Big Macintosh and Prince Blueblood are in love. Wait, what?
Prince Blueblood. Haughty aristocrat and heir to the throne of Canterlot. Big Macintosh. Simple farmpony with a love for apples. They're in love. Wait, what?
This is M/M. Colt cuddlers. Queers. Buttpirates. Fudgepackers. By all means, fill the comments with badly typed anti-gay rants, I'm not gonna stop you, in fact I quite enjoy it. You see, I bathe in your hatred. It really helps my complexion.
The radio was loud, static clear in the background of whatever dime-a-dozen pop tune was playing, but Big Macintosh didn’t care. It helped to drown out Applejack’s droning voice as she lectured Applebloom on her most recent misadventure with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Something to do with industrial cleaners and Granny Smith’s best china. Nothing to worry about.
Big Macintosh, Mac to his friends, was just a humble farmer. He wasn’t ambitious by any stretch of the word, content to live out his days in the orchards he was raised in, with a steady routine and little-to-no outside interference. Sure, there was the occasional mad goddess or spirit of chaos (Contrary to some opinions, this was a common occurrence even before that purple unicorn came to town. Something in the water, maybe), but on the whole it was a peaceful existence.
Applejack, on the other hand, was his little sister. Orange, element of honesty, likes apples. Terrible liar, great athlete, just friends with Rainbow Dash or so she swears, I’m sure you know all this already, so I’ll just skip to the important part.
If she knew who the lazy stallion next to Mac was, she’d probably blow a gasket. Let her, he thought, if she has a problem she knows where to put it.
The stallion, a white unicorn with flowing blond locks tied back in a ponytail, was reclining on the ground next to the radio. He peered through dark sunglasses to read a brightly-colored magazine, the cover of which featured a mare scantily clad in velvet stockings stabbing a curved sword into the belly of some great tentacled monstrosity. Mac turned his head and shut his eyes against the bright sun.
The two of them were sitting on matching lawn chairs, the unicorn supposedly helping Mac with his work. It didn’t matter much that he wasn’t, really. This pony was special.
The special pony flipped his page and looked over to Mac. “You know,” he said in a cultured voice, “I used to think farmponies were inferior, in some way, to unicorns.”
Mac was laying with his eyes closed, just on the edge of sleep, but he answered anyway. “An’ by farmponies, you mean earth ponies in general?”
“Quite. But now I see, I understand. We all have our places in the world, yours is no less important than my own.” He flipped the page again.
“Ah’d answer that if it didn’t sound so pompous.” Mac said. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Applejack had finished her lecture and was heading towards the barn, axe in mouth. Apparently she’d finished her field work early, since she didn’t need to chop any wood for another- His eyes widened, and he looked to the sky. It was sunset already!
He nearly jumped from his seat, stretching his back and revelling in the pops as it fell into place. Well, look on the bright side, my back is just about heal-- *crack* Mac gasped in pain and fell to his knees. In an instant, the unicorn was upon him.
A hoof around his back, the other on his leg, he held him close. “Are you alright? Where does it hurt? I’ll get help, you just wait right--”
“Blue,” Mac held up a hoof, “Ah’m alright, jus’ pulled somethin’ in there.”
‘Blue’ was unconvinced. “Are you sure? The doctor said--”
“Ah know what the doctor said, but Ah really am fine, honest!” He waved him off and braced to get up. “Urf!”
Wobbling for a moment, he braced a hoof on Blue’s chest to steady himself. Blue ran a hoof through his own hair, then magically began to fold their chairs.
“Lemme help with that.” Mac gripped one by the legs, pushing and folding it back into a compact state. Mac held it out, and with a flourish the unicorn took it in his magic. Off to the side, he could see Applebloom giving him a dirty look. Out of sympathy, he extinguished his magic, instead placing the chairs on his back.
“Oof! I wonder why it is your sister has such a grudge against magic?”
The earth pony nudged his own chair into place. “She likes doin' it th' hard way.”
“She is rather stubborn.”
