen to see Fluttershy? Come’n find me, alright? She’s in one’a her peculiar moods tonight and, uh… well, just tell me if ya’ see’er! Have fun!”
-*-*-*-*-
For the next hour or so your small party mingles through Anon’s sitting room, breaking up and reforming your group as needed. Even with market duty you could go a week or two without seeing a specific face, and didn’t have much time to talk to others, so the time to catch up with everypony was a much-appreciated event. The first one you were you able to pick out of the crowd was Ms. Cheerilee.
The giant eggplant-o’-lantern costume she wore went great with her coat, and you had a surprising amount of fun talking about everything she had planned for next weekend. Apparently she and the younger class were planning to make a haunted house out of the schoolhouse come Nightmare Night, so that they could ‘face their fears’ by becoming them – and scaring the fur off other ponies. She was going to officially announce it Monday, but by virtue of you showing up at the party, you scored the information a day early.
One pony who rarely had time to stop and chat otherwise was the mailmare, another guest who happened to be attending tonight.
She was dressed as a super hero, decked out in a bright leotard, mask, and rubber booties that looked like rainboots. You joke, asking her if delivering the mail is just her day job, to which she replies with an emphatic ‘Yes!’ and a pose, giving you a speech about law and how the city needed a quick, agile paragon of justice like her to uphold it. She’s actually pretty convincing – until she tries to throw a kick and falls on her butt instead, starting a chain reaction that only narrowly avoids setting the house on fire.
Another few faces of note were Snips and Snails, those janefillies that always sat at the back of the classroom.
Ever defying convention, they’d chosen to come dressed in simple sheets with eyeholes that covered everything from their horns to the edge of their cutie marks; no form, no flirt, just ghosts. Shame; their rough, filly-ish personalities weren’t exactly your type, but still. The dull slender one might’ve looked nice in something a little more showy.
You chat briefly, and your conversation is nice, if a little stilted. They were in your class, sure, but they weren’t really part of your inner circle. You didn’t see each other much outside homeroom. They aren’t as unapproachable as most colts, but that doesn’t mean you’re ever totally free from the male spell around them. Even covered up you manage to find things to look at, and your wandering eyes make you nervous.
The discussion wanders to pranks, a subject you knew they were quite interested in. They ask you if you’re feeling up to joining them in one some time, maybe even tonight. You declined politely, mentioning that you had something else important you needed to do. You felt bad refusing them, but your excuse wasn’t really a lie. You did have an important goal tonight, and wandering around without the girls gave you some extra time to seriously ponder how you were going to accomplish it.
The first thing would be to acknowledge a few truths, namely your greatly depleted chances.
Your target was already tiny, and with that-that… THING he had on, the target might as well have sprouted wings and started flying around. You came here tonight expecting a harsh battle of will and charisma. You never dreamed your opponent would be an image of lust that easily stood up against the most shameless fantasies your young brain could muster.
The filthiest corner of your clop shop had NOTHING on ‘PLAYMARE Special Edition: Nightmare Night in Playmare Mansion’ Anon.
Every time you recut your strategy and regathered your strength he changed, shifted into something even more deadly and elusive, testing your thin courage before your skill even had a chance at bat. Getting him to acknowledge you was going to be hard, maybe even impossible.
But you were no quitter.
An Apple never quits, and you aren’t about to be the first. Tonight was the night you’d conquer him and defeat the root of all your insecurities. You just needed to be smart-like, think things through. Cousin Babs was just as experienced as the rest of you and the girls when she gave you advice that night.
That is to say, she wasn’t.
That was your fatal flaw! Your plan wasn’t bad, it just had a rusty nail holding it together! What you needed now was better parts, more oversight and cross-checking. You needed to find REAL mares with REAL experience to set you on the right path if you were going to woo real colts. Once you leveled the playing field it would just come down to your spirit.
Once you had a real chance you could take it. You needed to find some real mentors. Mares of status and popularity who were respected like your sister and her friends.
Maybe not… AJ herself, of course.
Even IF you could stand to weather the soul-crushing embarrassment of asking your sister for colt advice, you can’t seem to remember a time when she was actually with somepony, so as much as you respect her, she’s out anyways. Miss Rarity and Rainbow Dash might have some good info, but they were hanging out with your sister right now. ’Real mare’ gushing, another birds and the bees talk from your sister – with a live audience this time – crippling embarrassment, social suicide – out. Maybe if you could get them alone…
Until then, your choices were narrowed down to three; Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and Pinkie.
You didn’t know Fluttershy very well, but she didn’t seem like the sort to know a whole lot about getting a coltfriend. Your sister even made frequent reference to this, going on with great regret about her friend’s introverted personality and lack of drive for socializing.
Pinkie Pie was the complete opposite of the shy yellow Pegasus. She was a fun mare; confident, aggressive, an effortless show stealer. You knew her much better, and she seemed like the type who wouldn’t have any troubles getting attention from the opposite sex. Still, you didn’t know much about her personal life beyond the parties she threw, so she was a bit of a gamble.
Next up was Twilight Sparkle.
Everything your folks ever told you about her hinted at how much of a big-wig mare she was. Born and raised in Canterlot, but wasn’t turned snooty and masculinized like a lot of the mares grown up there. She wasn’t afraid to get something done when it needed doing. Not a very fun sort, but always real nice and usually pretty honest. Smart as a whip, good public speaker, good under pressure, always has a solution to your problems. Not only is she practically perfect, but she’s here at the party right now. Still outside, probably.
She’d be your first stop.
You trot nimbly through the crowd of ponies in the living room, jostling as few of the tipsier individuals as possible. The girls who see you leaving cast you looks and receive a small wave in return; you’d regroup later when the apples were ripe. As you pace further toward the back of the house the party music begins to grow in volume. By the time you step into the laundry room the source of it is almost right on top of you, fighting the small, sound-spitting boxes tacked up around the house for dominance.
Through a small window just right of the back door, you can see a fraction of the turntable and its maestro, the mare arming the sound station actively jiving with the rhythm they were creating. It was difficult to make out their physical appearance through all of the fur paint they were wearing, but the blue mane and violet-tinted sunglasses were very familiar. Pushing open the back door multiplies the sound of the music again, each heavy strum, whip and creepy groan feeding the full piece and vibrating the small wooden steps that lead into the grass below.
For the second time tonight the misty autumn air touches your face, this time treated with the tart smell of cider and the faint aroma of sweets. To your left were rows of tables lined up against the back of Anon’s house, each one populated with bowls of punch, cups, a few cider kegs, and a few stray pieces of candy. Considering how many of those candies are Coconut Creamies and how few of them are Chocolate Creamies, you have the sneaking suspicion that there used to be a lot more before the tables got raided by the first come-first served.
Beyond that is a surprisingly spacious back yard fenced in by tall wood planks.
On the far right side stands another row of tables filled with party favors and drinks as well as a more densely-packed gaggle of ponies cheering and hooting over something. You can see large barrels of water, some dart boards pinned to the fence, and a few other game-y things sprinkled about, as well as a mass of tall kegs always in close proximity. Even from this distance the gaming area seems to have the densest collection of alcohol around it by far.
On the left side of the yard is a third a final row of tables with snacks—cookies, brownies and other treats—and the farthest left corner hosts a large walk-in storage shed with a big shutter, and a smaller door on its left side facing the house. Aside from a few more tables and small chairs, the yard would be quite sparse if not for the sea of grooving, chatting and working ponies.
Further on passed the fence you can see a wide birth of trees that signifies the start of the Everfree Forest and the end of Ponyville. The small gate set in the middle of the farthest wall opposite the house is open, and several younger ponies cross through it as you watch. They were probably venturing out beyond, daring each other closer and closer to the tree line to prove how unconcerned and cool they were in an attempt to impress their male company.
As you turn left and begin your trek cross the yard you imagine yourself there with them. Standing tall, chest full, lingering in no-mares-land longer than any other would dare. He, whoever he might be, would laugh and congratulate you, playing coy but clearly intrigued by how gruff and feminine you were. You’d tell him the story of when you were trapped in the Flame Geyser Swamp by a deadly Manticore when you were but a little filly, forced to fight off the merciless beast with nothing but your bare hooves (and a LITTLE help from your sister) to his great amazement. He’d tell you that any colt would be lucky to have a brave mare like you to talk with, hold hooves with, kiss on, maybe. Maybe… other stuff, too.
The forbidden stuff that existed in your life only through sordid dreaming.
’I haven’t ever been touched there before,’ he’d say, ‘not by anypony. B-But… but if it’s you, Applebloom, I guess it’s okay… N-nnn… n-not so fast… Your tuft is so, so… c-can I… can I touch it?’
Oh, yes sir. You can touch wherever you want. Don’t be shy. That’s right…
“Heh… Heheh…” A smile you can only imagine is horrifying slithers slowly across your face as your mind wanders. The grotesque and dreamy expression lingers for quite a while before you finally notice their eyes. You straighten up immediately and turn, spotting Featherwieght, Rumble and Taps, each dressed up as a puppy, a nurse, and a prince respectively.
Unlike Snips and Snails they’ve chosen to dress much more ‘stalliony’, each costume implying and reinforcing their gender’s wiles in subtle ways. Oddly, each of them shift when you turn, looking away and dropping one of their front hooves to the dirt. Like they were going to wave but then stopped mid-way. You KNOW they were looking at you, but now they’re trying their best to pretend they didn’t notice you. Like…
Like they saw you, tried to wave you down, saw how CREEPY you looked, and changed their minds at the last second!
CRABAPPLES.
They’re whispering something now, and that mean little voice in the back of your head is quite confident it knows what the topic is. You need to smooth this over, fast.
You take a lung full of fresh air and step forward, putting on the most charming, reasonable, not-creepy smile you could in an attempt to win back some respect. Any respect. What little you had left to take.
“H-Hey, boys—!“ you try, gaining their attention a split second before the collar of your costume suddenly wrenches you downwards; a poorly-placed step had pinned the hem of your dress underhoof. A moment you can only describe as ‘poiseless flailing’ occurs before you swiftly slam face first into the grass. A gaggle of random sound and pain swims around your head, numbing your brain as your vision teeters out and your mind goes completely blank.
-*-*-*-*-
”____, ____ okay?”
”____?”
”Oh jeez, sh______”
”Isn’t th_______whats-her-face’s sister?”
”Applesnap? Apple-something?”
You gasp, forcing yourself up off of the ground and swinging your head around to try and regain your bearings. Bad idea. Your head throbs painfully as your topsy-turvy world unkindly drifts back into focus.
“Wus… what’s gonin’ un?” you slur, scrunching your eyes shut and lifting a hoof to your head. Another bad idea. The second your limb connects with your cranium your entire forehead begins to burn, stinging you unmercifully. “—Ah! Dang!”
”Yeah you, uh… went down pretty hard there. Blew your lights right out,” a female voice comments.
”Ah did…?” You turn, squinting your eyes at the mystery speaker, or rather, speakers, that roused you. They’re two ponies you don’t recognize. One has a light blue coat, dark blue mane, and a big hourglass for a cutie mark. The other you almost mistake for Twilight Sparkle, but her mane is off and she wears large blocky glasses. Her coat is a pale yellowish color, and her mane is a mish-mash of violets, reds and purples.
”Probably. You were out for a good half a minute, I’d wager,” the blue pony replies.
Now that you have an extra second to think beyond basic shapes and colors, you notice that both of them are unicorns. The phantom paper cups floating around their glowing horns were a good giveaway. The costume the blue one has on is a mix of confusing traits and colors; a big suit of cardboard armor painted black, sacks filled with what might be sand hanging around her barrel, and strange little blue balls extending from stiff wires and posed to warble above her head.
The other one is just as confusing.
Her head and legs poke out of a massive chest with teeth lining the edge to resemble a big mouth, and the way she has it on makes it look like she’s being eaten by it. While your mind puzzles over what they might be, the significance of the blue one’s statement suddenly becomes clear. The moments before you hit the ground come rushing back into your numb head.
”Half a… ? W-Wait!” you say, eyes widening as you get to you hooves and hastily brush yourself off, scanning the cloud of ponies all around you. “What happened? Where’r Rumble’n them?”
The two mares exchange looks, the light yellow one stepping forward. “Uhh… you mean those colts who were laughing when you fell?”
You feel your face chill.
”They… they were laughin’…? At me?” you repeat with dread, twisting your neck again in an attempt to spot them.
”O-Oh, well… they stopped when you didn’t get back up?” the blue one reasons, turning to her companion.
”Well… they weren’t laughing AS HARD, certainly,” chest pony corrects as she turns to you, “Though… that might’ve just been because they were laughing SO hard before that it was becoming less funny…”
You stand still for a long time, simply peering into the shifting crowd as you try to puzzle the sequence of events out in a way that didn’t make you seem like an awkward, hay-spraying loser in front of a group of boys you’d be forced to face in class tomorrow. After a while of considering this a sour little chuckle starts to bubble up from your chest, at which point you fall back onto your butt and hang your head, pressing both hooves to your face as yet another failure sank in.
”Ugghhhhhh, uggghhhhh….”
The blue pony, probably concerned over your quickly deteriorating mental health, gently taps you on the shoulder.
”Hey, uh, maybe you should come sit down with us?” she says. “We’ve got a table over here.”
