As he stood in the train’s doorway, Shining Armor let out a sigh, his blue eyes rolling over the scenic Dodge Junction. He couldn’t imagine a less eventful place if he tried.
Being the leader of the Royal Guards, he supposed he should appreciate the calm and tranquil times in life, as it meant less death-defying risks and more… well, not-death-defying ones. Shining Armor always had trouble getting that philosophy and his love for feeling useful to coexist, though.
Shining Armor’s First Rule: Whatever age, gender, or species you are, you can be of help to somepony, somewhere. Never be that pony that doesn’t seek out his or her place in life. Never be useless.
When his cutie mark first appeared, a dark blue shield with a pink, six-pointed star on it, and three smaller blue stars above it, he knew exactly one way he was going to be useful. Being the protective older brother of his dear little sister, Twilight Sparkle, was just warm-up for his true purpose. He was going to protect all of Equestria, if he could help it.
But acting as the nation’s protectorate was just one way of keeping himself useful to others. For example, as a newlywed to Princess Cadance, he wanted to scout out a location for their first vacation as a married couple. One not-so-subtle tip about “the beauty of Old West” later, and here he was.
“Shooooooot! Mr. Armor, ain’t ya gonna get movin’ anytime soon?” drawled one particularly bedraggled earth pony behind him, in an accent almost silly enough to make the unicorn laugh. Shining Armor felt a hoof prod him in his back.
And here he was.
Shining Armor’s Second Rule: Some ponies will not seek out the chance to realize their potential. Don’t let yourself be influenced by them.
It wasn’t like he chose to interact with this pony on the train ride. Hayseed Turnip Truck – that was his full name – evidently took to the stalwart unicorn within seconds of finding out they had adjacent train seats. Within just as many seconds after the fact – or at least it seemed that way – Hayseed proved himself to be trusting enough of Shining Armor to divulge all sorts of information that would normally be spread out over years of acquaintanceship: his address, his birthday, his dreams, his family, and of course, the invitation to “drop by an’ chat” with him whenever the unicorn wanted.
All of which had been said without much beyond one-word answers from Shining Armor.
I ‘spose we ain’t known each other that long, Hayseed had said, but yer my friend Rarity’s friend Twilight’s kin, so I reckon that makes us like family!
Perhaps that was the earth pony’s personality, or just the effect that somepony like Shining Armor had on others. He didn’t care to make the distinction.
Shining Armor wasn’t callous or dismissive – or, at least, he didn’t want to think of himself as that – but he didn’t find a lot to be impressed with by Hayseed. He was unkempt, not too bright, and didn’t seem to pick up on common social cues easily. Anypony like that who tried to join the Royal Guard would find themselves out on their flank within the hour. And true to both his name and his cutie mark; a trio of turnips, freshly picked out of the ground, he lived by farming turnips – growing and harvesting them, then selling them at the marketplace to make a living. He was just confused by that. That hardly sounded like a way to really live life.
What about your sister’s friend, Applejack? She does the same thing, albeit with apples!
“She’s different,” the unicorn silently answered himself, “If Twilight sees what makes her a good friend, I can respect that.”
Except Hayseed here is a friend of one of your sister’s friends.
“Shut up, brain.”
He hated not being able to answer his own double standards, but it came with the territory of living off only a few established rules. He supposed it was the reason the earth pony was still standing to keep talking instead of the unicorn just locking him in a spare train cart by himself or just tossing him onto the tracks, or one of any number of solutions to stopping a motor mouth that Shining Armor had the grace to keep to his fantasies.
Another hoof prodding his back brought Shining Armor back to reality. Letting out another small sigh, he stepped forward off the platform, letting the now-impatient crowd of passengers behind him follow. As he slowly walked through Dodge Junction, the ponies once behind him walked past him, some shooting him angry glances for holding up the train. Shining Armor managed not to glare back.
One pony walked alongside him, step-for-slow-step. The mullet-maned motor mouth evidently didn’t have anything better to do.
“Dodge Junction’s a sure fine nice place ta be, don’t ya think, Mr. Armor?”
Shining Armor grunted a reply.
“Now I’m just here ta see the mayor or whoever’s in charge of this here side o’ Equestria, cus I reckon I could get one o’ my cousins to set up a turnip stand here, but what about ya, Mr. Armor? What brings ya here?”
Shining Armor hesitated.
Sheesh, Shining Armor, he’s just trying to be nice! How in Tartarus did Cadance find you worth marrying if this is how you’re acting?
The voice was so self-critical that it took the unicorn a while to realize it was coming from within himself.
“…Princess Cadance, my new wife, wanted me to look at this place personally. It's our first vacation as a married couple, and she seems to like places like this.”
Hayseed’s eyes went wide as he stood still for a moment. Shining Armor would’ve gladly taken this chance to put more distance between them, had he not been worried that he somehow broke the earth pony’s mind.
“Yer married ta a princess?” Hayseed asked, his jaw seemingly dangerously close to striking oil as he trotted to keep up with Shining Armor. “Princess Cadance? Ah man, Mr. Armor, lemme tell ya, I’m so happy fer ya! Ya got yerself a mighty purdy wife there! An’ ain’t she just the sweetest pony I ever met? She ever tell ya she likes turnips?”
It was the unicorn’s turn to offer a confused glance. “…No, actually. If she did, I honestly don’t remember, but I don’t think she ever told me.”
“Aww, Mr. Armor, ya can’t have yer wife keepin’ secrets from ya like that! Lemme tell ya, I got a sweet little missus back home myself, an’ she’s the greatest thing ta ever happen ta somepony like me, but she ain’t no good at communicatin’ most o’ the time! Like the time I tried takin’ her ta my favorite restaurant fer our date, but then she got mad ‘cus I evidently forgot she’s allergic ta that salad dressin’ they use, and-“ he trailed off when he saw Shining Armor massaging his temples, trying to stave off an incoming headache.
“-uh, anyways, I reckon she visits the Truck’s stand sometimes ta buy turnips. I ‘spose we’re kinda outta the way an’ all which is why she don’t visit all that often, but she practically buys out all our stock every time she visits! Ah, it’s always great when she comes by!”
Shining Armor noticed Hayseed managed to stop speaking for a few seconds, which was probably some kind of world record. Figuring he’d never get a word in unless-
“Ya seem kinda down, Mr. Armor. Ya all right?”
Horseapples.
“I’m-“ Shining Armor stopped for a moment, in case he was going to be interrupted. “I’m fine. I just don’t really see the big deal about peaceful places like this.”