“Eeyup.”
They walked towards the barn in silence, only stopping to pick up a stray apple or kick a rock her or there. Finally, Mac spoke.
“Blue, Ah was wonderin’ ‘bout her,” he started.
‘Blue’ looked up. “What about her?”
“Well… Ah wanna tell her ‘bout us.”
That’s one way to get a reaction. “What?! Mac, are you insane? You really want to tell her about us?!”
“Eeyup,” he said resolutely.
“Eeyup! That’s all you have to say? Just ‘eeyup, I want to tell my bigoted earth trash sister that—“ he lowered his voice, realizing somepony might hear, “That you’re dating the most powerful stallion in Canterlot?”
“Eeyup,” he repeated.
“Why would you want to tell her anyways?”
“Tell me what now?” It seemed they had reached the barn without realizing it. The speaker was Applejack, who was currently bucking blocks of wood. Not chopping it, but literally kicking it so hard it split into pieces. She was strong like that.
This display of strength changed Mac's mind rather quickly. “N-nothin’!” he stammered out, sweat beginning to form on his forehead.
“Oh why don’t you ask her, Mac? What’s she going to do, eat you?” The unicorn nudged him in the ribs, but still cast a nervous glance Applejack’s way.
“Mac?” Applejack
“Well, AJ, Ah was wonderin’, whatchu think ‘bout Canterlot ponies.”
“Whaddya mean?” Applejack’s kick missed the wood by inches, sending her sprawling to the ground.
“Sis! You alright?” Mac said, rushing over.
Propping herself up with her hooves, Applejack grumbled as she stood up. “Ah’m okay, it’s jus’ this darn cast. Now, you were askin’ ‘bout what Ah think of Canterlot?”
“Ah cain’t say Ah’m a fan o’ the town nor the ponies, no. Pompous and arrogant, the lot of ‘em. ‘Course, that’s their business an’ Ah’m none too inclined to go buttin’ around with them. Why d’ya ask?”
“Uh...”
“Have you met somepony?” Applejack asked jokingly, “Some rich an’ powerful unicorn sweep ya off yer hooves an’ take ya on an adventure to faraway lands?”
Mac swallowed his fear and simply replied, “Eeyup.”
“Ah... What? Wow. Ah... Ah was not expecting that, no siree,” she whistled and shook her head, “So who is he?”
At this point, the white unicorn trotted up beside Mac, patted his neck with a foreleg, and said, “That would be me, ma’am.”
“An’ you are..?”
The unicorn removed his sunglasses, pulled out his hair tie with his magic, and flashed his best smile. Applejack's eyes widened, and for a moment everything was still.
Then Applejack slapped him hard across the face.
Prince Blueblood, to his credit, barely flinched.
Applejack’s fury was palpable. “You no-good Canterlot scumbag!” She shouted, “You insult mah family an’ hurt mah best friend an’ now yer here for mah brother too? Not gonna happen! Git!”
Blueblood shrunk back from Applejack’s wrath, slinking backwards towards the doorway. Mac stopped him with a hoof, then took a step forward.
“Sis, what’s the matter?”
Pointing at the cowering unicorn, she shouted “He is!”
Mac moved forward dangerously. “What, you some kinda’a bigot or somethin’?”
Applejack froze. “Wait... You think that’s what I’m mad about?”
“It... Isn’t?” Mac was stunned.
“No! Ya darn lug, Ah’ve knew you swung that way since that family reunion when Ah caught you an’ Pokey kissin’ behind the barn!”
Mac blushed and stammered, “That was, uh, Ah...” That was supposed to be private, is what he thought. Just a little fling with a local pretty-boy, nothing serious. He’d wondered why Applejack invited him to dinner that one time. Thick as a brick sometimes.
Applejack shushed him. “Yeah, Ah saw you two,” she poked him in the ribs, “Jus’ about the cutest couple Ah ever did see. Ah figured you’d come out when ya were ready.”
“So why are you so upset?” Blueblood ventured.