The thought of sitting at a table and trying to hold a conversation with other living beings after what just transpired isn’t the most fun thing you can imagine. But hey, maybe you could use a little female companionship after the beating your pride just took. Maybe you’d even make some new friends…
It takes a moment for you to come up with the energy to pick yourself up off the ground, but once you do you’re led swiftly across the yard by the two mares. You cut between party guests dressed as all manner of spooks and creatures before you finally reach your destination. You’re staring at your hooves so intently on the way that you don’t even notice who’s there to meet you.
”Appleboom?” a familiar voice says, inspiring you to lift your head.
At your new table sits three additional ponies, only one of whom you know; the exact one you’d been looking for before you were sidetracked by all that… unpleasantness. The REAL Twilight. The solution to all your problems! Some luck for change!
The bookish mare is dressed in a full black cloak that buttons up her middle and flows past her rear. There are glowing, magical-looking runes painted on the cloth covering her chest, sleeves, and various other portions. The greenish-grey tentacles crawling down from off of her chin and around her snout make her look like an octopus that jammed itself into a black trench coat.
At her sides are two others, one bright yellow with a teal mane, the other a cream color with soft pink waves. The bright yellow one is dressed as some sort of slime ball or goop monster, and the other has fitted a large red dome around her upper body, the front fourth breaking into a thin film or plastic with a big pupil painted into it, leaving just enough room for the pony inside to see around it. The multitude of peeper-topped tentacles attached to her dome and jiggling about make it clear that she’s some sort of eyeball creature.
“Am ah glad to see you!” you cry, trotting ahead of your escorts and hopping into a free seat next to the slime pony. “Sorry if ah’m interruptin’, but ah been lookin’ for ya’! I need your help with somethin’ real important, ya’ got a minute?” You channel all of your desperation into that request, silently hoping she isn’t too busy to talk.
Her approving smile eases your mind the second it appears. ”Of course, Applebloom. What do you need?”
Slime pony reaches across the table in order to brush away a smudge of dirt from your face that presumably went uncleaned from your prior inspection, flashing you an understanding look.
You were among friends here.
You sigh with relief, flattening your hooves on the table as you lean in. “Thanks. Ah’ll only be a minute, ah swear. Ah just need some advice, is all.”
”On what?” Twilight replies, sipping from her cup as the armored pony and the mouth-chest pony drag over an extra chair from an adjacent table to adjust for their new table guest.
“Ah don’t know how else to say it, so ah’ll just say it,” you reply, grimacing at the table a moment before turning back to look at her. “Ah need your help gettin’ colts to notice me!”
Twilight’s eyes widen marginally.
“Ah always screw up! Every darn time it’s the same! There has to be some sorta’ way to git’em to like me before I do somethin’ foolhardy and embarassin’!” you continue, leaning forward over the table a little more. “You’re smart n’important n’good at talkin’ ta’ folks. Ya’ had to’ve been with lotsa’ colts by now! Ya’ gatta’ help me out!”
A moment of silence takes hold of the group after you finish your plea, the buzz of unrelated conversations and the pop of the turntable invading the small table for a while. Twilight’s first reaction isn’t quite what you’re expecting. She hurriedly bounces looks between her pals, and a few beads of sweat have settled on her brow. Probably because you sprung such an important question on her out of the blue and put her on the spot in front of her friends while she was trying to relax like the social ingrate you are!
See?
This is part of the problem!
”A-Ah, haha… well… of course. I’ve, uh… I’ve had a few of them. Uh — coltfriends, that is,” Twilight confirms. She lifts her paper cup and generously wets her lips before continuing. “But, um… well, it’s a little complicated to just… explain.”
You were afraid of that.
A possibility you’d been keeping locked away deep in the back of your mind was related to this. That being, this sort of thing might not actually BE teachable, and that attracting colts was a natural skill that you’re just SUPPOSED to have. Was… was there just something wrong with you, or something? Was there really no hope?
”Aw, now c’mon Twilight, don’t be modest. Give the girl some pointers,” The eyeball pony says, flashing the purple unicorn a wide smirk. “Go ahead and tell’er about ALLLLL those guys you’ve been with. The younger generation is looking to you for guidance here, grand wizard. There’s no need to put on airs… “
”Yes, Twilight,” chest pony adds, lacing her hooves under her chin and leaning her elbows onto the table. Her toothy grin is a match to her toothy costume. “I’m sure we’d all benefit from a refresher from a pony so learned and experienced as you in the ways of the D. Tell us, how DO you get a coltfriend?”
Another round of silence.
All of her friends are now watching her expectantly, waiting, as you wait, each with a smile wider than the last.
”U-Uhm…” Twilight coughs. She lifts her cup to take yet another agonizing helping, the suspense of her slow consideration gradually eating you up. ”A-Ah, well look at that! It looks like I’m all outa’ pun—!“
”Here,” chest pony interrupts without a second thought, sliding her cup across the table to stop at Twilight’s front hooves, “take mine.”
Octo-Twilight’s face twitches noticeably, her brow slowly knitting as she takes her friend’s offered drink.
”Suddenly I’m not feeling very thirsty. Wouldn’t want you to waste any time.”
”Thanks,” Twilight replies cooly, narrowing her eyes at the pale yellow mare, “Moondancer.”
Her friend merely continues to beam sweetly, clearly satisfied with saving her friend a trip back to the punch bowl. After another long, drawn out swig the purple pony lowers her new cup and sighs, turning to you weakly.
”Ahh… okay, so…” She clears her throat. “So, I was rea-ah — rather, when I was with this one stallion, he really liked it when I, ahh… talked about all the magical dueling I did back in school? I was the top of my class and won a lot of trophies, so, yeah… he really liked that?”
She finishes the sentence like a question, as if SHE was waiting for YOU to confirm.
Odd…
”Sooo… yeah,” she continues, leaning up straighter in her chair, “they like it when you show off a little. You know, show them what you’ve accomplished?”
There it is again. That soft question, but this time she’s looking to her friends instead of you. Were you supposed to say something? Was she expecting you to comment? Is this, like… a test? What are you supposed to say!? You scour your brain for an appropriate response, picking through anything and everything to try and come up with something, anything. Finally, like a miracle, a memory comes to mind.
It’s an important one.
The vision is of the month prior, that sunny fall day when you sat in the grass with your friends and peered up at your cousin in admiration as she recounted story after story, each one detailing a new lesson to be learned, a new trick to frazzle the male mind or understand their thought processes.
’Talk about ya’self. Alla’ your, uh, your uh… ya’ know?’ she said, motioning vaguely with her hoof as she searched for the right word.
’Yer accomplishments?’ you replied, eager to hear more. So naive.
’Yeah!’ she replied, pointing at you. ‘Your accomplishments; ESPECIALLY the physical stuff. Ya’ know, like liftin’ and brawlin’n stuff. S’obvious, right? Colts wanna’ be with big strong mares. Mare’s who done a lota’ stuff and can protect’em, ya’ know?”
But that wasn’t right… was it? You told Anon about all the things you did to help put the festival together. You even lied about how strong you were. It didn’t work. That must be it!
Twilight flinches a little at this, clearly surprised at your response.
That must be it! She wasn’t expecting you to catch on so quick! You might not have a lot of experience winning, but you sure as shoot know how to lose!
“Ah tried talkin’ about myself and what ah done the last time, but he wasn’t really interested. I don’t think colts like it all that much when ya’ talk about yerself all the time…”
”Oh, ahh…“ Twilight replies, tugging at her collar a little and peering into her cup. “Is, uh… is that right?”
You nod.
That Moondancer pony suddenly snorts, letting loose the flood gates for all the other table members, each covering their mouth with a hoof to contain their strangely out-of-place laughter.
Or… or maybe it wasn’t out of place? Oh no… aww, horseapples! Was that wrong? You goofed up, didn’t you?
Twilight casts each of them a dirty look and huffs in annoyance. ”Well!? How about YOU guys?” she says, quieting their laughter in an instant with her question. ”Why don’t you girls offer up some advice, huh? Since all of you are clearly SO much more knowledgeable than I am? Go ahead, enlighten the ‘younger generation’ with your vast stallion wisdom!”
More silence.
Was that really true? Did they have more experience than even Twilight did? Well, maybe all together, but… It was hard to imagine such a well put together and successful mare like Twilight bowing out to ponies you’d never even met.
Each of them look to one another nervously, their eyes silently questioning their partners.
They’re so secretive… Did you accidentally stumble on some sort of secret club or something?
“Please!” you say, clasping your hooves together. “Ah’m desperate over here! Y’all don’t need to say everything, just give me SOMETHIN’, anythin’! Ah NEED this!”
More silent deliberation.
You grind your hooves against each other as they consider you, each watching one another as if waiting for the other to speak first. To step forward on your behalf. Finally, the bright yellow goop pony seems ready to speak, coughing slightly in preparation.
”Uhh, well… when it comes to stallions, you really wanna, uh… have a good profession!” she says, looking to the others who hurriedly nod in agreement. ”They wanna know if you’re on your way up in the world so they’re comfortable staying with you for the long-haul. Money is really important.”
A memory comes to mind, the breeze and heat rushing back to you.
‘Stallions don’t wanna be with no average workin’ stiff, ya know?’ Babs said, folding her forehooves proudly. ‘Sure it’s good to show’em you’re a hard worker, but what really matters is the Bits! If you got the scratch they got the time! Havin’ a coltfriend can be an expensive venture, but ayy, ya’ know… it’s always nice in the end. You take care’a them, they take care’a you; that’s a fact.’ But that didn’t work either, right?
Were they still testing you?
“Uhh… ya’ sure about that?” you say carefully.
The slime monster stiffens.
“Ah tried talkin’ about money, too. ‘Bout how mah farm was big’n important, makin’ a whole lotta Bits every day — but he didn’t really seem to care after ah put everything out there, never even mentioned it again. Money’s important an’ all, but I dunno’ if bein’ rich is all that much of a shoe-in…”
”Oh… uh…” the lemon-colored pony responds hesitantly, scrunching her brow in thought. “R-… Really?”
Twilight is staring even more deeply into her small paper cup now, snout scrunched in concentration.
“Okay, okay!” the armored pony says, catching everypony’s attention. “Enough from the amateurs. Look, you wanna get noticed by this guy for real?”
You nod emphatically, your heart speeding up at the prospect of getting passed all these silly trials and on to the stuff that really mattered.
”Alright, listen. What you have to do is simple when you really think about it; just treat him like a stallion!” she says, tapping her hoof down on the table. ”When you get right down to it, they just wanna be treated like they’re special and worth all the time in your world. BUT, they also want you to be a mare; take charge, be blunt. Talk about’im being single and you being in the market. Tell’im about how you’d love to take care of him. Make him feel like a real stallion and he’ll want you to be his real mare, mare!” she finishes spiritedly, tapping you on the shoulder.
Your head swims with that information, silently mulling over all of the possibilities and meanings of her words. You gain the smallest bit of hope. You even start to thank her before the action brings another memory to the surface.
It’s one you remember very intimately.
It was the start of everything going wrong for you during the fall celebration. The moment when you began to realize that you were making a huge mistake. They were your own words:
‘Wellllll, ah was jus’ figurin’ that a nice, single colt like you would want a big, strong mare like me to keep’im company,’ you said. You even smirked as you looked him up and down. So sure. So stupid.
The way his face softened into pride-withering amusement as you asserted yourself was still a vivid nightmare in your mind. Like he thought… like he thought you were joking, or something…
“B-But…” you begin, an emotion you can only describe as dread flickering in the armored mare’s eyes as you do. “But I did that. I did… I did alla’ that… It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked… There HAS to be more, right?” You turn to each of them, looking for anything, “… Right?”
The blue mare in the armor doesn’t reply, her eyes wandering to look anywhere but into yours. In fact, none of them can look at you now, each one instead staring off somewhere else. Glum, sullen, thwarted. You continue to search each one, from slime to eyeball to octopus, from chest to armored ghost-thing, but none of them say anything. They can’t.
It…
It really is you, isn’t it? Maybe… maybe your cousin wasn’t lying. She’d confessed to not having any experience, but was what she said wrong? She wouldn’t know, after all. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe…
Maybe It was YOU that was wrong…
All of these bright, accomplished mares sitting with you had probably won ENDLESS amounts of male attention by simply doing what they just told you; what your cousin told you. The only matching piece in every story of failure was you. Babs lied, but she wasn’t the bad nail, was she…? YOU were the bad nail; Applebloom was the weak link...
The hopelessness you’d started to feel when you embarrassed yourself in front of the schoolcolts is now multiplying. As you slide out of your chair wordlessly, the tiny pins metal pins and doo-dads in your dress clattering slightly against the wood as you dismount, you can’t even say goodbye to Twilight and her friends.
It’s alright, they’d probably figured it out by now if you had. How could they not? The respectful thing to do on their part was not to say anything, let you leave with what little pride you had left so as not hurt you further. You turn back to look upon them one last time, even if you know you shouldn’t.
Twilight is staring ahead blankly, emotionally drained, her hope in mare-kind clearly crushed by the anomaly – the social smudge – that is your entire existence. She absent-mindedly taps Moondancer on her heaving, jerking back as the bespectacled mare sobs bitterly into her hooves. It’s a little dramatic, but you suppose that somepony that hadn’t been living your life up till now might be a little more sensitive to how cripplingly little appeal you had to the opposite sex. That acknowledgement doesn’t make it any easier for you to watch her weep openly in front of her stone-faced friends. Her barely audible ‘Why? Why!?’s slowly drown out as your phase back into the crowd, the full force of the party sheltering you in its loud indifference.