Hayseed cocked his head in response, leading Shining Armor to worry – yes, actual worry – that he had offended him. “
“Wait, no, it’s not that. It’s- ugh, it’s that I’m the Captain of the Royal Guard, and I- um, I-“
“Beg yer pardon, Mr. Armor?” Hayseed asked.
“I just…have a hard time appreciating places like this!” the unicorn nearly shouted, drawing gazes from nearby bystanders. “Places where everypony’s able to go about their lives uninterrupted, and nothing bad happens to stop them. I lead the army that answers the call if something goes wrong! If nothing bad goes on here, I become useless! I hate not being a use to anypony…”
Hayseed let out a breath he had evidently been holding. “Well, I ain’t the brightest pony out there, but I can tell this is botherin’ ya somethin’ big. Like, way more than just Dodge Junction.” Hayseed answered.
“No. No, it isn’t just Dodge.” Shining Armor didn’t, in the least, expect Hayseed to have been able to tell something like that. He looked towards Hayseed. “You weren’t at Cadance and I’s wedding, were you?”
Hayseed put a hoof to his chin, scrunching his face in thought for a moment.
“Erm…nope! Can’t say I was! Awful sorry I missed it but I don’t think I coulda gotten in without no invitation.”
“Never mind that.” Shining Armor waved a hoof dismissively. “For a while, it was… a disaster, actually. These sinister black bug-like things, called Changelings, took over Canterlot with their queen. Their queen, Chrysalis, she’s a nasty piece of work, and she manipulates emotions. By the time Canterlot knew there was even a problem, I was put under her spell. I-I couldn’t do anything. Instead of being the savior, I had to be saved. I was a failure as a captain and a husband that day.”
Hayseed put a reassuring hoof on Shining Armor’s back. “Well, shucks, Mr. Armor,” he said, his voice entirely sympathetic. “None o’ that sounds like yer fault at all. ‘Course ya got put under that queen’s spell. Ain’t like ya knew there was even a problem!”
“I should’ve been-“
Shining Armor never thought he’d be glad to have Hayseed interrupt him.
“Nah, now don’t be givin’ me that ‘shoulda, coulda’ garbage, Mr. Armor! Maybe ya made a mistake, but ya got a whole lifetime with the princess ta make up fer it. That’s how ya make yerself useful. Ya show ponies that yer always there fer them an’ let them know they’ve always got some big Royal Guard Cap’n they can look up to! I reckon if the princess still wanted ta marry ya after the queen got ya, she’s willin’ ta give ya the chance. She still thinks ya can make up fer it, an’ if there’s one thing my wife ever taught me, it’s this…”
Shining Armor brought an ear closer.
“…the missus is always right. Now I don’t think so myself, but ya know. Mares, right?”
Shining Armor chuckled, but Hayseed howled with laughter.
“Aww, it’s all things ya learn in good time! A good marriage is like a good turnip harvest, Mr. Armor! Ta get the best turnips ya gotta put in the most care an’ dedication. Don’t think ya should be pourin’ water over her, though. I figure she don’t like that.”
This time, they both howled with laughter. For a moment, the stalwart, noble unicorn and the simple, unkempt earth pony were one and the same in their state of mind.
“Well, shoot!” Hayseed said, once he calmed down and glanced around. “I reckon this is where whoever’s in charge o’ here lives, so I best be goin’ now! Take care now, Mr. Armor, an’ if you and the princess wanna come on to Dodge Junction fer yer vacation, there might be a nice lil’ turnip stand here, an’ a discount with yer name on it!”
“Oh, you don’t have to-“ Shining Armor was interrupted by a hoof blocking his mouth.
“I don’t hafta, Mr. Armor!” Hayseed replied, removing his hoof. “but I wanna! I reckon yer all right! Most ponies don’t wanna stop an’ chat with me.”
Shining Armor felt a pang of guilt, realizing he was very close to being another one of them.
“Ya stop by my place in Ponyville whenever ya wanna chat, all right?” With that, Hayseed walked off towards the house’s door across the street, waving behind him. Shining Armor waved back and, contrary to himself from an hour ago, wouldn’t have minded running into him again sometime.
Shining Armor’s Third Rule: Those ponies that look like they violate the second rule can still surprise you.
Shining Armor looked up at the beautiful sunset above him. Dodge Junction was suddenly looking like a much nicer place.
Characters: Braeburn & R63 (gender-flipped) Braeburn (named Honeycrisp) Location: Random train, in the food cart
~~*~~*~~
Love At First Plight
With one particularly rough turn, the carefully set up apple stand ran by Braeburn was a mess. Again.
Normally, Braeburn would’ve been on the job the second the opportunity sprouted. Normally, sweeping, organizing, and keeping a pearly white smile on his face were his top priorities; all facets of running the apple stand taught to him by his mother and father. Normally, he’d want to honor his, ‘good ol’ Ma and Pa,’ as he always called them, by following their rules to the letter.
But today wasn’t a normal day. There was no shining grin on his face to be seen, nor any trace of his usual 110% in running the best stand in the train’s food cart. What they saw was Braeburn in name only, and the contrast between today’s and yesterday’s Braeburn was vast enough to spread terrible rumors.
Maybe a close relative of his died.
Maybe his house burned down.
Maybe his favorite tree got sick.
Those were just three of the many Braeburn heard in the span of only a couple of hours -- evidently the ponies spreading those rumors didn’t seem to care if he himself heard, and it was making him wish these ponies would just hurry up and leave if they weren’t even going to keep it quiet when talking about stuff like that.
They had no idea what the real problem was, but telling them about it would only encourage even more theories from the know-it-alls who really knew nothing.
He glanced out the window again, watching the seemingly endless desert landscape roll by. They had to be getting to their destination soon, and then he’d be free of their gossip spreading.
Beside him, a small, bright red earth pony by the name of Barry was running the stand next to him -- another apple stand, this one representing the Orange Pippin family. One family versus another in a friendly rivalry was a common occurrence on this train, but Barry was a relative Braeburn had never met before. Looking to be no older than 18, almost five years Braeburn’s junior, he seemed like a nice stallion, but his good heart only went so far to cover up the fact that he was as dim as they got up top.
Barry was looking quizzical as he surveyed the crowd. There were a few ponies trotting about the food cart, buying food from the stands, but the ones who saw Barry’s stand only got as far as looking for a couple seconds before losing it -- at best, it was only minor chuckling; at worst, the pony in question was beside themselves, roaring with laughter.
Braeburn was in a sorry mood himself, but he still felt bad for poor Barry. Here was his first day running the stand, and he didn’t have two bits to rub together to show for it.