“Mac, it’s not that you love a stallion, it’s that you love this stallion,” She said with a gesture, “Ah mean, surely there’s a better pick out there? Someone who’s humble, principled, hardworking...”
“An earth pony.”
“Well, er, Ah don’ mean...”
Mac smiled and nudged her gently. “Ah know what you mean, sis. But me an’ Blue, we got somethin’ special.
“If it weren’t for him I’d be dead, sis,” Applejack’s eyes widened and her expression shifted towards confusion. “Jus’ give him a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Well, it’s clear you care about him a lot. Bring him to dinner. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Later that evening, the Apple family was sitting around the table. Dinner had been served, paltes heaped with macaroni and applesauce. This may seem absolutely disgusting, but I assure you, it’s the best thing since the peanut butter-and-banana sandwich. Granny Smith was at the head, Applejack and Applebloom were next to each other on one side, and everypony’s eyes were on the two stallions who sat trying to ignore them and eat quietly.
“So, Mac...” started Applejack, “You an’ Blueblood, huh?”
“Eeyup,” he said, not looking up.
“He treat you right?”
“In the room,” grumbled Blueblood.
Ignoring him, Mac replied. “Eeyup.”
“How long?”
“Coupla months,” he said, spearing a couple of noodles on his fork.
“But he’s only worked here a couple weeks,” Applejack pointed out, “Where did you two meet?”
Mac stopped chewing and, swallowing heavily, looked over to Blueblood, who shrugged.
After a moment, Granny Smith spoke. “Why doncha start from the beginning?”
Blueblood smirked and stood up. "In the beginning," he said with a solemn air, "There was darkness..."
Applejack cut him off. “You know what she means!”
With a bemused expression, he sat back down.
“Well now that’s just rude.”
Mac spoke up. “What he means to say is, we met on the train to Nagdad back in June.”
We enter to Canterlot Station, hub of the Equestrian rail network. It was surprisingly plain and modern among the fairytale architecture of the city, just a small glass building opening to several covered platforms lined with benches. Sleek silver trains sat waiting for their passengers to file on, and over in a corner was a pink pony carrying what seemed to be a giant inflatable elephant. Of course, the reasons for this, while surely quite interesting, are astoundingly unimportant to the narrative. Rather, let’s zoom in on a pair of earth ponies, one red and one orange, perhaps they’re a couple having a tearful farewell, this may be the final moment between these two captivated lovers before the muscular stallion goes off to war, to fight for freedom in a far-off land, to--
Oh, wrong story. They’re actually brother and sister, that’s awkward. Anyway, the orange one is a stetson-wearing cowpony named Applejack, while the stallion goes by the name of Big Macintosh. I’m sure you’re familiar with them.
“An’ yer sure ya got everything packed?” Applejack asked for the fifth time.
“Eeyup.” Replied the stallion.
“Passport?”
He patted the little brown suitcase beside him. “Eeyup.”
“Checkbook?”
“Eeyup.”
“You’ll be sure ta send a postcard from the Orange Festival?”
“Eeyup.”
“An’ not go offending any o’ them Saddle Arabian ponies?”
A stallion of few words, or perhaps the same word repeatedly, he replied once more, “Eeyup.”
Of course, not many ponies would pay attention to some random pony and his expositional family, nor did they. The real action was to be found in a group of royal guards performing an escort mission with that special touch of Equestrian inconspicuousness. They kept ponies out of their way with a bright blue magical dome, increasing in opacity towards the top and preventing anypony from getting a good look at who they were escorting. Naturally, a horde of reporters and curious onlookers followed them through the crowded hall as they approached the same platform as our intrepid hero.
The intercom spoke up, grabbing attention from the secret agents with a pleasant chime. “The next train at Platform Two is the 4:30 Overnight to Nagdad, Saddle Arabian Territories. It passes through: Manehattan, Baltimare, Andalanta...”
The announcement continued to name the various stops, but Mac wasn’t listening.