Should you even try anymore?
If they couldn’t help, if NOPONY could seem to help, was finding more advice really going to change things? You wanted to believe, but the whole world was fighting you at every turn.
As you continue across the yard, aiming for nothing, random ponies bump into you as you pass, none turning to inspect you. Neither their spirited costumes nor the clap of the music can lift the haze you now find yourself under, your hooves thudding dully against the grass as you wonder listlessly. Eventually, without really meaning to, you reach the large shed in the corner of the yard.
The shutter has only been pulled open half way, but even so you can get a get a pretty good look inside. A small lamp hangs from the ceiling, the orange film wrapped around it bathing the spacious storage in a warm glow.
Not even this place can escape Anon’s energy for the holiday, it seems.
Boxes have been stacked high on the right side, completely obscuring the fence-side wall in multiple layers of cardboard and personal items. The back wall and door-side wall are much more sparsely packed, leaving room for ponies, or even a human, to slip between the boxes to search for things or slide through the side door. Things were a little quieter out here given the shed’s distance from the house itself, but the festivities far behind were still unmissable, as was the bright puffy tail slowly bobbing out from under the folded shutter.
The frizz and flashy pink shade leave you little need to think over who it is; Pinkie Pie, the other mare on your list. She’s whistling a tune you can’t quite identify, swinging her rump to and fro as she pushes boxes around, occasionally throwing one open and looking inside.
She’s right there. Should you ask? Should you even bother? Can she really improve a 0% chance into something playable, something reasonable?
You sway in place, scanning the moist grass under your hooves as you shuffle them in thought.
Only the future can tell…
Well… you’ve come this far, even if you covered the ground via tripping and falling over and over again. You’re already at the bottom, what is there to lose? What’s left of your dignity? Hah, right.
After a while of deliberation your stiff body shifts, stepping you closer to the party pony in a dispassionate, robotic fashion.
Apples don’t quit. You can lose, but giving up is off the table. Your grandparents built an entire empire on that principle. The least YOU can do to honor their hard work is lift your chin and quit with the pity party. One more try. Just once more and then you can go home an Apple. Defeated maybe, but an Apple.
Your head dips under the shutter as you slip inside, drawing up to Pinkie’s right and pausing, waiting for her to finish with whatever she was doing before you started with the questions. When it seems like she’s well and fully absorbed you step forward, licking at you lips in preparation to speak.
”Pinkie?” you say.
You can’t help but flinch as she flinches, her whistling halted by a sharp gasp. ”Oh?! Oh… Ohohoh!” The pink pony laughs as she identifies you, whipping her foreleg around the back of your neck and pulling you close to noogie her fetlock into your white and cherry mane. “You little SNEAKSTER! You spooked me good!”
“A-Ah wasn’t tryin’ too, honest! Ah! Ahahah! Okay, okay—!” you laugh, pulling away until you slipped out of her strong earth pony grip. You can’t help but crack a smile despite your low mood. She has that effect on ponies.
”What’s goin’ on? Lookin’ for somethin’ to do? Here, look in this!” she says, wrapping her hoof around a closed box and sliding it into your chest, nearly knocking you over with the force.
“—Oof! Uhh, well… ah guess ah could help ya’ out. Not like ah’m havin’ much luck doin’ anything else ‘round here,” you reply, crinkling the edge of your mouth in disappointment as you try and pry the cardboard open.
”Oh yeah?” she remarks, darting her eyes toward you before planting them back in her own box, shifting the contents inside to get a better look. “Why’s that?”
You finally manage to tug the folded box corners free, flipping open the lid to reveal several stacks of sheets and comforters.
“Ah been tryin’ to figure out how ta’ talk to colts and make’em like ya’, askin’ folks all over as a matter of fact, but ah I can’t seem to make anythin’ work out like it should. Ah think there’s somethin’ wrong with me,” you admit glumly, pushing the box of bedding away.
”Wewie… that’s harsh, kid,” Pinkie replies, narrowing her eyes and swiveling her head about to scan the shed. She swoops down on another box when she finds a suitable target. “Have you tried just, you know, being yourself? I hear that’s pret-ty popular.”
“Hah!” You scoff dejectedly, yanking over a nearby container. “That’s the LAST thing ah wanna be around a colt! Have ya’ seen me? I can barely talk to’em on the spot, let alone with a bunch’a plannin’! Who’s linin’ up to be the ‘real’ Applebloom’s coltfriend? Nopony, that’s who.” The top snaps off easily; silverware, bowls, plates, other kitchenware. A thought comes to you just then, an important one that flew right over your head in all the activity.
“Uhh, Pinkie?” you say, turning to her. “Why are we diggin’ around in Mr. Anon’s boxes for?”
”Apples,” Pinkie replies, frowning and slamming another box shut, her head twisting around again.
“Uhh, Apples?” you say with some confusion, scratching the side of your head.
”Apples,” She reiterates. The mare stands on her hind legs and slaps her hooves to her hips. “You can’t bob for apples without apples! We’re almost out and there’s SUPPOSED to be more in here, but for the LIFE of me I can’t figure out WHERE that boy put’em!” The pink pony taps her hoof against the floor, narrowing her eyes at the various items scattered about the shed.
“… couldn’t even find anything fun he didn’t want me to see. I thought for SURE he was kinky after that little number he put on tonight.” She shoots you a wolfish look and waggles her eyebrows, burning your face.
“Nuthin’ — not even a dirty maggo,” she continues, clearly pouting. “Oh well… bet he’s wild in the sack, at least!” She laughs and whips around to check another box.
”H-Hah, haha! O-Okay, uhh, s-so, a-about mah, uh, mah thing?” you stutter, voice cracking as you try to push your way behind a few planks of poster board, no longer caring whether or not a box of apples could actually be put back there.
”Ohhhh, yeah yeah, sorry kiddo,” Pinkie replies, furrowing her brow in thought. “Welllll… hmm… guess there’s a few things you could do…” The pink pony stares into her box for a while, seemingly lost in thought, before suddenly jamming her hoof inside and pulling out a big reel of film, her expression brightening instantly.
”Ooo! Ooo! Okay!” she chirps energetically, turning on you and holding the film up for you to see. “Okay, so way, way back, me and Molasses kinda’ had this thing, right?”
“Molasses?” you reply, peering up into the ceiling and searching your memory for the name. “Ain’t that Mrs. Maple’s husband?”
”Yeah yeah, him! We were in deep way back when! Before he got married, I mean. And he was super sweet on me, too. I mean, we used to GO AT IT like-like, okay, so there was this thing he did where-where…” she pauses, her face falling neutral as yours likely twists into discomfort.
“Uhh… don’t tell Maple, okay?”
You hastily nod, and she continues.
”Aha, right. So, anyways, the first date we ever went on was to a scary movie!” she says, thrusting the film reel at you again. “It was a good one, too: Chestbursters.”
Your ears perk up at the familiar name. “That the one where the porcupine aliens and the ponies gatta’ team up to defeat those heart-eatin’ wormy ones? And there’s a laser-sword fight at the end? And then… and there… was—“
You’re swinging your hooves around to mimic the action, but pause when Pinkie actually starts to scowl at you, her snout wrinkling with distaste.
”That… THING… was Chestbursters 6: Porcuspine vs Chestburster,” she corrects. The pony leans toward you a little, her giant pink afro wobbling and her face unflinchingly serious. “… we don’t TALK… about Porcuspine vs Chestburster…”
She stares you down for an uncomfortably long time after that, to the point where you start having a hard time looking her in the eye. After that, though, she rebounds instantly, smiling at you and spinning the film reel on her hoof.
“So! Like I was saying, we went to a scary movie. We weren’t really, like, super into each other at the time, but I thought it would be fun! He didn’t really like the movie, though. Colts usually aren’t into gory flicks all that much.”
Confused, you raise a hoof. “But… then why bring it up if’n he didn’t like it?”
Pinkie beams even more, turning and setting the reel back into the box she found it in. “Didn’t matter! What mattered was he was scared!” she proclaims, nudging the box away.
When you don’t answer she continues, giving you an obvious look. ”He was scared, which means he was feeling vulnerable, which means he wanted somepony to cuddle with and make him feel safe! We were playin’ tonsil hockey before we even got out of the theater!” she says, closing her eyes. “Gooood times.”
“So… so yer sayin’,” you start, staring down at your hooves as you think, “that if ah want him to like me, ah should be there for’im when he’s feelin’ scared n’ lonesome?”
The candy scoop grins, patting you on the shoulder as she passes by. “Couldn’t hurt, squirt!” she says, ducking her head under the shutter and slipping outside.
”Close this thing for me, will ya’? I gatta go talk to the big guy. Good luck with your colt troubles, kid! Fight the good fight! I’m rootin’ for ya’!” she cheers, waving at you in the space under the shutter before vanishing around the corner.
Amazed, you simply stare after her, your mind overflowing.
Sure what she said was something you’d never really tried before, but was it really capable of succeeding? It was specific and logical, even if it wouldn’t be terribly easy to actually pull off. Even considering that you saw Anon most days on the farm, you didn’t really spend a whole lot of time with him quantitatively; you’d never once seen him scared or unsure of something.
His level of confidence was the nemesis to your own, the anti. He practically radiated comfort and ease. At least, until YOU started actually talking with him. Still, he wasn’t a completely inpony enigma, was he? He had to feel those things occasionally, right?
You examine the small shed as you wonder, searching for a way to operate the shutter so that you could complete Pinkie’s task for you.
In the top right corner of the shed you spot a pulley wheel bolted into a thin iron beam, the length of cable snugly set into its central groove running down through a second one near the ground and also through the center of the shutter door itself. Attached to the top wheel is a clip, presumably to free the cord and let the weight of shutter take care of the rest. Pressing the clip delivers the desired result, the folds of thin metal clattering to the ground.
The world outside is instantly depleted to a whisper. All sights and sounds are deafened within the cozy shed. After being around it all this time, it was actually nice having a second of peace and quiet.
It also gave you more time to think.
Maybe you didn’t need to wait for an opportunity like the one Pinkie described. Maybe you could create one? Yes... a controlled environment where you could creep him out, just a little, and then spring to his side, comforting him in his time of need. Everypony got scared, Anon couldn’t be any different. It could work…
It WILL work.
You’ll make it so!
As you step closer to the side door, the wind lightly whistles between the shed’s creaky joints. The faint skittering and scratching of critters tapping occasionally at the walls make just enough noise to send a cold shiver down your spine, and you start to get the feeling you know EXACTLY where you can stage the event. This place is perfect.
This, THIS would be the site of the moment you’d been waiting for since your knees first started knocking together in front of the fairer sex. It was here that you’d finally WIN for a change and turn the relationship portion of your life into a place somepony might actually want to visit. All you need now is a little time and some backup.
You need to assemble your team.
The party surges around you once more as you push through the door and race through the yard, cool wind blowing past your face and throwing up your sprayed mane as you rush. You get only a few looks as you power forward, your hooves carrying you around swaying, inebriated party guests and loose yardware alike. Finally, winded and riled from your run, you find them, all three descending the stairs from the back door and stepping into the yard for the first time.
”Girls, girls!” you yell, catching their attention and coming to a halt at their hooves, chest heaving.
”What’s up Applebloom? We haven’t seen you in a while. Did something happen?” says Sweetie.
“N-Naw, ah mean, YES!” you exclaim, lifting your head and looking upon each of their confused faces. ”Girls, ah need yer help!” You flash them a wide smile and stand tall as they trade looks.
The full moon crests the center of the star-filled sky and hangs close to the earth, its eerie light held at bay by the tall, flickering torches littering the back yard. The stomping of hooves and the sound of the festivities and laughing is climbing to a fever pitch, ponies of all description hanging off of each other, dancing with each other, shouting and cheering and drinking heartily from their deep paper cups. The babble emitting from the sound station has leapt into high gear, the tempo quickening as the current song nears its exciting climax.
The mixer mare conducting the beat bobs her head eagerly, whipping her dark blue mane all around her neck as she rocks out. The body paint running along her torso and limbs create simple shapes and patterns in her white fur that outline her features, a style choice that each of her roadies and other assorted help mimic. Her workers are spreading out now, each positioning themselves in a specific place in the yard and awaiting something. The party guests seem to be none the wiser, letting the workers pass by unheeded and unacknowledged.
When the song finally reaches its scathingly fast ending, the lights on and around the turntable flashing and strobing to the effect, the music suddenly mellows and is met with a deep, ghostly groan that fills the yard. As this happens the maestro’s workers each blow out their assigned torch, bathing the yard in a mix of darkness and moonlight. And something else.
The mare on the small soundstage lifts her forehooves over her head and hangs them spookily as the phantom winds and wails seep from her mixer, the clear, unseen body paint in her fur suddenly glaring to life and glowing, highlighting the shape of her skeleton in a ghastly neon green. The workers do the same, many ‘ooo’ing and groaning at the guests, eliciting amazed sounds and laughter.
”Do you kids CAAAAAAANDYYYY!?” a chipper voice bellows over the crowd as the music and sound effects die out.