“Is it the fact we didn’t get no customers since we set up that’s got you down?” Barry asked, talking to nopony for as much as Braeburn was paying attention to him. “Or...’least I haven’t got no customers. You seem to be doin’ well like normal. Pa always says you’re the one all the mares are buyin’ from. But there ain’t been no sales for me from the stallions all day neither! I don’t understand! You think it’s the slogan I’m usin’? I thought it was mighty good myself, but I don’t know. Might just not be clickin’ with folks today.”
He had a point there; the food cart was pretty deserted today, considering it was normally lively with the activity of hungry ponies, but at least Braeburn was able to make some sales -- in the forlorn way he displayed now, completely uncharacteristic of his normal, foalish excitement. Braeburn saw some of the gleam in the eyes of the mares who locked eyes with him, saw what they perceived as opportunity. Maybe sit with him, offer an ear, lean into his chest, pretend to care, buy him a drink or ten, drag his drunken flank off to some abandoned train compartment somewhere and-
He violently shook his head. That was no way to think of mares, depressed mood or no, and his father would tan his hide if he saw that.
“Hellooooooo,” Barry waved a hoof in front of Braeburn’s face, “Equestria to Braeburn. I lose you there? I asked if you had any ideas as to why we ain’t gettin’ no customers.”
With a sigh, Braeburn craned his head to look over at Barry’s display’s banner, reading it silently.
ORANGE PIPPIN’S FINEST! BUY SOME TODAY! GUARANTEE YOU’LL LOVE THE COX!
Well, that explained the laughter.
“No. No, I couldn’t possibly imagine why,” he deadpanned. Ever oblivious, Barry returned his attention to his downtrodden pal.
“This ain’t like you, Braeburn. Well, I dunno what ‘like you’ is, but I’m goin’ by what my Pa tells me, and Pa always says he’s the one tryin’ to keep up with you! Pa tells me you’re the nicest pony in the markets, but you ain’t even smiled once yet today! Is it me? Oh Celestia, it’s me, ain’t it? Whatever it was, I’m sorry, Braeburn!”
Braeburn sighed -- Barry was a bit too thick headed to know when to throw in the towel. Or even know what a towel was. For the sake of his feelings and Braeburn’s own conscience, though, he couldn’t leave him feeling bad like this.
“It’s not you, Barry,” he said, sighing, “it’s...her.” He pointed a hoof towards a mare on the other end of the cart by herself, who seemed to be carefully browsing the stands.
Barry squinted his eyes to get a good look at her. Switching his gaze from Braeburn to the mare several times, he shrugged. “Okay, I don’t get it.”
Braeburn almost choked on his own saliva.
“W-What? Just look at her! How can you not see that?” he exclaimed -- by some miracle not grabbing said mare’s attention. He could hardly believe what he saw, and how nopony else seemed to put two and two together felt like some big practical joke he was the butt of.
“She’s yellow,” Braeburn continued, “just like me! Orange-ish mane, just like me!”
“O...kay,” Barry answered, “but I reckon that’s hardly-”
“I caught a glimpse of her face a few times. She’s got big green eyes, just like me! That hat she’s wearin’? A brown Stetson hat just like mine, and I guarantee she got it from her pa, just like how I got mine from my Pa!” Braeburn interrupted.
“Well-”
“A-and this!” Braeburn added, turning his flank towards Barry. “A single braeburn apple for a cutie mark. Just! Like! Mine! And I bet she’s like me in a buncha other ways, too, like havin’ a stuffed bear she sleeps with that I swore I’d never bring up in a conversation! No way this can be real! This...this is freaking me out. NOPONY resembles another pony that closely ‘less that pony’s lookin’ in a mirror. If she buys an apple from this stand, I reckon I’ll be the one missin’ bits, that’s how much like me she is!”
Barry was hardly the shiniest apple in the basket -- but by Celestia, there was no way anypony could not be weirded out by this!
Braeburn sprawled over the stand, his face sunk into his folded forehooves. “And that ain’t the worst part, neither. Oh, Celestia, no, that ain’t the worst part at all...”
“What’s that?” Barry asked, cupping an ear towards Braeburn.
“I...” Braeburn frantically searched his mind for the right words; finding nothing, he spilled the beans, like a good Apple is wont to do. “I think I’m in love...”
To Barry’s credit, he didn’t laugh. If he had, Braeburn would’ve left the train, found a way in front of it, lay down on the tracks, and waited to go to that great pasture in the sky.
Maybe he isn’t quite as dumb as he looks, Braeburn thought.
“Why don’t you go and talk to her, then?” Barry asked.
Maybe he’s every bit as dumb as he looks, Braeburn thought.
“It’d freak her out, just like she’s freakin’ me out! And it ain’t just that, either! She’s the most gorgeous thing I ever seen, but she could pass as my identical twin! That means that, to me, I’m the most gorgeous pony there ever was...” he answered.
“So...” Barry cautiously urged Braeburn to continue.
“So it’s been makin’ me think. All these things I do, like smile and make myself look neat and stuff, do I do it because the other ponies love it? Or do I do it because I love it? I mean, I guess I could admit I’m good lookin’ for a pony, and I about gotta wear a suit of armor everytime I go into a bar ‘cus they always say everypony’s gay for me and all, but to be flat out in love with myself? That’d make me one of them narsi-...gnarly-...nail scissors-...narcs-... uh, a pony that’s in love with themselves!”
Barry shrank back. Braeburn couldn’t blame him; he himself was not expecting the words he was saying, but wasn’t able to stop.
“And an Apple doesn’t lie! How in the name of Celestia can I love a mare and tell her she’s beautiful, but that she ain’t quite as beautiful as I am?”
“Uh, Braeburn-”
“She wouldn’t love me and I wouldn’t love me for it neither!”
“Braeburn!”
“What?”
“She’s lookin’ right at you.”
Braeburn turned his head so slowly that your average pony would’ve dropped what they were doing and ran for the hills. Sure enough, the mare, not three feet away, was looking right at him, her head cocked but her expression kind.
It’s even worse up close! It’s like lookin’ straight into a mirror!
She was definitely a mare, true; she was more slender, her jaw was more rounded, and her mane hung down longer than his own, but beyond those gender-based differences she was every bit his twin as far as appearances went. His brain screamed at him to act, but was unable to form any panic that he wasn’t already feeling himself.
One pair of green eyes looked into an identical pair, and two identical mouths formed the identical amount of zero words until Braeburn found the ‘on’ switch for his brain again.
“H-Howdy miss,” he greeted, pretending he wasn’t about to drown in his own sweat. “You can call me apples. Um, care to buy some Braeburn? Wait wait wait. I’m Braeburn, and would you be interested in some apples? Only two bits a piece, and they’re the best you’ll find in all of Equestria! Um, no offense Barry...”
He motioned to his stand, the same stand he had completely neglected since his depressed mood set in, the same stand whose contents had been rolling all across the food cart for a good fifteen minutes now, to the amusement of anypony watching, and to the dismay of any that had slipped on them. “Oh, right...” he trailed off, his cheeks going red.
She giggled, keeping that oh-so-adorable smile on her face all the while.
“My name’s Honeycrisp,” she said, her voice shy, but warm. “Um, you need a hoof cleanin’ up these apples?”
Dear Celestia, she’s quiet, but her voice has even got that same lilting quality as mine! he thought. “I-I-I’d love that, ma’am, th-thank you kindly.”
She stifled a giggle behind her hoof. “You can just call me Honey.”
As more heat rose to his cheeks, Braeburn’s mouth apparently carried the risk of operating faster than his brain. “Hey, Honey. Am I on fire?” he asked.
This time, Barry did laugh.
~~*~~*~~
Ten minutes later, Braeburn’s stand was in tip-top condition again. Barry had made his first sale of the day, courtesy of Honeycrisp, and Barry had even managed not to say, “I told you, she’d love the Cox!” Bless him, he was learning already.
“Attention passengers, we have reached the wonderful town of scenic Appleloosa! Thank you for using the Equine Express, and have a wonderful day!”
The voice blaring over the loudspeaker brought both Honeycrisp and Braeburn back to reality, ending Braeburn’s most stutter filled conversation ever. Despite his earlier misgivings, talking to who was basically the mare version of himself didn’t bring about anything bad, let alone the apocalypse. Other than the feeling of his heart about to burst, of course.
“Oh, this is my stop! I better get goin’. Thanks for the apples,” she said, smiling. Now that she felt more confident talking to Braeburn, her vocal similarities to Braeburn became even more obvious.
Braeburn gulped. She commutes to Appleloosa, too!? How have I not heard of her?
“‘Twas my pleasure, Honey. You take care now.” Braeburn smiled back, keeping a cool expression as every fiber of his being screamed, pleaded that she wouldn’t leave.
Alas, she did; with a friendly wave of her foreleg and a smile, she left the train cart as quickly as she had entered, and just like that, she was gone.
Braeburn sighed, his shoulders drooped. He felt like his soul had left with her. If only the conversation didn’t have to end, if only he didn’t have to watch the stand, he could-
He looked over to Barry, who seemed obsessed with rubbing the two bits he made from Honeycrisp’s sale together.
“Barry.”
Barry looked up at him. “Hmm?”
Braeburn turned away, staring off into space. “Whatever I said earlier about me not being able to love right, I take that back. Everypony might be gay for me, and I might be the victim of no less than fifty-nine date rape attempts, but there is not a soul in Equestria that can convince me I’m prettier than that mare.”
Determined, he looked back over to Barry, who was still listening intently.
“Take over my stand. Anythin’ you sell, you keep the bits. I got somethin’ important I gotta do.”
With that, Braeburn took off, not even waiting for Barry to stammer out a response. Leaving Barry to watch both Braeburn’s stand and his own was a risky move, but it stemmed from a conclusion Braeburn made the second Honeycrisp first said her sweet, sweet name to him: love makes you crazy.
~~*~~*~~
Five minutes later, Honeycrisp found herself at the edge of a crowd, having waded through a sea of ponies since leaving the train. She had felt as though every eye in the crowd was on her when she heard a familiar voice call out.
“Honey! Miss Honey!”
She turned around, having finally gotten some breathing room, and stared into the green eyes of Braeburn, green eyes that still baffled her as to how they were so much like her own..
“I thought-” he panted, “I thought I wouldn’t find you again.”
“But what are you doing out here? Aren’t you running the stand in the food cart?”
“Barry can handle it,” he said -- hey, it might not be a lie -- “and I’d rather be talkin’ to you.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. “Would...would you care to join me for supper? My treat.”
She didn’t answer him at first; Braeburn was worried he had been too forward with a mare like her when she suddenly smiled again.
“I-I’d love that,” she answered.
~~*~~*~~
The rest of the world could spread all the rumors they wanted to -- in fact, for all Braeburn knew, they still were. For Braeburn, all that mattered was that meeting Honeycrisp was the greatest apocalypse he could’ve asked for.
Because that night, they laughed, they lived, and they loved.
Characters: Filthy Rich & Angel Bunny (with a tie) Location: Random restaurant
~~*~~*~~
Just Desserts
Filthy Rich perused the restaurant menu with casual indifference. The average pony would have carefully weighed the food received versus its cost to find the best deal, to get the most value possible out of their bits, but Filthy Rich was a successful business stallion, and nopony with his income had to deal with any of that.
If he wanted, he could probably just buy the whole restaurant, the fountain out front, and the manager’s house without batting an eye. A few overpriced meals now and again were nothing.
Ever since his cutie mark first appeared when he had managed to sell something for far more value than it was actually worth, he had been raising bits for him and his family at an astonishing rate, using the traditional aggressive style he learned from his father. Old habits die hard, but over forty years after the fact, all of that had mellowed; his eyes were commonly lidded in relaxation, his mane was slicked back, and his demeanor was very laid-back and amiable, but the sum of bits he owned to his name was no less vast. Even triple digit prices that would put most ponies into debt were naught but a speedbump in the road for him.
“Ooh, this looks pretty good, daddy! Can I get this to eat?”
Filthy Rich looked over at the menu item his daughter, Diamond Tiara, was pointing out with a hoof, and sighed.
“Dimey, you know that that dessert’s not good for you,” he calmly chided his daughter, dropping his usual easygoing smile for a moment. “And we haven’t even eaten yet, so please order something normal.”
The small, pink foal seated in the opposite booth pouted, her forelegs crossed as her face took on an exaggerated frown. She held it for a couple seconds before her eyes widened and shimmered with fake tears, a technique that had twisted and warped the minds of fathers to young fillies everywhere. With Filthy Rich, the ruse lasted for only seconds.
“No.”
She dropped the facade in an instant; her father almost never raised his voice these days, so any time in which he did let even Diamond Tiara know that her biggest wish wasn’t worth facing her father’s wrath.