All attending look around, trying to locate the source of the question. Eventually many begin to point up into the sky, gesturing at the pink cotton candy pony perched atop Anonymous’ roof, a large item in hoof.
”I’m not hearing a YYYYYESSSSS!” she shouts again. Stallions and mares of all ages shout up at her, informing her that they very much DID like candy.
”Welp that’s too bad! Cause we’re ALLLLLL OOOOOUT!” she replies, earning herself whines and good-natured boos from her audience.
”Wellllll—!” she continues, turning to regard the large object in her hooves, “maybe we have a LITTLE left!”
Cheers, stomping and other audible pining for sweets is returned to her. Without further ado the party pony smirks and lifts her mysterious instrument up into the air to impose it against the moon, giving everypony a clear look; it was some sort of hoof-cannon. She hauls the barrel into the bend of left foreleg and cradles with rear with her right, facing the void of her tool overhead of her targets. A second later a loud crack splits the air, the small cannon flinging dozens of tiny specs wrapped in glowing paper up into sky and raining them down on the guests.
”Wooo!” Pinkie hoots, twisting around and dropping her cannon to feed it more ammunition.
As she continues to fire volleys more ponies begin to stream out into the yard to identify the commotion, leaping into the fray soon after to get their share. The glowing mare behind the turntable sets it to play a general tune and descends from the small stage toward the punch and cider, clearly ready for a break. Everypony was either looking at Pinkie, scrambling to get candy, or working; everypony was distracted by something.
It’s time.
You’d found the items you could actually use, rearranged some of the boxes and moved a few others out of the way. The work was done, the prep was done. Now all you needed was the guest of honor. Your mind wanders to the human as you and your three companions exit the prepared shed through the side door, satisfied and anxious to continue.
Like most times before, you would be heading the operation. It would give you the chance you needed to try and learn something, if anything. If you were feeling generous, then you were a scout of sorts, an ‘information gatherer’.
If you were being honest, you were probably more like a guinea pig, a test subject to try out new theories. You were going to be on the front lines doing what you had to for the betterment of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, relaying your gained knowledge to them to improve their own chances. That, or the girls weren’t too keen on putting themselves in the crossfire and you were always eager to volunteer…
In the end you were like a big lightning rod. You took the most heat, but you also saw the flashes of light closer up than anypony else did. You experienced them firsthoof. Tonight, like many times before, your target, your spear of sky-splitting fury and sound, was Anon the Human. It’s time to get started, and for the first time in a long time, you actually feel ready.
Which is why, when Applejack and Twilight Sparkle begin to cut through the candy-crazed mob and beeline toward your location, you can’t help but feel a sense of concern for the stability of your carefully set strategy.
“U-Uhh, hey SIS,” you say deliberately. You clear your throat and nudge Twist in the side, quickly fixing your face into an expression you hoped looked nice and innocent. “What, uhh… what’re y’all doin’ out over here?”
Your sister and a listless lavender octo-pony stop before you and acknowledge your party. ”Well, way ah hear it, there’s supposed to be some’a our merchandise out in this here shed,” Applejack says. “Pinkie’s right busy, so I reckon it falls to us to find’em if anypony’s gonna be enjoyin’ all our hard work.” Werejack reaches up to tug her non-existent Stetson down over her brow in a sign of pride, then frowns, realizing too late that she wasn’t wearing it. After that she casts you and your friends a weary eye, examining each of you as she speaks.
“… what exactly are Y’ALL doin’ out here near Anon’s shed? Not fixin’ to cause mischief, I hope.”
A small chorus of worried laughter erupts from you and the girls and carries on for a long time, even after it becomes clear about half way through that the Werepony before you wasn’t joking. You stall for as long as you can – until you run out of breath, even – hoping to come up with a reasonable excuse to assuage your sister’s distrust.
You swallow and take a full breath. “Uhh, we was just, uh… w-well… we were—”
”Playing hide and seek!” Frankenloo blurts. Her face twists slightly at the realization of how childish that sounded.
”Yes,” Banshee Belle confirms, clearly as impressed with her lie as she was, “we were hiding.”
Werejack furrows her brow. “Hidin’? In… the same place? All together – that right?” she recounts, being sure to emphasize the flaw in your story.
Horseshoes, the one pony you always had to mislead was the LITERAL element of honesty. The mare who had more mind to sniff out a falsehood than any other. All the better too that she was you sister, and by now had very intimate knowledge of both your group AND their shenanigans.
”We’re, uh, TH’UPER good at hiding, ma’am,” Twist tries, but with the look your sister is giving all of you now doesn’t bode well.
”Well, whatever you girls were REALLY doin’, go on ahead and do it somewhere else, now.” She motions sideways with her head, making your heart sink. “And just in case y’all mighta’ been confused: mindin’ yer manners in Mr. Anon’s house extends to his storage room. Go on now, y’all can do your hidin’ and seekin’ somewhere else. We got work ta’ do, right Twilight?” Your sister turns and pats the lavender pony on the back with a rubber-clawed hoof.
”Doesn’t matter,” Twilight replies in a despairing voice, her dull eyes staring out at nothing, “nothing matters.” The very short but very awkward pause stands out like a swollen hoof in the midst of the candy-fueled merriment in the background.
”Uhhh huh… right.” Applejack brushes off the muddled purple pony’s mood and moves on, a zombie-like Twilight trailing close behind. “Well, y’all have fun. And don’t go expectin’ me not to find ya’ if I find y’all were rough-housin’ or rummagin’ through his personals!” She whips her tail for emphasis as she and her companion slip through the door you just left, leaving all of you out in the cold to ponder your newest counterattack.
“Dang, dang, dang!” you curse, stomping your hoof and huffing in frustration.
”What’re we gonna’ do now?” Scootaloo wonders aloud glumly, falling onto her rear to think. “We can’t do it with her around!”
You sit, too, squeezing your head between your hooves, willing yourself to think of some last-minute, clever way out of this. Nothing is coming.
”We ju’tht gatta’ get them outa’ there…” Mummy Twist mumbles, scrunching her eyes shut. “Think, think, think…”
”This is hopeless…” Banshee Bell whines, hanging her head.
Stopped at the starting line after all that prep!? Not like this…
The only thing the four of you can do now is worry in place, hoping, praying that something might come along to give you an opportunity. Hard reality is your only answer; the party goers hoot and scream, ignorant to your plight, and Pinkie continues to fire her party cannon into the growing crowd without care. AJ and Twilight weren’t coming out, and you had no idea what sort of timetable you had to make this work before it was time to go home. For all you knew they were accidentally unraveling everything you’d just spent an hour setting up in their attempt to find the one thing they needed.
You could try and talk to them? Maybe you could even explain your plan? No, that wouldn’t work. It was all a big trick, a setup, a lie. Applejack wouldn’t go for that. Maybe you could convince them some other way. Maybe you could say… maybe you could tell them…
You slump, your sprayed white mane falling over your face. You had to assume that all the other fillies were in similar states of defeat since none of them were saying a word. You were wrong.
A bandaged forehoof lands on your shoulder, startling you into looking up. The other girls do as well, each examining the mummy queen. Twist stares off into the crowd, squinting behind her glass at something that you couldn’t see. She doesn’t say anything, but her face is set in determined stone.
“Twist…?” you start, eyeing her carefully.
”The plan doe’thn’t change,” she replies cryptically, still weighing her hoof on your shoulder as she peers off into the distance.
”You thought of something!?“ Frankenloo exclaims as she leaps to her hooves.
”Follow the plan,” Twist reiterates, turning back and looking you straight in the eye, “I’ll get them out.”
“What… what’s gonna happen? You… gonna be alright?” you ask, withering slightly under her seriousness.
She grins however, tapping you gently on the face and turning back to look far off into the crowd towards Anon’s house.
“I’ll be fine, th’weetheart,” she replies playfully, “ju’tht don’t me’th thi’th up.” The mummy queen paces forward to delve into the mass of ponies and get to wherever she was headed, but before she makes the plunge she stops short, turning to you instead.
”A-Ahh… ju’tht in ca’the I don’t make it…” she says, clearly troubled, “I need you to… to go into my room, take all the th’tuff in between my mattre’th on my bed, and burn it.”
You instantly understand. The sudden weight of her request hits you right in the chest. The three of you nod in solidarity, setting your faces in a hard mask so as to not get emotional. The bespectacled mare gives you all a sad smile before turning….
Then pausing again and returning a second time.
”And… and UNDER the bed…” she continues, peering away and rubbing her upper foreleg with a hoof. Her face is visibly warming. “… and in the clo’thet… and behind the dre’ther… and in between the page’th of my book’th…”
The three of you shift awkwardly, as does Twist.
”… and in the spa’the behind the pull-away tile above the tub in the bathroom…” she goes on, now whispering. The shame is clear both in her voice and on her face. “It… It’th the eighth one up and tenth one acro’th. On the left… It ju’tht… it pop’th out…”
Even though she’s now staring at the ground the three of you nod anyways – just, with a bit less pride this time.
”Okay!” Twists exclaims, slapping herself on the face a few times before whipping around and bolting, her voice just barely fighting through the sounds of Pinkie’s audience, “you’ll KNOW when it’th time! Good luck!”
Reinvigorated, you look to Frakenloo and place both your hooves on her withers, shaking her a little. “Scooter’r not, yer still the fastest outa’ all’a us. Still think you can make it back in time after goin’ to get’im?” you ask. You look her straight in the eyes, searching for any hesitance or doubt. There is none.
”Yes ma’am!”
Now to Sweetie, who immediately straitens her back when your eyes fall on her.
“Twist might not be around’ta help ya’, so you’ll have to be able to move that big’ol rock all on yer own with your magic. Think ya’ can do it?”
”I KNOW I can,” she replies staunchly, puffing up her chest and saluting you. It’s now or never. All you have to do now is wait for a sign.
”Alright! I’mma hang ‘round here. You girls hunker down somewhere where y’all can keep an eye on things! If it goes well, be sure to skedaddle so nopony gets wise! I’ll see ya’ soon!”
Your cohorts scatter. Sweetie rushes north toward the gate while Scoots goes south toward the house. Now if you could just make sure that your timing was good enough, both inside the shed and out, you would be a shoe-in!
Your tattered black dress flutters as you trot toward the west-side fence wall and nose your way into some shrubs, deciding that this would be the best place to stay if you wanted to have a clear view of the shed and avoid your sister should she emerge. The sticks scrape your sides as you push your way in, and the soil under your hooves is a bit muddier than you were expecting. You weren’t exactly averse to getting your hooves dirty, but your viscous perch was constantly giving way and sucking your shoes into the muck.
Sweetie would be horrified.
All the better that it was you here instead.
Pinkie positions her cannon between her legs, lighting and firing her ‘tool’ once more into the guests to cries of laughter and half-serious disgust. Some particularly smashed mares even wave at her and gesture to themselves. Pinkie naturally obliges them, firing volley after volley into the waiting crowd.
You didn’t exactly plan for Pinkie – who could? That didn’t mean she wasn’t making an excellent distraction for you. If you could get AJ out and Anon in, then few would care what was going on behind them. Even fewer would come snooping; not even the girls would come around to avoid suspicion.
That said, with the way Pinkie was firing that thing, she definitely wouldn’t have candy for much longer. It would be best to start now, but you couldn’t move until Twist did, and you hadn’t seen her for several minutes. Several long, tense minutes.
You squint your eyes, trying to spy the mummy filly through the twigs and brush, but you can barely make out the ponies passing five hooves in front of you thought all the obstruction. As the time continue to tick by you begin to hope that nothing had gone wrong whilst you were split up. You didn’t much like lurking in the bushes like some sort of weirdo, but it would be far worse if Twist had failed, or if she’d signaled you and you hadn’t seen it.
Worse yet, what if she had and you were the only one that missed it?
Aww apples, here comes the self-doubt. You picked a bad spot to hide, didn’t you? Should you find a different place to wait? Did you have time to move? Growing antsy, you peek your head up from the bushes and look around, trying to spot something, the ONE THING you need to. Unfortunately, you can’t spot Twist. Even more unfortunately, somepony else spots you.
Someponies, rather.
Judging from their cups, Rumble and his boypals had decided to escape the mania and grab something to drink while they caught their breath. Now, however, they were all staring at you, puzzled and even afraid. Featherweight is pacing backwards slowly, as if at any minute you were going to pounce out of the bushes and drag him inside like a creeper. Neither you nor they can break eye contact or even try to conjure something to say.
You begin to sweat.
Maybe the weird face had lost you a few points. Tripping on your own hooves and falling flat on your snout the moment after trying to start a conversation MIGHT’VE earned you a round or two of pointing and giggling when you passed by them in the halls. It was only natural.
This? This was going to plant you square on the grapevine. Cement you in the channels of coltish gossiping for weeks – and weeks was if you were lucky.
A despairing chuckle bubbles in your chest as you attempt to mentally explore how boned you were going to be in class tomorrow. How utterly ruined your reputation would be now that they’d spotted you watch ponies from the bushes like a freak. Just when the thought of leaping from your hiding spot and rushing across the yard to escape their worried stares is becoming worringly inviting, a sound reaches you from across the yard. A eardrum-testing wail that sounded like feedback from a mic.