Content that she had stopped with her usual shenanigans, Filthy Rich gave a weak smile as he returned his eyes to the menu. Beside them, their waitress stood, waiting, trying to pretend she wasn’t tapping a hoof impatiently.
“Sir, miss,” the waitress addressed father and daughter in turn, giving a friendly smile, “are you ready to order?”
“Yes.” Filthy Rich gave the waitress a smile in return. “I’ll have the...house special, with a salad on the side.”
“Very good choice, sir. And you, miss?” the waitress replied, turning her gaze to Diamond.
The small filly had swept up the menu with an all-too-wide grin on her face, likely about to point out something on the dessert menu. Filthy Rich resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.
“She,” Filthy Rich cut in, “will have the salad from the Little Filly’s menu. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it, won’t she?”
Diamond’s grin faded in a flash, replaced with her usual scowl.
“Yes, ma’am...” she muttered through clenched teeth, offhoofedly returning the menu to the waitress.
“Your orders will be ready shortly,” the waitress said cheerfully, oblivious to Diamond’s bad mood as she turned away to head back to the restaurant’s kitchen.
“Thank you,” Filthy Rich said, nodding towards her retreating form.
~~*~~*~~
“So, how’s school been?” Filthy Rich was attempting to have a conversation with his daughter, but his questions were often met with curt, annoyed answers. That didn’t keep him from trying to bond with her, regardless.
Diamond Tiara took a sip of her water, one forehoof clutching the glass while she rested her head on the other. “Okay, I guess.”
“I talked to Miss Cheerilee the other day. I heard you didn’t do so well on your long division assignment.”
She took another sip, eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Long division is stupid.”
“Your geography assignment had a lot of red marks on it, as well.”
“Geography is stupid.”
“And evidently your grammar test didn’t turn out that great, either.”
“Grammar is stupid. Nopony did good on that test, anyway. Well, except for Twist, but she’s such a complete nerd that she doesn’t count.”
Filthy Rich briefly frowned at his daughter’s insult. “But you did get an ‘A’ on that history test. I’m proud of you,” he said, smiling warmly.
Diamond Tiara’s eyes went wide, blinking twice in surprise, though her head remained rested on her hoof. “I didn’t know I did that well.”
She resumed her bored expression. “It’s still stupid, though...” she muttered, but Filthy Rich heard the difference in her tone; she was clearly pleased with herself.
Filthy Rich wasn’t sure how to respond to his daughter’s apathy about her education, so the two of them sat in silence until both ponies’ state of ennui was broken when the sound of plates being set next to them rang in their ears.
“Here you are! Enjoy!” the waitress said.
“Thank you,” Filthy Rich answered, but the waitress had already hurried off, evidently to go take more orders.
~~*~~*~~
Filthy Rich swallowed the last of his meal as he set the empty plates aside. Diamond Tiara looked over at him, incredulous at how quickly he had finished his food. It shouldn’t have been a surprise on her part; Diamond Tiara spent more time picking through her food than actually eating it. A small pile of tomato slices, olives, and the rest of the salad parts she didn’t like was shoved off to the side, with the pile stacked higher than the rest of the salad itself.
He was about to chastise her eating habits, or lack thereof, when he saw her actually eat two leaves of lettuce.
“How’s Silver Spoon?” he asked, attempting conversation again.
She chewed as she pondered the question, then swallowed the lettuce.
“Alright, I guess. She hasn’t been in school the past few days.”
Filthy Rich looked a bit worried. “Why not? Is she sick?”
Diamond Tiara finished off her water, complete with obnoxious slurping noises as the glass ran dry. “She isn’t sick. It was just some family get-together thing she got dragged to. She’ll be back by the end of the week, I think.”
Filthy Rich’s attention was stolen away from his conversation when he heard the jingling of the restaurant’s door. A cursory glance towards the door revealed the restaurant’s newest guests: a yellow pegasus mare with a long, pink mane and three butterflies for a cutie mark, and a white rabbit perched on her back, wearing a comically oversized tie that dragged behind him and a seemingly perpetual frown. One of the rabbit’s tiny feet drummed impatiently on the pegasus’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her head was dipped slightly, as if trying to escape attention.
No chance of that, considering Filthy Rich’s eyes followed the pegasus all the way to her seat. He was taken aback by how...pleasant...her appearance was, the color of her mane blending with the color of her body to create a truly adorable sight. And the way she seemed to care for that still-frowning bunny despite his grumpy attitude was too sweet for words. Why, such a pegasus could only be complemented by the pink hoof appearing out of the corner of his vision, tapping him roughly on the cheek and-
“Daddy, she’s gotta be at least thirty years younger than you. Stop it.”
Filthy Rich hadn’t even noticed he’d spaced out until her voice pierced his brain. He shook his head roughly, trying to act as if everything was normal, which was probably just damage control at this point, considering the look his daughter was giving him.
“Besides, she’s just Fluttershy,” Diamond added curtly, turning away to inspect her forehooves in the restaurant window.
“I didn’t know you knew her, Dimey.”
“I don’t, really. I’ve never actually met her. And don’t call me ‘Dimey,’ daddy,” she muttered, blood pooling in her flushed cheeks, a rare sight. “You know I hate that name.”
“And you don’t think the other foals at school hate it when you call them, ‘blank flanks.’” Filthy Rich countered. It wasn’t a question.
“Ugh! This again,” Diamond muttered. “I told you, that’s different! ‘Blank flanks’ is what they are!”
“But that’s not a bad thing. Some ponies just get their cutie marks later than other ponies, and it’s not right to make fun of them for that. Missus Smith’s youngest granddaughter and her two friends are trying very hard to earn their cutie marks, young mare, and just because they haven’t gotten them yet doesn’t mean you can hold yourself above them.”
“That’s only because they don’t have any talents...” Diamond Tiara muttered, her voice so low that even her own ears had trouble picking up what she said.
“What was that?” Filthy Rich asked. The bags under his eyes seemed all the more pronounced in his scolding glare.
“Nothing, daddy. You’re absolutely right, like always!” The pink filly’s sarcasm, loud and obnoxious, was very clear. An awkward, extended silence permeated through the restaurant.
“Oh, you wanted to order that, Angel Bunny? I don’t know... Can we afford that?”
It was a testament to how quiet the restaurant was that even Fluttershy’s usual tone, all the volume of a soft whisper, could be heard at all, let alone from halfway across the room.
Both Filthy Rich and Diamond Tiara glanced towards the source. Diamond turned her eyes away, inspecting her forehooves in the mirror again.
“I don’t see what the big deal is about Fluttershy,” she mentioned indifferently, as if bringing up how sunny it was outside. “Miss Cheerilee’s always talking about how ponies should be nice like her, and I think all the colts in our class have a crush on her.” She pressed a hoof to her chin in thought. “Some of the fillies probably do too, now that I think about it. But she’s not that pretty. Not like me...”
Filthy Rich turned back to his daughter. “Well, ponies should be nice to each other. That’s not a bad thing to look up to her for.”
Diamond Tiara snorted.
“She gets bossed around by her animals! The only reason anypony knows who she is is because she talks to those animals, and that’s because she’s too scared to talk to a real pony!”
Filthy Rich glanced over towards Fluttershy’s table, and saw that she had evidently picked up Diamond Tiara’s words, hurt clear in her eyes. The bunny, somehow, had also heard Diamond and glared over at the two of them with anger in his expression. It was enough that the bunny’s oversized tie didn’t lessen the tension any.
“If you say one more bad word about her or any other pony, it’s no dessert for a month, young mare.” His voice didn’t increase in volume, but the weight of his statement was no less significant.
Sometimes, Diamond Tiara’s brain had no concept of ‘stop,’ however.
“My friend Alula told me at school that Fluttershy fell out of Cloudsdale years ago because she can’t fly. A pegasus that can’t fly, daddy, can you believe that? That’s almost worse than being a blank flank.”
Filthy Rich’s disapproving stare held strong. He wasn’t foalish enough to make a scene in the middle of a public restaurant, but he already decided that Diamond Tiara was in heaps of trouble when they got home.
When Fluttershy trotted past their table, and Filthy Rich noticed the sniffling, the red eyes, and the tears, all the telltale signs of her being deeply hurt, he left his seat and went after her.
“Diamond Tiara, you are grounded,” he called over his shoulder, before picking up speed.
Filthy Rich had rounded a corner when he came face-to-face with a door, one that Fluttershy had clearly gone through. Cursing the fact that he had had only seconds to prepare what he was going to say to her, he opened it with a hoof and gave it his best shot.
“Miss Fluttershy, if you’re in here, I just want to apologize on behalf of my daughter. She’s really not a bad filly, it’s just that she’s sometimes...insensitive and-”
He was cut off by a very girlish shriek, before he felt a hoof slap him harshly across the cheek.
“What are you doing in here? Get out!” yelled the irate unicorn who had slapped him.
Filthy Rich pressed a hoof to his cheek, feeling that the slap was rather uncalled for.
“There’s no need to be violent, miss,” he said, trying to smooth out the situation. “My name is Filthy-”
“And you sure live up to it!” she retorted. “This is the mare’s restroom, you old pervert! Or can’t you read?”
One cheek was already as red as his tie from where he had been slapped, but his other cheek joined in when he mentally traced back the events of seconds before and realized that he had, in fact, wandered into the wrong restroom.
“Right...” he trailed off, sheepishly, “I’m sorry. It’s just, there’s a yellow pegasus in here by the name of Fluttershy, and I need to speak with her, so if you could just tell her that, I’d be really happy.”
The unicorn only glared at him.
“...I’ll be going now,” he said.
~~*~~*~~
Outside, Filthy Rich waited as the blush on his face gradually disappeared.
Come on, he rationalized to himself. It was an honest mistake! Anypony could’ve done it!
He checked himself out in the mirror for what seemed like the fiftieth time in the past five minutes. That slap was going to leave a mark, for sure, but any other trace of his previous embarrassment seemed to have gone by now.
Knowing Diamond Tiara would eventually ask what had happened to his cheek, he tried to formulate a lie that seemed plausible enough as he made his way back to the table.
I rounded the corner, he thought, and then a frying pan! Right to the face! Complete accident, but- no, that won’t do. Wait, what is that bunny doing?
It was clearly the same one that had accompanied Fluttershy to the restaurant; Filthy Rich could’ve known that tie anywhere. What he hadn’t expected was the bunny to be jumping up and down on Diamond Tiara’s head, ignoring her yelling as he glared down at her with each bounce.
“Ow! Quit it! Do you know who I am?” Diamond yelled at the bunny, cowering as best as she could with her forehooves. “I’m Diamond Tiara - Ow! - and my daddy’s name is- Will you quit your stupid hopping?”
She looked up, and hope shone in her eyes as she noticed her father standing there.
“Daddy! Wait - Ow! - what happened to your cheek? Never mind - Ow! - get this bunny off me, please!”
He wordlessly swung his hoof, snatching the bunny from his daughter’s head and watching as it wriggled helplessly in his grip.
“Angel Bunny!”
Filthy Rich didn’t think Fluttershy could be that loud. She ran up to Filthy Rich, but seemed to lose her bravado as she approached him, gradually shrinking back.
“Oh, um, sir. Put Angel Bunny down, please, or, um...” She was back to her shy whisper.
He would’ve rather tossed the bunny out of the restaurant for daring to try and hurt his little Dimey, but upon seeing Fluttershy’s tear-stricken face, he had no choice but to comply. No sooner than he had set the bunny down did Fluttershy scoop him up, hugging him closely.
“Are you okay, Angel Bunny? Did that old stallion hurt you?” she cooed. “Don’t worry, Angel, I’m here.”
“That ‘Angel Bunny’ was attacking my daughter.” Filthy Rich said, unamused.
“Yeah!” Diamond Tiara chimed in. “What’s wrong with your bunny? Is he infected? Does this place have any sanitizer?”
Angel wrestled his way out of Fluttershy’s iron grip of a hug and started wordlessly motioning to Filthy Rich. Filthy Rich, being not at all fluent in the language of charades, was baffled by Angel’s message.
“Uh, I’m...not sure what you’re telling me. Um...the restaurant’s on fire?”
Angel shook his head, his frown unchanged, before grabbing the eating utensils from his table and arranging them in the shape of a diamond.
“...A square?”
Another shake of the head. This time, he rotated the utensils, keeping their shape, so that Filthy Rich could view it from a better angle.
“Little Habbit’s trapped in a well?”
The bunny buried his face in his palms. He ripped off the tie -- “Oh, that took forever to tie just right...” Fluttershy quietly fumed -- before setting it next to the utensil arrangement.
“Diamond...tie...” Filthy Rich mused to himself.
Angel’s eyes narrowed again, having clearly lost what little patience he had as, this time, he snatched the tiara straight from Diamond Tiara’s head, before kicking the tie away and replacing it with the tiara.
“Hey!” Diamond yelled, but didn’t make any further protests lest the bunny resume its hopping rampage.
“Diamond...tiara...Diamond Tiara!”