You have to force your ears down against your head to escape the horrid screech. The schoolcolts and the crowd mimic the action, cringing until the sound finally dulls to a low buzz. A familiar voice reaches your slowly recovering ears, massively amplified and extremely bassy, as if the speaker had their lips pressed right up against the felt of the receiver.
”I’TH THI’TH THING ON’R WHAT!?” the booming voice slurs, drawing everpony’s attention to the sound stage. On the turntable, gripping a microphone between her hooves, is Twist. You can’t see her very well from how far away she is, but even from this distance you can tell how disheveled she is.
”DO YA’ GET IT? IT’TH REALLY LOUD! HAHAHA!” Twist laughs at the explanation of her own joke so hard that she nearly falls from her makeshift platform. There’s a cup gripped in her left hoof that sloshes and drops amber liquid onto her arm and the mixer below as she sways.
”THI’TH IS – HIC… I THINK THI’TH IS MY FAVORITE TH’ONG, YOU GUY’TH,” she mumbles against the mic, mostly intelligible. She lifts her cup to her mouth and takes several hard gulps, yanking it away a moment after and retching dangerously as if she were about to vomit. Thankfully, she doesn’t, and goes on as if nothing happened.
”YOU GUY’TH ARE GON-GONNUH—“ deep breath, “OKAY, OKAY, JU’THT LI’THEN… I’M GONNA DO IT NOW. LI’THEN, I’MMA’ DO IT—”
The tan filly takes a large breath and you ready your ears for the onslaught, your jaw tightening in preparation for the disaster, the slow cart crash that was about to take place.
”WE’RE NO TH’TRANGER’TH TO LOOOOOOO-OOVE!” She sings. Or tries to. Her voice bounces violently between flat and sharp during even this single line, and that’s not counting the loud voice crack in the middle of the last word. “YOU KNOW THE RULE’TH, AND TH’O-DO-AAAAIIIIII!”
You flinch as the mic feeds back again, the brave hero standing atop the sound stage swishing her rear to a melody that only she could hear.
”A FULL COMMITMENT’TH WAT I’M THINKIN’ OOOOF, YOU WOULDN’T GET THI’TH FROM ANY OTHER GAA–HIC–AAAAL!” She takes a step sideways and nearly falls again, this time presumably slipping on one of the vinyls from the loud record-scratch sound.
The roadies scattered about the yard appear stunned in place. Perhaps they weren’t able to comprehend what was happening, but they definitely weren’t lifting a hoof to stop it. Pinkie’s attention has also been drawn, her cannon smoking but silent as she peers curiously over the edge of the roof with an amused smile. A crashing sound to your left causes you to instinctively duck back into the bushes, and thank goodness.
It’s Twilight and your sister, both of whom had come out to investigate the commotion. AJ’s face is mish-mash of dread and disbelief. The box she’d just been hauling on her back had been dropped and forgotten on the ground.
”AIIIIIII, JUST WANNA TELL YOU HOW UM FEEEEEEL–HIC–IN’!”
And she’s off. Octo-Twilight follows behind her, if much slower. The light brown werepony pulls far ahead and barrels across the yard toward the filly she was supposed to be chaperoning tonight. She groans anxiously as she passes you by.
“No no no no no no no no—!“
You leap from the shrub, heart pounding. You ignore your scummy shoes and your twig-filled dress for the stretch of grass leading back to the shed, full-on sprinting as hard as you could, harder than you ever had. In no time at all you skid into the storage shed and bump into some boxes, nearly falling backwards into the quad trails of mud you’d created on entry.
Fast fast fast, go go GO. Close the door, DON’T shut it. The lamp… THE LAMP. You forgot about the lamp!
Too high. FIND SOMETHING. WHERE!?
”GATTA’ MAKE YOU – UNDER’THTAAAAND!” replies the sliver of space you left in the doorway.
You spin in place, looking for something, anything, that you could stand on to reach the lamp, preferably not one of Anon’s boxes. You spot a miracle in the corner, a hoofstool, and rush to it, yanking it away from the wall and popping it open under the swinging orange light. You climb it and stretch as hard as you can, but you can’t quite reach the lamp, even while standing on the edge of your hooves.
”NEVER GUNNA GIVE-YOU-UP, NEVER GUNNA LET-YOU-DOW – H-HEY! LET ME DOWN! LEGGO!”
You freeze.
“L-LEMME GO! PUT ME D—!” the speakers object before sharply cutting out. Your blood chills at the sudden silence outside, and you can only imagine what’s going on. No time. Focus on the mission. For Twist.
You set all four hooves down on the step ladder and look up, setting the flickering orange light in your sights. You push up and off with all your earth pony strength, your right forehoof nudging the bottom of the lamp and, to your delight, slipping it from the hook hanging from the ceiling. Not as delightful, however, will be your landing.
Your rear hooves slam hard into the stool, shaking it, your already poor balance forced to the extreme. You were on a one way trip to the ground. The only thing you can do as you fall is try to cradle the lamp against your chest to keep it from shattering on impact. It doesn’t, but the stone that collides with your side nearly shatters you.
You gasp hard, wind knocked out of you, ribcage blazing on your right side.
“WOW! Oooo, ow-ow-ow,” you whine pathetically as you set the hot lamp safely on the ground, kicking your back hooves to try and burn out some of your pain rush. Eventually you find the will to get to your hooves, but it takes a moment, a moment you might not have to spare.
A pained sigh escapes you as you limp across the shed and replace the step stool in its proper place. You have to waste more time rearranging some particular boxes that Twilight or AJ had presumably returned to their proper places, but after that you can’t seem to find anything else that needs adjusting. If you missed or forgot anything then you aren’t figuring it out anytime soon.
Alright.
Get ready.
Without another thought you lean down and fling open the tiny shutter on the lamp, blowing out the small candle inside before scooping the whole thing up into your mouth. You curse softly around the small iron ring clutched in your teeth, realizing late that it might’ve been a little easier to put it where it needed to go if you could actually SEE. It takes a little while of rooting around with your hooves with no luck before your eyes begin to adjust to the low light and you spot it, that small space you and the girls had made in between the boxes before you left that you just remade. Just as you reach out a hoof to push inside and make sure that it was the correct place, the doorknob twists and the door swings open, bathing half the room in light.
It’s good that you had the lamp in your mouth or you might have screamed.
Panicking, you jam your face in between the boxes and then yank it back out, stuffing the small item inside.
”Why were you out there…?” a masculine voice mumbles to the wind as a large something steps into the shed behind you, just in time to miss you haphazardly shoving several containers around to hide the evidence.
”OH ANON, IT’S YOU,” you say much less convincingly than you intended, desperately trying to settle the adrenaline spiking in your blood from the close call.
It WAS him. Skimpy costume and all, just like you planned. He was clutching the box your sister had dropped on her way out in his claws. His eyes narrow as he focuses them toward your shadowed form.
”Applebloom? That you?” he says, setting the box down on the ground and nudging it back into place with his foot.
As he approaches you, you can’t help but notice that many of the thin rips and cuts in his costume had seemingly been aggravated while he was gone, widening and showing you just a touch more than before. The one curling around his left thigh is especially bad. You can see every flex of lean sinew tensing against his smooth skin as he kneels down. One of those claws finds the back of your ear and you take a sharp breath, your heart already strumming from the contact.
”You, uh… havin’ fun? Standing here all alone in the dark?” he teases, chuckling as he plays you like a harp with those devilish fingers.
”Y-… yeah…” you answer dumbly, the pain in your side melting away.
Your eyes dip dangerously, shamefully low before jerking back up to meet his own shining jewels head on, your face burning with embarrassment at the thought of him catching you eyeing his nethers like a pervert. The sweet pumpkin smell you spotted in his scent when you first saw him tonight was even richer than before. He must’ve just got done in the kitchen. Unbidden images of Anon wearing an apron and nothing else assault your mind, your head spinning.
“A-Ah mean, ah’m here to-to… look for the, uh…” you ramble helplessly, the warm fur around your cheeks bristling further as you try to remember how to speak.
”The… apples?” he finishes, much to your relief. “That’s what the little orange and green one said you were doing. Are you still looking? I told Pinkie where they were…”
“U-Uhh—” Your voice hitches slightly as the light from the open door behind him begins to slowly dry up.
He peers up in thought and furrows his brow in confusion, spying the empty chain hanging from the ceiling.
”Wait, why is… what happened to th—?” he starts, only noticing how dark it was truly getting inside after it was too late.
Your chest strums harshly as the door slams shut, snuffing out the party and drowning the two of you in darkness. A second sound follows swiftly afterward, a quick bang against the doorknob. Anon wouldn’t know what it was, but you did; it was a chair being wedged underneath the handle of the door outside.
For all your… erm… careful examinations of his getup over the time you’d been here, you’d never once seen a pocket on him. This time was no different. That said, you weren’t about to take the chance that he produced a key and simply left. You needed to keep him in, and the door opened outwards; easy enough solution. Now even if he could unlock it that door would still be closed to him, barricaded from the outside.
Scoots came through!
The human makes a sound of surprise and turns, presumably reaching out for door in the darkness. The light from outside had burned itself into your eyes again, so you couldn’t quite see what was going on, but the sounds of the knob wriggling to no avail is more than enough to paint you a picture.
“What happened?” you ask the darkness innocently, smoothing out your expression even if he couldn’t see it.
Now all that was left was Sweetie Belle.
”Oop… someone musta’…” he replies, trailing off as he releases the handle and swiftly turns around, his form a dim blur as he passes by you.
You silently hope beyond hope, crushing your eyes shut as the human’s footsteps begin to tap towards the shutter, the next most obvious means of escape. He gets dangerously close, his grabber wrapping around the cord most likely, before another loud sound gives him pause. A clattering against the sheet-metal door he was trying to pull open.
This one was Twist’s idea, but Sweetie was the one who had to see it through in the end.
Now wedged against the shutter from the other side was very likely a large boulder your team had found a little ways past the fence. It was massive and extremely heavy. Sweetie could barely get it off the ground with her magic, and Twist could only help support some of the weight herself before stopping for a break and sucking on her inhaler. It probably took a miracle of willpower for the Banshee filly to magic it the rest of the way through the gate and set it down on the other side alone.
The rock would keep the shutter from bending and folding like it should, stopping the bars at the base from sliding up and halting the entire process. You can hear the human tug once on the cord fruitlessly, the inch of grass-obstructed light peeking through at the bottom his only reward.
The shutter wouldn’t rise, couldn’t. They’d done it. You were completely trapped.
”Uhh, hello?” Anon says, raising his voice a little, “Is someone out there? We’re, uh… we’re in here!”
No response. In fact, if what little sound you could hear through the tiny slat at the bottom of the shutter was any indication, Pinkie had started up her cannon again, and the stock running music on the turntable had overcome Twist’s invasion and been restarted. Everypony was predisposed and deafened. Nopony was coming.
H-Holy crabapples is this actually working? It’s almost hard to believe, but every passing moment Anon’s calls go unheeded, it looks more and more to be true.
“W-Wow… ah, uh, guess we’re stuck in here, huh?” you continue, trying to contain your burgeoning excitement.
”… hello!? Is… can anyone hear me!?” Anon tries again, ignoring you. He gently taps against the side wall with his fist. There’s still no reply. Nopony could hear it.
The distress rising in his voice is actually a little surprising. Sure, the whole point of all of this was to creep him out a little, but you weren’t expecting him to get so anxious so soon.
Anon doesn’t say anything for a long while, only occasionally reaching out and banging on the wall with his fist. The level of force he uses grows over time. You expect him to turn to you, say something, joke like he always does, but he doesn’t.
After a while the thin sliver of light at the base of the shutter begins to flash rapidly, giving you still images of the human wordlessly, desperately, yanking on the wire to open the shutter.
“Anon?” you whisper softly, thinning your eyes and stepping closer to where you thought he was.
You hear and partially see him turn to face you. He lets out a small, nervous laugh. You think you can see him lifting one his claws to run it through his mane.
”… sorry, redhead,” he sighs, and you can hear him attempting a smile through the words. “It’s just, uh… well… hnn.”
The human cryptically pauses there and shuffles in place, saying nothing more. When he gets tired of that, his form noticeably shrinks in the darkness, body bending to set him on the ground in a cross-legged sitting position. He breathes deep and slow now, and you can see him rocking his knees up and down, antsy, uneasy.
Was this the opportunity that you were waiting for? The one you and your friends had worked for? He did seem pretty frightened… but, something about this felt… wrong, off. This wasn’t the coy, half-fear that you were expecting. He wasn’t jumping at shadows and then laughing them off. He wasn’t teasing you about being afraid of the dark while snuggling close like how you imagined this. He was huddled in the corner, saying nothing and fidgeting to himself.
“… Anon?” you whisper after another minute of silence. The gentle sound of hoofsteps is loud in the tight space as you approach him.
”Mmm,” he hums again, distant.
You stop before him, trying to find his eyes in the darkness. “You alright, Mr. Anon?” you whisper with some concern, lowering your head to nudge his hand with your snout. He doesn’t react to your touch at first, but after a moment his grabber turns and gently laces its fingers through the fur on the side of your cheek.
”I’m alright, Applebloom,” he lies, petting the side of your face attentively. As much as you would enjoy melting into the sensation of his touch, the vague guilt that was starting to gnaw at you was becoming too much to ignore.
”Mr. Anon.” you repeat with a little more determination. You take a step closer and sit in front him, scrutinizing his obscured expression.
”I… distinctly remember saying that our heart-to-hearts would only fly if you stopped calling me Mister,” he whispers, and you can see a hint of his usually bright grin in the darkness.
You roll your eyes, partially glad that the object of all of your awkward desire couldn’t see how you reacted to his lame attempt to avoid your concern.
“Anon.” you say again through a smile, shaking your head.
”Mm.” he hums, waiting for you to continue. You don’t. You know he knows what you want to know, so you wait. After a moment of silence he seems to relent, growing more fidgety the longer you didn’t say anything.
”Alright, alright…” he says, smoothing his fingers over his eyelids “Sorry, it’s just… so… when I was younger, way, way before I knew any of you, I kinda’ had a… you know, a thing,” he says, tapping his fingers against his knees.
“A thing?” you question, thinning your lips as you mentally shooed away the first lewd, obvious thought that came to mind.
”Yeah, you know, a… a trapped thing, a-a… tight spaces thing?” he admits, shifting his legs beneath him. “I never had it that bad, though. It’s been so long since I was all closed up I guess I… I kinda’… forgot, and it all came rushing back to me… haha.” His little laugh at the end comes out sharply, its legitimacy suspect.
You open your mouth to speak but can’t think of anything to say.
You’d heard of this type of thing before. Granny told you once about your great, great second uncle Charcoal from Pinkie’s side of the family, who had a terrible fear of being outside. She said she’d only met him a few times, and on the first time, not understanding his condition, drug him outside to ‘get a breath of fresh air and smell the trees’ after hearing that he almost never went out into the forest – or even saw a farm before.
She said he froze up and started looking all around, terrified, as if something was gonna hop out and get him. Said she tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t answer. Eventually he even started crying. Wouldn’t stop until his folks came out and set things right. She told you the same thing could happen with ponies, but the opposite. Folks who just shut down when they were all locked up in a tight spot.
Like Anon was doing. Right now. You screwed up again, but bad this time. Unlike all the other numerous, NUMEROUS times you dropped the ball, you weren’t the target of the punishment this time; Anon was.
In your big rush to throw everything together you’d never even established how, if at all, you were supposed to signal the girls to let you out. You were too busy thinking of yourself to care about how Anon might feel about being locked in a metal box with no escape. Now you, or more importantly, he, was trapped here. Forced to experience something terrible at the hooves of somepony he invited into his home to feed and entertain.
What would your sister say if she heard what had happened in here? That you were lower than dirt, most likely. She wouldn’t just up and SAY that, but she’d think it. Granny too.
This was a mistake.
“This… this is all mah fault…” you admit quietly, hanging your head low and squeezing your eyes shut. “Ah went too far this time, this never shoulda’ happened at all… ah’m sorry.”
”Hmm?” he hums in response. The guilt drilling a pit into your stomach grows as his hand returns to your face, caressing you softly. Like you deserved to be comforted for trying a little introspection and honesty.
”Scoots lied to get ya’ in here. Ah told’er too. It’s mah fault that you’re trapped in here. This was all just a stupid… stupid…” you trail off, not sure where to go or what to say.
”Ahh…” the human replies softly after a moment, lowering his hand away from your face and setting it back on his knee, waiting a while before he continued. “So… so the doors?” he says, motioning across the room with his hand. His subtler movements are starting to get a little easier to see in the dark.
“Yessir!” you answer, bitterly cheery, “ah told’em to do that, too. What ah DIDN’T say was when ta’ let us out ‘r nuthin’ because ah just GATTA’ be a big, stupid – aw, dang! Ah’m so sorry! I didn’t know y’all were-were—“ You stop, pausing before you started making excuses for yourself.
’They’re a dime’a dozen an’ everypony’s got’em!’ Applejack’s voice chides in your head. The best you could offer him now was to wait until the party outside calmed down and yell for help, but you had no idea how long that would take. The frown etched on your face grows and you hang your head lower, running through all the times you might’ve stopped this before it happened in your head.
Two grabbers reach for you, each seating itself on an opposite side of your withers.
”Alright.” The human says finally, his voice calm but neither scornful nor cold, “thank you for apologizing. That was very big of you.”
He praises you so easily after what you did. He could’ve done a lot better if he really wanted you to feel worse about what happened. Granted, you’d never known Anon to be particularly resentful about anything, so his gentleness now wasn’t totally out of character – even if you deserved worse.
”Out of all the ponies and dragons and-and… flying spaghetti monsters in Equestria, you’re the only one who knows anything about this thing of mine. I can’t hold not knowing against you. Still… if you’re feeling repentant, there’s something you can do.”
You lift your head, searching out the glowing orbs watching you in the darkness and peering back into them.
”Talk to me. It’s not so bad when we’re talking. Tell me…” he stops, pausing to think. “… tell me something about yourself. Tell me about the real Applebloom. Something nobody else knows. It’s only fair, right?”
You think you can see the faint outline of his lips turning upwards and your heart leaps. Eager to step up and set things right you open your mouth, ready to say anything, to babble out anything that came to mind at a moment’s notice for the sake of keeping up the conversation.
“U-Uhh, okay, umm… mah… mah favorite color is, uh… it’s pink.” you begin, your face twisting in discomfort as you say it. “Ah, uh… tell everypony that mah favorite color is red, even the girls. Ah don’t want’em to think ah’m some sorta’ pansy…”
”Mm.” Anon pats you gently on your left shoulder. His pleasantly warm claws still drape across your withers and hold the back of your neck. “I understand. Still, don’t be afraid to say it if you think the time is right. Your real friends would probably appreciate it, right?”
“That’s… that’s what sis says, too,” you return, blinking at him.
He chuckles under his breath and nudges you in the cheek with one of his thumbclaws. “Well, then start LISTENING to ONE of us. Preferably me.”
You choke out a laugh, but the quiet aftermath carries on. The faint whisper of the outside world touches your ears again, alerting you to the fact that you’d gone quiet.
“Uh… um…” you try, scouring your brain for a topic of discussion that could hold you up longer than the previous one.
The human slowly slides his hands from your body and sets them back on his legs, his soft breathing filling in the blank spaces in your muttering. You watch the faint outline of his chest swell and retract, the slats of his bare skin expanding the rips and then moving away to slack them. Your eyes jam shut, and after a moment of shaking useless thoughts from your head:
“Why a… why a pony?” you ask.
”Hmm?”
“A-Ah mean, your costume,” you clarify, lifting your hoof to point even though you weren’t sure the tall biped could see it.
”Ohh.” He drops his head to inspect himself. “I, uh… I thought it’d get a laugh, I guess. Haven’t gotten too many tonight, though,” he says matter-of-factly, reaching up to tug the small ear-band out of his hair and examine it with his fingers. ”Didn’t think too much about whether it might be taken the other way. I’ve been getting a lot of looks tonight… hopefully I haven’t been offending anyone. That’d be just my luck, right?” he says, clicking his tongue.
Your mouth crinkles, a civil war raging in your brain to decide the right words to answer him with.
“Ah don’t… think that’s the reason…” you object, leaving it at that.
”Yeah?” Anon replies. A moment later he furrows his brow and makes a regretful sound, a playful smirk emerging on his face.
”Ahh, I just thought of something. What if I opened the door for interspecies Halloween costumes?”
You offer him a confused look but little else, and your silence seems to encourage him to continue.
”Aw, man! I bet you money that Twilight’s gonna come next year in big, like-like…” he stumbles, measuring something in the air with his claws, “HOBBIT feet, and gloves with big noodly tentacles wiggling out.” He wiggles his digits in the air for effect.
You snort loudly, holding back the sound behind a hoof. “Haw-Hawbit!?” you interject through your giggles. “What’s a hawbit?”
”They’re these, uhh—” he continues cheerfully, halting to repeat that measuring motion in the air again before dropping his arms in defeat. “Hah, nevermind…” The human lifts a hand to smooth over his face, gathering his thoughts.
“Aw jeez – you know she’s gonna have a mask, too. A flat-faced fleshy thing, and it’s gonna have these, like, these beady, soulless little eyes, and I might actually pee,” he laments with a grimace.
His face softens noticeably as you chuckle at his premonition. He joins in, lifting the ear band up and setting it back into place on the crown of his head.
”Well, what about you, redhead?” he asks as he settles down, reaching a claw through the darkness to pinch at your black dress.
“M-ah costume?” you reply, your voice cracking horrifically as his grabber comes dangerously close to grazing the tuft of fur on your chest. You clear your throat and take a breath to clear your head, only to fill your nose with his chocolate-tinged breath.
You were…
Pretty close to him right now, weren’t you…?
Your face prickles and you lean away instinctively, your brain working diligently to answer his question as the heat on your mug began to seep into your head.
“Ah’m, uh… ah’m Pony Mary,” you answer simply, swiping some loose, sweat-damp white mane out of your face as he released you. ”Ah thought it’d be scary, but ah don’t think anypony is too scared’a me. ‘Least, not in the way I was intendin’…” You frown as you remember the apprehensive faces of Rumble and the other colts staring at you warily from the punch table.
”Ohhh,” he replies knowingly, leaning back and peering at the dark ceiling before returning his gaze to you. “Well… I’m not exactly a pony horror expert, but, I’m gonna take a huge shot in the dark here and say that you’d probably get really spooked if I said her name three times, right?”
You scrunch your snout at the questioning of your courage and fold your hooves across your chest. “Nuh uh. Besides, ya’ can only summon Pony Mary by sayin’ her name three times while lookin’ at yer reflection in a pool’a water,” you say, smiling smugly at your superior demonstration of horror lore.
The human merely smirks at you, the playful sparkle in his eyes returning. “Pony Mary,” he whispers.
You scoff, unfolding your forelegs and setting them back down on the ground. ”Very funny, but ah ain’t a little foal no more. Pony Mary ain’t really real.”
”Pony Mary,” Anon repeats, tinging his voice in omen and winning a smile from you as he reaches up and flexes his digits.
“Now look here, ah told y’all—“
”Pony…” he starts, pausing for dramatic effect and leaning in closer, wiggling his digits dangerously.
You return his gaze with a determined look of your own, silently daring him to go through with it, to finish so you could prove how unafraid you were.
”… Mary!” Anon exclaims, lunging his hands out at you catching you in your sides – your weakest points – in a surprise attack. You bark with laughter as he tickles you, enduring the raw torture for only a few moments before defiantly squirming out of his powerful energy-draining grip.
“Haw!” you sneer at him in the darkness, turning up your nose, “see? I ain’t scared, not even a little bit! Y’all’r barkin’ up the wrong tree if you think you can sc—!“
Something moves behind you.
Where the large wall of boxes should be. Your heart skips as a chilling second of self-doubt courses through you. You whirl around, squinting at the wall of dark boxes, scrutinizing them.
“… Did… did you…?” you whisper.
You chance a glance back at Anon. His form is unmoving and his face is trained ahead on the same boxes you were observing. He doesn’t say anything.
A moment passes, and you can just barely hear the party outside again. It sounded so far away. A moment more; nothing. The very second you begin to assume it’s just the age of the wood whining and all of this was all just in your head, you hear something else. This time it was a quick scratching noise, like something stiff was being ground against smooth metal.
It’s coming from higher above you. Your heart races as you jerk your gaze up toward the shed’s tin ceiling, and you SWEAR you see something move behind one of the boxes at the top of the stack. You swallow hard and immediately pace backward, not taking your eyes off the wall of cardboard for a second.
”Your, uh… that your little pals tryin’ to prank me, too?” Anon asks softly, hiding the edge in his voice behind the fake smile you could hear on his lips.
“This place’s too high up, they can’t just-just… Scoots can’t fly. How would they get up on the roof?” you question hastily, turning to him.
You immediately regret looking away.
A hissing sound comes from the direction of the boxes. The heavy thud that immediately follows flinches you unmercifully. Terror courses through your veins as you twist your head around and scan the darkness desperately, spotting the origin of the sound in an instant.
It was a box, one close to where you thought you saw movement a second ago. It had tumbled from the top of the stack and fallen to the ground, spewing its contents onto the floor. With that emergence comes a sour, pungent smell that suddenly invades the tiny space you and the human occupy.
Rolling out of the box is a mass of… of something. Something slimy and wet and oozing out around the cardboard in a way that made your stomach churn. You can’t quite identify what it is. You don’t want to.
“Is…?” you whisper, not daring to look away from the inky black void the box had created at the top of the pile with its departure. “… is somepony… in here…?”
No answer, no sound. In fact, now that the shed was lacking of you and Anon’s voices, everything had suddenly gone unusually quiet.
A line of sweat crawls down the back of your scalp.
You back up further, whipping your tail about behind you as a tool to find Anon. It lands against his arm and you use it to guide yourself to him, pressing your bruised side into his own for the comfort of his warmth. He doesn’t stay, unfortunately. Instead he slowly climbs to his feet and slides them across the ground, feeling around with them to properly transport him along the wall of the shed at your backs without bashing them against any of the boxes lying about.
”Okay… very funny…” he whispers to nopony, presumably sliding his grabbers against the shelf-hitch on the wall at his back, for what purpose you didn’t know.
“Anon…” you say in reply, careful not to raise your voice too high for fear of, fear of… fear.