The bunny nodded, finally removing the frown from its face. Angel began gesturing again, looking to be pantomiming speaking. Still, Filthy Rich wasn’t quite sure, as he only cocked his head to the side. Angel regained his stony glare.
“Um, sir,” Fluttershy interrupted, “I think Angel Bunny wants your daughter to apologize.”
“That does sound like a good idea.” Filthy Rich agreed.
“What?” Diamond Tiara whined. “That bunny was hitting me! Why do I have to say sorry?”
“No, I think Angel wants you to apologize to Miss Fluttershy here.”
Angel nodded, glaring harshly at Diamond.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Fluttershy said, starting to back off, “I hear things like that all the time and-”
“No, it’s not okay.” Filthy Rich countered. “Diamond, what you said was very hurtful. Say you’re sorry to Miss Fluttershy.”
“But-” Diamond Tiara started, before a glare from Filthy Rich stopped her words in her tracks.
“...I’m sorry,” she muttered, seeming like she was trying to out-quiet Fluttershy.
“Hm? Didn’t hear that.” Filthy Rich responded.
“I’m sorry, Fluttershy,” she muttered again.
“One more time, so we can actually hear it.” her father said. Diamond Tiara glared at him before sighing.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fluttershy,” Diamond Tiara corrected herself. It was a far cry from being completely sincere, but it could be heard, and that was probably the best he was going to get from her.
Fluttershy, grinning, wordlessly swept Diamond Tiara up in an embrace. Diamond Tiara’s forelegs went limp and hung at her sides, but under the watch of Filthy Rich’s stare, she rolled her eyes and completed the embrace.
Fluttershy’s mood seemed to have increased tenfold by the time she returned to her seat. Angel Bunny’s mood might not have improved any, but Filthy Rich had no way of knowing.
“There! Now, was that so hard?” he asked, gazing down towards his daughter.
“I guess not,” she muttered. She picked up one of the few remaining pieces of lettuce in her salad -- only to find that Angel Bunny had, in addition to his rampant head stomping, apparently helped himself to nibbles of her lettuce.
“That bunny of hers better not be infected with something.” Diamond Tiara said, trying her best to chew around the bunny’s teeth marks.
~~*~~*~~
After paying for the meal -- a generous tip, of course -- they had just gotten up to leave, when-
“So, how’d your cheek get so red?”
Filthy Rich grimaced; he’d been hoping that the topic would’ve been forgotten amidst all the chaos from earlier.
“You know,” he answered, dropping the topic altogether, “that was a very mature thing you did back there, apologizing to Miss Fluttershy like that.”
“Yeah, well...” She didn’t seem to have a response for that. “That’s good, right?”
He chuckled. “Of course it is. I’m proud of you.”
“So am I still grounded then, daddy?” she asked, her words going a mile a minute as she glanced upward into her father’s eyes. Judging from her expression, she was trying to see if the old ‘puppy dog’ eyes trick would work. This time, it did. Sort of.
“Yes.”
Diamond’s expression sank.
“But maybe just no desserts for a week, now...”
Diamond Tiara looked both pleased and annoyed, stuck between being unsure of whether to risk bargaining for more or not, and being happy at getting her sentence reduced.
“...Dimey. I’m still going to call you that, you know.”
She groaned under her breath again at that nickname of hers being snuck in, but there didn’t seem to be any trace of the usual malice this time. Filthy Rich smiled when he felt a weight pressed against his leg.
He glanced down at his daughter once again. She looked up and, seeing her father’s smile, offered him a reluctant one in return. He still saw the warmth and genuineness behind it, though, and felt warmth at the brief appearance of the sweet daughter hidden underneath her bossy and condescending exterior.
A rare occurrence, for sure, but hopefully time would remind him more often that, sometimes, what’s spoiled can still be sweet.
Characters: Applejack and Photo Finish Location: Barbershop
~~*~~*~~
Stick A Hat On Me, I’m Done
“No no, zis simply vill not do!”
Sometimes, Applejack had to deal with ponies around Ponyville that thought she, “sounded funny,” that her word choices and accent emphasis were too different from the norm, and thus thought they could hold themselves above her. Applejack thought that was a complete load of manure; the Southernisms that dominated her diction and influenced her enunciation ran in her family. Even if her manners of speech were a choice, she would much rather uphold family tradition than follow the needless hassle of forcing herself to change, in order to fit in.
But for once, for a speckle of a second, Applejack sympathized with those ponies. It only took an accent as nasal and obnoxious as Photo Finish’s to put them on the same page.
“No no no. Anuzzer half-inch off ze sides!”
The snip snip of two pairs of scissors busy at work seemed to hack away at her mane, with wild, unrestrained, busy movement betraying the ludicrous precision the quartet of manestylists were known for. They were top of their field, and they were determined to show it, especially when a well-known fashion photographer like Photo Finish was watching their every move.
Applejack was initially nervous that Photo Finish’s stony gaze, brunt demeanor, and caustic attitude would throw them off their game, but if anything it seemed to steady their resolve. Sweat dripped down their faces as they styled Applejack’s hair to order; her bangs were to be cut so they hung two inches below her eyelashes, and not a centimeter more nor less.
“Zat dress is much too blue! It vill not do!”
“Ms. Finish,” one of the mares replied, “for the fifth time, this is a barbershop! We don’t do dresses!”
Photo Finish turned to the mare, her expression completely unchanged, and the mare’s bravado faltered on the spot.
Somehow, the same unicorn whose magic powered the scissors so fervently cutting her mane also magically yanked Applejack’s blue dress off of her without messing up either, before tossing it into a discarded heap of similarly ill-fated clothes. Applejack just closed her eyes and tried to tune out the background noise.
“How is this, Ms. Finish?” the lone stallion of the four asked, breathing hard. There was a slight tone of animosity in his voice, and Applejack couldn’t blame the poor pony for a second.
Photo Finish leaned over to get a peek at Applejack’s mane. She let out several hmm’s under her breath; all the while, Applejack couldn’t read Photo Finish’s eyes behind her pink sunglasses, and had no idea how she’d react.
“Ze top of her mane is a half-inch too thick!” She rubbed a hoof through Applejack’s mane; evidently the concept of ‘personal space’ was a non-issue in the fashion industry. “Yech!” She recoiled, drawing her hoof back in horror. “Zere iz much too much dirt in zere! Shampoo her mane again!”
“There is no dirt...” one of the mare stylists grumbled.