Something tiny clatters to the ground near your hooves causing you to jump, stirring up your already impassioned nerves further. The human curses softly and bends down, picking the small item off the ground before rolling and sliding it around in his claws. Matches, it was a match box for the… the LAMP!
Ohh, why, why, WHY did you have to hide it over there!?
You stare back at the cardboard wall, almost positive you can spot the tiny space where you snuck it away. The thought to go over and retrieve it enters your mind – and is immediately and decisively obliterated from all possibility. It doesn’t even have a chance.
The rate of the human’s breathing has increased. His claws scratch the small match pinned between his fingers against the patch of rough paper on the box. This goes on until he makes a frustrated sound and presumably tosses the bad match away, poking his fingers back inside for another.
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch. Every small noise is a like a beacon. A lighthouse at sea advertising your location to everything malevolent in the world. You swallow hard, turning away from the boxes for just a moment.
“H-Here, let me tr—“ You wince away as a light springs to life at his fingertips, punishing your night-sensitive eyes. You blink rapidly, rubbing at your face with your hooves in a poor attempt to ward away the spots. When your vision clears up enough to see Anon’s face, he gasps, pressing his back up against the wall. You turn just in time to see a pair of misty red eyes flash in the darkness.
”SKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“AHHHHHHH!” you bellow, leaping to avoid it as it hurdles down on you from the boxes. You crash into Anon, sending you both hurdling to the ground. The light in his claws sputters out in the tussle.
Night vision once again hampered, your eyes have to strain to examine its shape in the dark. You can just barely make out a serpentine tail swishing through the air above you as it viciously claws its way up the wall you just had your backs to. Two crimson orbs covered in a thin film of grey stare back at you, a toothy maw falling open as another inpony sound rattles from its grizzly, grime-covered body.
It’s going to leap at you again. The moment it looks like it’s about to pounce you throw your fiercely shaking limbs out, spreading them to cover as much of the stallion behind you can. It would likely be your very last action as a mare. At the same time a long arm snakes across your chest and pulls you sideways, desperately attempting to switch your positions.
A massive plume of grungy wingspan unfurls under the ghoulish face in the shadows and it leaps from the wall, hovering above you in all of its horrific glory. You clench your eyes shut tight and wait for the end, wait for Pony Mary to do her work with you. You’re shaking harder than you ever have in your entire life, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears is the only thing reminding you that you’re still alive.
The sound you hear next isn’t any of the ones you were expecting.
It isn’t the fiendish creature descending on you with a gruesome, life-ending wail. It isn’t the sound of your pitiful screams as she tears you limb from limb. It isn’t even the sound of Anon declaring his love and respect for you at the very end, lamenting bitterly that he never had the chance to be with you, no.
It’s the sound of the metal shutter being thrown up into the air.
Your eyes are stained with bright light as the fourth wall of the shed is forced open and the sounds of the party suddenly flood inside.
”Applebloom!” a comforting voice yells with authority, “Y’all got some explainin’ ta’-ta’-T-TARNATION!?” The werepony bracing the door with her body is taken aback by the being floating menacingly above you. The fillies at her side, all previously hanging their heads and sulking, gasp.
”Wha’ the TARTARU’TH I’th THAT?!” Twist slurs as she juts a hoof.
”There they are!” Pinkie exclaims happily. She also points a hoof in your direction, instead drawing attention to the downed box in the corner. Its grim contents, in the light, are actually the mushy remains of apples. The soggy-looking red skin sacks continue to slowly creep out of the box with the pink pony’s observation.
”Or… used to be.” Pinkie amends with a grimace. She flinches back as the pink and yellow phantom floating above you spins around and sends her a ghastly hiss. “NNGEEH–! What is—!? Is… is that—?”
”Fluttershy?” Werejack says, furrowing her brow at the creature. She leans her head forward to get a better look but has to hastily pull it back a second later when the creature moves away from you and barrels at her instead. Your sister stumbles backwards, tripping over the boulder she just displaced to free you. “Q-QUICK, GRAB—!”
The Flutter-Creature collides with her, wrenching her away from the shutter and into the yard. It even gets a few feet up into the air with the hearty farm pony before losing its upward momentum and crashing them both into the ground. The small crowd outside trots out of the way to avoid their tussle. The shutter dividing you and Anon from the world falls an inch and then halts in place, the cord caught by the clip on the pulley and preventing it from hitting the ground. Eager to escape, you and the human leap up and run out into the grass, passing the girls as you go.
”H-Help me out here! A-Ah can’t—! She’s in one’a her w-weird thingies!” your sister exclaims, valiantly holding down the strange mare writhing about in her hooves despite her trying to break free with an animal fervor. ”S-She’s, dang! C’mon now, ah can’t help ya’ if ya’ don’t – OW!” Applejack winces, yanking her right foreleg back. “You BIT me!?”
Several mares in the crowd drop their drinks and experimentally step forward to assist. As you rush forward to help her yourself, you see the surprise in her eyes shift to anger, her temper guiding her back legs in between herself and the batpony. She kicks, shoving Fluttershy away hard and narrowly into YOU, forcing you to slide on the ground to avoid her as she takes flight and begins to gain altitude.
”AW, SHOOT! DANGIT!“ AJ curses, only able to watch as her friend soars into the air.
The Flutter-Creature frames itself against the moon as the music from the turntable across the yard cuts out. She pauses there, presumably so she can change her positioning and swoop down on you again. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just hangs there, suspended and distressed in the rainbow aura surrounding her, jerking about and whipping her tail in fury.
”W-What…?” you huff, looking around to see if anypony else was witnessing what you were. Among the blanching and startled faces in the audience, you spot the source of the yellow pegasus’ difficulty. Several multicolored horns within glow with magical might, telekinetically restraining her.
The batpony screeches and flails as she’s forcefully brought down. Several earth pony and pegasi mares surround her as she reaches the ground. With another round of distressed grunting and hollering, Fluttershy’s form vanishes behind the mass of clumsy inebriated ponies. They all pull away a moment later to reveal her once more, bundled tightly in orange ribbons and streamers.
“Hisss! Weeeeh!” she whines, lashing her tail about as she rolls afrantically in the grass.
”What in the gawsh-darn is goin’ on around here little lady!?” Applejack says as she jogs up to you, bouncing looks between you and her friend. Soon she expands her glare to encompass the rest of fillies present. “Explain yerselves! Now!”
Twist, Scoots and Sweetie draw up on either side of you. Even Anon paces up to join you, exchanging you a sheepish look that you bounce to your disheartened friends. You’ve gotten the attention of many ponies in the crowd as well, all silently watching and listening for your explanation.
“W-Well…” you say, peering up into your sister’s usually vibrant but now hard green eyes and wilting under her presence. “... It’s a long story…”
-*-*-*-*-
The back yard is quite clear now. Many of Anon’s guests had left with the excuse of having work the next day, but many others have filed into the house to escape the chilly autumn night. Some stragglers remain, however, most casually sipping whatever drink they could get their hooves on in the dry spell of the aging party. Some even continued playing games in the far right of the yard alone. The spooky skeleton DJ took your bespectacled friend’s rowdiness with her sound stage surprisingly well considering the ruckus it caused. It didn’t change the fact that the music had long since gone.
At the far end of the fence you can see Anon swinging his gate shut and latching it, closing up the exit to the outside after he’d gone and rounded up any stragglers beyond. He’d changed out of his costume. His stretchy body suit was already going through hard times when he met you in the shed, and after the close call with Fluttershy it was practically falling off of him. He… might not have gotten as many laughs for it as he wanted, but he definitely got some complaints after he changed out of it.
Golly, you can’t imagine why.
As guilty as you still felt about locking the two of you up, you could still manage to shed a tear for the great loss of his pony-themed outfit. Gone forever to time and cherished in your memories evermore. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Too bad you won’t be able to part with the extra chores you’ll be taking on for the next week as punishment for your, uh… ‘prank’.
You sigh, setting a mud-scuffed hoof on the step behind you as you peer into the blank wood of Anon’s back door. It was difficult to see much of anything from the back stoop, but if you had to guess, your sister was still inside being tended to by Fluttershy. The last time you saw them, the guilty pegasi was still dabbing her leg with a damp handkerchief and apologizing profusely for her poor attitude.
You hadn’t heard all of their conversation, but apparently Fluttershy had been feeling ill lately after a bite she received from a surprised fruit bat. She couldn’t remember much of what happened after she arrived at the party, only that she felt overwhelmed, scared and crowded. She said that she was compelled to hide, to get away from all of the noise and bright lights. Apparently she’d been hiding behind the boxes in that shed for almost two and a half hours before you and Anon finally rattled her cage enough to get an audience.
Turning the light out probably had a big part to play, too. Another great idea by yours truly. Then again… if you hadn’t done what you did, then she might still be in there. Waiting, lurking. She could’ve even attacked Anon when he was all alone. That was a frightening thought, even for an excuse.
At least everything turned out alright in the end.
Everypony was safe, and apparently this little problem with Fluttershy had cropped up more than once before. It was common enough that all of her friends knew exactly how to deal with it when it happened to pop up again. Shame they didn’t have the opportunity to do it before you locked yourself and somepony else up in a tiny room with her.
That somepony else is approaching you now. His Nightmare Night costume is gone, but a fragment of it lives on in the tiny black ears poking out of his mane. His usually light steps now trudge heavily in the wake of all of his hosting fatigue catching up to him.
”How’s everybody holdin’ up? No mental relapses since I’ve been gone, I hope?” he asks with cautious optimism, strolling up and taking a seat on the empty space of stair next to you. “Your sister isn’t going to turn into some sort of vampire horse too, is she? I’ve seen movies. The Bite is always the first omen.”
The cartoonishly dark edge to his voice mines a chuckle out of you. “Hahaha, ah wish… maybe she’d forget about how grounded ah am.”
”Fat chance,” the human snarks, leaning back into the door behind him to relax.
The two of you sit a while in comfortable silence, listening for the occasional whistle in the wind or faint murmur from inside the house. The sloshed ponies in the yard occasionally look to the two of you and smile, waving dopily in your direction until you mirror their gesture. Though the event was starting to wear thin and lots of ponies had left, the ones who remain are still in good spirits.
Even Anon, likely tested and worn from your little stunt, was smiling gently, eyes closed as he enjoys the breeze. You examine his serene face, mesmerized by how untroubled he looked after everything that had happened. You almost don’t notice when he opens his eyes and peers back at you, shooing your gaze away and warming your face.
”… There’s pie in there,” he says, smiling in your peripheral.
“Mmm.” you hum.
You keep your eyes pinned to the ground, knowing you might not be able to say what you want and speak clearly if you were constantly being reminded WHO it was you were talking to. The human nudges you gently in the side with his own, and the brief contact strums in your chest.
”It’s really good,” he goes on. “I made it myself.”
“Ah’m sorry.”
He pauses. His eyes are focused on you even more than before, you can feel them. You take a deep breath and try to find the right words, not getting very far along before your lack of explanation started to become noticeable and awkward.
”Ah’m, uh… ah ain’t thought’a nopony but mahself the whole night, and because of that I made yer night worse,” you say, shuffling your hooves against wooden steps beneath you. “Ah figured now that we’re out and everything’s settled, ah should apologize proper. So, uh… so… yeah.”
You press your lips together, wanting to say more but stifling yourself for fear of further ineloquence. After a while without a response you turn and find a large grabber right near your face. Before you can move away the human smothers your snout in his warm palm.
“Mmph?” you hum under his hand, closing your eyes as he slides it up into your mane and pats it on your head.
”I already said I wouldn’t hold it against you. Buuut… if the dark, rotting spirit of Pony Mary demands a more formal reply; apology accepted.”
He grins and continues combing his claws through your stiff, hair-sprayed mane. Your eyes blink lazily from the attention, goosebumps rising on your scalp from his touch. No matter how many times you were touched by a colt – however rare that was – it never failed to affect you in a significant way. You couldn’t stop yourself from obsessing over even the tiniest amount of contact, even if it was brief or unintentional.
Anon’s touches were never either of them. Each one lingered a moment. Each one was delivered with gentleness, sympathy. You can’t imagine ever being tired of them, and when he pulls his hand away you can still feel it on you, warming you.
”Don’t go serious on me, now. It’s a terrible habit.” He laughs and grunts softly as he pushes off of the steps and onto his feet. He reaches for the doorknob above your head and pops the door open a bit. “C’mon, let's go see if they left us any whipped cream.”
Your brain doesn’t catch up to his request until he gently bumps you in the back with the door, inspiring you to abandon what was probably an extremely doofy expression and hop to your hooves. The two of you step inside the laundry room and then push farther into the house, turning right to head down the hall that connected the end of the living room with the kitchen, downstairs bathroom, and closet. It seems as though the majority of ponies inside the house have all crowded into the living room and taken seats. They either squeezed onto the couch, pulled up a chair, or took a space on the ground.
All of them are facing a nearby wall out of your line of sight, the one just before the stairs. Most or all of sit within hoof’s reach of one of several bowls of warm, freshly made popcorn scattered among them. Many, too, sit or carry wide paper plates and napkins, each protecting a slice of creamy orange pie from the furniture and vice-versa. A few of them catch sight of the two of you passing, and Rarity waves at you from behind Twilight.
“Pinkie thinks she’s close to getting it working, darling! We’ve saved you a spot.”