Scissors went and snipped at the spots Photo Finish pointed out while the others prepared some water, but Applejack could have sworn she heard the four stylists muttering various curses; they sorted through the epithets alphabetically, she noticed, in case they missed any. They had just moved from the blasphemous to the scatological when she also heard an offhoof suggestion of where Photo Finish could stick those scissors -- from the mare that seemed the most submissive and meek of the four, no less -- and Applejack knew right then and there that this would be the lone bright spot of this entire visit.
~~*~~*~~
Red polka dots.
“No.” A shake of the head.
Green and white stripes.
“No.” A shake of the head.
A basic shade of purple.
“Oh, heavens no!” A furious shake of the head. “Awful, awful!”
A hitherto unseen entourage gathered and nodded, as their hooves stamped and ground the sample into the floor, before disappearing into the shadows again. The four stylists looked to one another, each of them deathly afraid to speak. Finally, one of the mares cleared her throat.
“Those are all the colors we have, Ms. Finish.”
“Unacceptable! Do you mean to tell me zat ze second best Ponyville has to offer has only a few ugly shades of fabric?”
“This isn’t-”
“Spare me ze excuses. It seems zat I, Photo Finish, must vork anuzzer miracle.”
~~*~~*~~
Applejack stood in front of the full body mirror the stylists had propped against a wall, trying desperately to see what exactly the big deal was. She had expected -- hoped, to be more accurate -- that Photo Finish would have the decency to look satisfied with the stylists’ work, but Photo Finish nonetheless continued to look her over with the same critical eye and harsh scowl that she figured by now was permanently etched on Photo Finish’s face.
“Ms. Photo Finish, I-” Applejack started, but was silenced by Photo Finish holding up a hoof.
“More powder! Her face is much too tan!” she ordered.
“Ms. Finish, we only do manes here! This is not-”
Another hoof stopped the protests.
“Did you not think zat I, Photo Finish, had not thought of zis beforehoof? My precious modeling studio vas destroyed in a magic duel, and if it vere still standing zis vork vould be done zere! I, Photo Finish, have to make do vith ze second best, and zis is the second best Ponyville has to offer, is it not? Zen act like it! Applejack’s face is much too tan!”
In a second’s time, Applejack was set upon by several brushes powdering her face with Celestia-knows-what, the sighs of disgruntled workers accompanying it. She shut her eyes tight and pursed her lips; it was all she could do to not inhale the stuff. When the particle onslaught ceased, Applejack tried talking again.
“When I said I needed a ‘photo finish,’ I was talkin’ about a race. I didn’t mean you.”
“Vhen Photo Finish hears her name, Photo Finish rises to ze occasion.”
“Do you even know what a ‘photo finish’ is?” Applejack asked, exasperated. “I was neck-in-neck with the stallion racin’ beside me, and the race was so close we could only tell which of us won with a photograph. That’s what I meant by ‘photo finish.’”
Photo Finish’s expression was, still, unreadable as she pondered what Applejack had just told her. She was, for once, so silent that Applejack could’ve sworn she heard the stuck up mare blinking behind her pink shades.
“It seems zat I, Photo Finish, have made a mistake.”
“If you let me speak from the beginnin’, I reckon this could’ve all been avoided. Maybe you oughta let other ponies-”
“Ve go!” Photo Finish called out. As haughty on her way out as she was on her way in, several ponies had silently carried Photo Finish out of the barbershop in the span of a few seconds, leaving a mess of a salon in her wake.
Applejack was ready to leave, too. All of the powder and the eyeliner felt horrible on her face, and her mane, despite the stylists’ best attempts otherwise, just should’ve remained concealed beneath her hat. She preferred it that way, anyway. The four stylists, meanwhile, looked traumatized as each of them gazed upon the wreck of a shop. Various fabrics and powders littered the floor in disorganized piles. This would be at least a long night’s cleaning, if the four of them worked together.
Applejack tossed a random hoofful of bits to the four, not knowing or particularly caring how much there was exactly. “You know, Sweet Apple Acres has the best cider this side of Equestria. I figure I owe y’all a round after all the hard work you did. Our door’s open anytime,” she said.
Each of the four stylists perked up at the offer, but their faces fell when they remembered their working hours were still going, and the shop had to be cleaned as soon as they were able. The stallion looked about ready to cry, and Applejack turned away and walked out of the shop before she could dwell on it too much.
~~*~~*~~
Applejack had never been a pony to adore the spotlight. She liked being noticed, but being the center of attention wasn’t something she was particularly used to. However, Applejack figured she looked like a clown under all the makeup her face was buried in, and between the rough-and-tumble pony’s disastrous cross with fashion and the unchanging grind of everyday life in Ponyville, the ponies of Ponyville paid no heed to her discomfort as wandering eyes invariably found their way to her absurd getup.
On the bright side, if Applejack stayed at the farm for about a month or five, everypony in town would eventually forget all about how ridiculous she thought she looked dolled up. With her head hanging low, she tried to avoid everypony’s eyes, feeling then how her poor friend Fluttershy must’ve felt all the time.
Fortunately, Sweet Apple Acres, right on the outskirts of Ponyville, was right over the horizon. She was almost home. She’d have to deal with her family, of course, but that was much better than dealing with the townsponies.
“Oh, hello Applejack, dear,” rang a familiar voice, right when Applejack thought she was homefree.
Rarity. Great.
Rarity had her typical pleasant smile plastered on her face as she approached Applejack, but it devolved into painfully badly hid giggling, before becoming full blown laughter as her hooves kicked with unrestrained glee.
Applejack glared at Rarity until she managed to calm down, which seemed to take about a year. Friendly though the two typically were to each other, it was moments like these that served to only highlight the differences between them, and the laughter they sometimes had at the other’s expense.
“What, heehee, what happened to you, Applejack?” Rarity said, still struggling to keep her voice even.
Applejack sighed. Curse her predisposition towards honesty.
“Long story short, some stylists spent hours doin’ what they could, and Photo Finish ain’t all that bright. Trust me, there ain’t anythin’ else worth mentionin’. It all feels like just a bad story, and I’m headin’ back to the farm to see how much cider I can drink in one sittin’.”
“Oh,” Rarity added, surprised. “Well, if you stop by the Boutique sometime, heehee,” she offered, magically lifting a pair of scissors, “I’d be delighted to fix your mane! Why, it’s crooked and uneven, even after all their hard work! It’s a travesty!”
Applejack was about to politely refuse Rarity’s offer, but somewhere along the line her patience ran out, and she’d had quite enough of fashion for about three and a half lifetimes.
“Hey Rarity, you know where you can stick those scissors?”