Anon makes a sound of acknowledgment and continues on, idly sliding his dull claws against his wall as you navigate the back hall and slip into the kitchen. Once there you notice a few minor changes from before, primarily the wealth of empty paper cups left behind and the mess of pie tins scattered about, three of which were still mostly full. Anon grabs two plates as you wash your hooves in the sink and then pull yourself up onto the stool where your sister once sat, overlooking the slabs of pie with reserved excitement. They smelled delicious, and you’d tasted the human’s cooking before.
It was a craft that, even as a pony who belonged to lineage concerned with food, never came particularly easily for you. Unlike you, Granny had been making pies and a mess of other things for years. Built up quite a reputation for doing it, too. The way you’d always heard it, your Great Granpappy and Great Granny Apple were prolific farmers but never cared much for the actual cooking. So, if Granny Smith wanted something tasty growing up, she’d have to make it herself.
It was how she earned her Cutie Mark.
Now Grandpappy, may he rest in peace, was supposedly NOTORIOUS for having two left hooves in the kitchen, no matter how hard he tried. Granny kept on cooking even as she got older, turning it into a favorite hobby. Apparently lots of the family gave her trouble for years for being a hoity-toity ‘Kitchen Mare’. Some even poke fun to this day.
In jest, of course. Their objections never survived long after they actually tasted her food. Folks didn’t seem to care much nowadays if mares did some cooking. Regardless, most of the things YOU tried to make came out as large, charcoal-colored masses with the texture of chalk and dry leaves that tasted like, well… bad. The talent was another thing of MANY qualities you admired in the tall biped, even if you didn’t think of it much.
”Here?” he says, aligning the knife in his claws to make out a moderately sized piece. He moves it aside to make the imagined piece bigger before you can answer. “Here?”
You nod before he can make it larger, but the human slides the knife again anyways before pushing it into the sweet treat, dividing you out a great big piece. You grin at his enthusiasm despite not knowing whether you’d be able to eat it all. After taking a piece for himself and setting it on his plate he turns and flings open the ice box, pulling out a small white tub. The lid snaps off and the first big helping of whipped cream is served onto your piece, the second onto his.
He catches you observing the mouth-watering display, distracted, and quickly dollops a bit onto your nose, whipping around afterward to put the tub away like nothing happened. You huff and cross your eyes to examine his minor act of war, counting the both of you lucky that he was putting away any additional ammo before you could return fire. He turns back to find you still cross-eyed and lapping at the top of your snout with your tongue.
”Y-Your face! Haha!” he laughs gleefully as you whip a hoof up and collect the cream from the tip of your nose. You fix your mug into a grumpy frown as you lick up rest. He doesn’t buy your sour expression for a moment. As this exchange occurs a sound emerges and begins to rise in intensity gradually from the living room, an ominously low and slightly melodramatic tune.
”IT’S STARTIIIIIINNNNNGGGG!” Pinkie yells from the same location, her own volume dwarfing that of the music entirely and likely reaching the outside. Confirming this thought, several ponies from the back yard trickle into the living room as you do, many of whom funnel off into the kitchen behind you. A projector placed just to the side of the couch – fitted with a familiar reel of film – patters away as it flashes a screen of dim black and white opening credits onto Anon’s light blue wall, the one that everypony had been looking to expectantly when you entered. Among the guests is a face you hadn’t seen the entire night – possibly for good reason.
The level of gross you now feel can only be experienced by a sister with a brother.
Big Mac is dressed in some sort of-of… thing, that nearly rivals Anon’s own costume in suggestiveness. He was a dressed up as a ‘farm colt’, but not in the usual sense. His outfit is tight-fitting and almost lacy in places. Snug, but not… intentionally so. Like the poor guy had to fight his way into something that didn’t come in his size, and now all of his, er… male bits, were being emphasized even more than normal. Unsurprisingly, the space he’d claimed for himself on the ground was surrounded by mares, the three closest ones being a smiley Twist, a… grumpy-looking Rainbow Dash?
AND your sister, ahh.
”Hurry, hurry!” Rarity Doll insists, pulling your attention from your kin as she slid from her spot on the couch and sat in the space below to make room, several ponies at the edge of the pile breaking off to blow out the lights. Noticing the lack of space you begin to round the group, mumbling around the plate in your mouth.
“ ‘Scuse mer. Ah’ll, uh, ah’ll jus’ sih over—“
”Oh, c’mere!” a deep voice objects. A long arm catches you around the barrel and lifts you off of your hooves.
You whine a little at being carried like a foal, but pause instantly when you realize just who it is that’s taken you into his arms. Anon passes his plate to his soon-to-be couch neighbor Fluttershy, freeing up both of his hands to settle himself down into the empty space Rarity had made for him. He presses himself in against the back cushion as much as he can before setting you in the space between his legs, his thighs wrapping around your hips on either side. Fluttershy, who had presumably lost her costume during her mental transformation and likewise had her face painted into a scarecrow, hoofs the human back his pie as the movie begins in earnest.
Every time Anon shifts behind you, you can’t help but shiver gently and hope that he doesn’t notice. You can feel him breathing against your back. The body heat pressing in all around you is unignorably pleasant, and not even biting into your massive helping of pie serves as a competent distraction for his proximity. Your temperature rises at least a few degrees as a result of his warmth equalizing with your own, but that isn’t the only reason for the change.
Not by a long shot.
The spooky music coming from the projector crescendos and a title splashes onto the makeshift screen before you in dripping, runny letters: IT CAME FROM THE BOG! Assorted ‘ooo’s break out from the movie watchers, both out of awe and the intention to ‘scare’ the others with creepy ghost noises. You feel him chuckle against you. His every sound transfers both to the spot right near your ear, and even more intimately through his chest.
Despite your desire for this to go on forever, the next hour and a half passes you by like a dream.
Your friends gasp when the swamp thing appears and drags its first unsuspecting victim deep into the muck of its bog. They laugh when the ‘dopey everymare’ lead bumps into her boom mic and then goes on like nothing happened, frowning at something off screen. They boo, hiss and throw popcorn at the wall when the evil scientist mare with the taped-on unicorn horn strikes the leading colt across the face. They cheer when that same evil scientist is ALSO dragged into the bog by her creation, lamenting all the while that her ‘beloved daughter’ had betrayed her. It’s pin-drop quiet as the leading mare struggles with the creature in the climax of the film, the male lead cruising toward a messy fate of his own that he only narrowly avoids through her intervention. More cheers, these ones a touch more quiet and groggy, when the quiet nerdy mare finally gets the colt in the end. They both even share a passionate kiss as the circular wipe draws into the center to end the movie.
The yawn that starts the wave of sleepy sighs is your own. Your comfortable spot cradled against Anon’s gently rising chest had nearly lulled you off to sleep more than once in the film’s final minutes, and the night was starting to wear on after all your adventuring. Pinkie wearily approaches the projector as the reel starts to run empty, poking at it until it falls silent and the brightest light left in the room sputters out.
You stretch the stiffness out of your limbs as the human behind you does the same. Following that, you take mostly empty plate into your mouth and dismount the couch. You instantly miss his close company, but now that the movie is over you no longer had a reasonable, non-creepy excuse to enjoy it.
The next several minutes consist of you waiting in a series of lines. One to toss your plate in the trash, one for drinks of water from the kitchen faucet, and another to get into the bathroom. The final line is one you abstain from, the one that was carrying the vast majority of the ponies remaining out of Anon’s front door
They shake his hand, hug him, and occasionally even sneak in drunken gropes or pecks on the cheek that he laughs off. Among them are the rose triplets, the mailmare, and even Mayor Mare, a pony you were surprised to find hadn’t left earlier with the other ‘work tomrrows’. Each of them thank him for the time and file quietly out into the night beyond, brimming, buzzed, and satisfied.
As Applejack reignites the lights you run a fetlock across your eyes and peer up at the clock on the wall. Nine’o two PM. It’s getting late, and you still had to walk home. After the long round of goodbyes had ended, the only remaining ponies in the house now are you, your friends, your brother, your sister, and the full cast of her closest friends.
”Alllllrighty, let’s get ta’ work, girls. Ah’mma grab the dustpan,” Applejack drones drowsily, heading off into the kitchen. She’s tailed loosely by Rarity, careful to avoid stepping on the small sprinklings of popcorn left on the ground.
”I can’t believe they just threw it on the ground, the nerve,” she grouses, earning her a tired laugh from Anon.
”Don’t be too hard on’em; I started it,” he says. “Just this and the kitchen is fine. You can leave the stuff outside. Oh, and any decorations are fine, keep those up.”
Rarity and your sister quickly sweep up the mess on the ground while the rest of you scatter about the house looking for empties, paper plates and candy wrappers. Thankfully the vast majority of guests had at least kept their trash on the tables and countertops for easy collection if they couldn’t find a trash can. You regroup with the other fillies during this time, but few words are shared between you. Each of you are content enough to work together quietly as you try and stay awake.
Twist, who likely came down from her buzz sometime during the movie, is the hardest one to keep lucid out of the four of you. When you and the girls question her on whether or not she’s okay, she simply nods her head, stating that she vomited a while ago while your sister was scolding her, and that she felt much better now. She doesn’t say so, but you assume that your sister also impressed the importance of her not speaking a WORD about ANY sort of booze to Jitterbug under fear of her father de-flanking the both of them and sending Twist to military school.
You’d met the stallion.
He’d do both.
Beyond her wellness, nothing much else is discussed. The trash was clear, any non-paper kitchenware was cleaned and dried, everything that anypony could think of had been done. Thank goodness for that. Celestia you were exhausted. The only thing that was left now was to say your own goodbyes and set out on your way home.
That is, until Pinkie waddles in from the back yard clutching a tripod camera in her front hooves.
”Okay fillies, group up! We’re gonna’ end this thing right! Yes, you too Dash! Get in there, group up!” the pink pony barks, brushing off the pegasi’s complaints and motioning to the front of the couch. Rainbow Dash huffs and pulls the floppy gravestone hat from her head, tossing it onto said couch before making her way over to sit in front of it. As the others begin to congregate, you dip into the hall and slip back into the bathroom to inspect yourself, not having remembered to do so on your first visit.
Your white-face makeup has bled much farther into your face from you sweating. A big smudge of it was completely absent from the bruised part of your forehead from when you fell, replaced with the lightest traces of green from the grass staining your fur. Your dress was in bad shape on purpose, but it had deteriorated further since you arrived. Much of it was thinning and tearing where the clothespins held it together. Your cream-and-cherry mane felt crinkly and gross, and unless you could summon the energy to get into the bathroom at home before Sis and Mac, you were probably going to be sleeping in it.
You’re were a mess, and you say that as a filly who didn’t shy away from getting messy.
This probably… wasn’t going to be your best picture…
”C’mon, squirt! Your pals are keelin’ over in here! I think we just lost the mummy!” Pinkie exclaims from the living room.
You’ll just have to make do.
Whatever; you weren’t planning on missing the picture regardless of how you looked.
”Comin’!” you reply, slapping yourself a few times on the cheeks before trotting back out and rejoining your companions, all of whom were lined up and waiting.
From right to left, in no particular logical order, was a werepony, an octo-pony, a mummy queen, a toy doll, a Frakenloo, a banshee, a zombie, a scarecrow, a farm colt, and an Anon, all with their own costumes and face paints in various states of disrepair. They each look to you expectantly, waiting for you to join them. The cotton candy pony is poised behind the camera, ready to leap into position when the time came. A smile spreads across your face as you go to join them, your irreplaceable friends, ready to commemorate the crazy, perfect night you all just shared. Anon, kneeling, pats the spot next to him with his hand, inviting you closer.
It’s funny. You’d spent a large chunk of the night trying to get close to him, but in the end the only thing that won you any real time with the human was royally screwing up. It didn’t feel like you were much closer to unraveling the secrets of the fairer sex after tonight, but right now, in the moment, you can’t seem to care.
You draw up to the human’s right side, perching yourself there and waiting for Pinkie’s warning. You peer to the left quickly, noticing how many of your friends had thrown their hooves over and around each other’s withers in comradery.
Anon’s have been left bare.
You know just what pose you want to take. The perfect one to encapsulate all that you’d experienced tonight. Slowly, your reach your left foreleg up and lace it over the human’s shoulders, grinning triumphantly as you do.
”Okaaaaaaay… I think this thing still has one good shot left in it, so let’s make it count! Get ready….” Pinkie says, making a few last-second adjustments to the tripod. You are. You are ready.
Or…
Wait…
Something is…
You furrow your brow slightly, trying to isolate exactly what was rubbing you the wrong way.
”Okay! Here we go!” Pinkie exclaims, setting the camera and then darting away from it, taking her place on your sister’s left.
It takes a moment, but soon you realize the problem. You couldn’t put your hoof on it before now because putting your hoof down was the entire problem. It was just hanging there. Suspended above the human’s shoulder. Blocked by an unseen force inside you; hovering…
HOVERING.
Your eyes widen in horror as the pieces finally line up.
You’re not going to make it.
You focus all of your being into moving it, putting it down where it was supposed to be before it happened, but you can’t.
You’re not going to make it.
The small space between his body and your hoof is like the distance from one side of the planet to the other.
YOU’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT.
No.
NO.
STOP.
All you can do before the flash blinds you is flick your eyes toward the lens, stare directly into the unfettered camera with terrified awe as it mercilessly seals away your image, and your fate.