With a puff of smoke, the train had rolled into the station. Mac rarely hung around town, and even so, Ponyville was never a major stop. He rarely saw a train aside from the Friendship Express on its weekly circuit. That’s not to say he was unfamiliar with them, he’d seen his share of trains. One time, a dayliner was diverted from the main track and had to pass through Friendship Station. He’d thought it was uninteresting, the snout-like nose of the diesel-magic locomotive ridiculous, and the silver carriages entirely too reflective. But this wasn’t just any train. While other ponies might not have been too impressed, Mac almost fell to his haunches, stunned by the sight before him.
Billowing smoke, the engine was massive, a good hundred feet long. Red as a Macintosh, he might’ve thought to himself if he weren’t so blown away. The nose was round, coming to a point where the headlight sat in the middle. Splitting it down the centre was a bar of white steel, reaching down to the smoothly angled cowcatcher and up to the equipment atop the boiler, giving off the effect of a fierce pegasus warrior’s helmet. At the top, smoke billowed from a hidden stack
The great wheels, each drilled with four holes that periodically exposed parts of the undercarriage and lit with a soft glow, were almost as tall as he was.
He stared at the long boiler as it rolled past, perfectly streamlined to reduce drag, smoke trailing behind it . The passenger cars were next, gold stripes running along the sides. The high tinted windows afforded no view of the ponies inside, but he could guess at their social standing. Emblazoned along the sides in dark black letters were the words Great Equestrian Railway.
All in all, the train exuded supremacy and strength. He finally understood why some ponies were so enamored by them, their power, their speed. In his stupor, Mac didn’t hear Applejack’s question the first time.
“What?” He asked dumbly, tearing his eyes away from the rail-bound creature before him.
“Ah said, are you alright?”
“E-Eeyup.” He stuttered. His legs felt a bit wobbly for a moment, but he quickly got himself under control and grabbed his suitcase in the crook of a leg. Still staring, he walked across the platform to the rail-bound beast before him. Behind, Applejack tailed him closely to avoid becoming separated in the rush of boarding and disembarking passengers.
In all the confusion, it was easy to forget about the blue dome and its special cargo. One moment, it was at the door of a passenger car, the next the guards lowered the shield and had to shove their way through the crowd to exit the station.
On the other side of the car, Mac had turned back towards his sister. They entered an embrace of sibling love which, despite what some may like you to believe about farm ponies, was entirely platonic and involved no hay lofts or pigsties, and certainly no hot incestual sex.
“Ah’ll miss ya, AJ.” He said, holding her close.
She gave him the usual reply. “Ah’ll miss ya too, ya big lug. Don’t go gettin’ hurt or nothin’, or Ah’ll have ta kill you.” She slid out of his arms and disappeared into the crowd without so much as another word.
He sighed and lifted up his suitcase. Here’s hopin’ Ah can even find mah seat.
A few minutes later, Mac was walking over to the nearest pony in an employee’s uniform. As luck would have it, it was the conductor, a plump brown earth pony with a mustache that probably got more tail than he did.
“Hello sir, how can I help you this fine evening?”
“Th’ compartment Ah’m supposed to be in is locked fer some reason, and th’ curtains are closed.”
“Did you check to see if there’s somepony in there?”
“Ah knocked, but there weren’t an answer. Ah know Ah heard somethin’ in there though.”
“Well let’s go have a look, shall we?”
The walk over to Mac’s compartment was uneventful, largely because it was about half a minute of walking down an empty corridor.
They stopped at the door, and Mac standing aside for the conductor to do his thing.
Knock knock. “Hello? Is anypony in there?”
The same shuffling sound from before rang out, and after a minute the bemustached pony sighed, reached into his blue jacket for a key, and unlocked the door.
The lights were out, and through the inky blackness of the darkened car they could see something moving. With an air of trepidation, the two of them held their breath as the conductor’s hoof edged towards the doorframe, then the lightswitch. Click.
The lights shot on, temporarily blinding the two newcomers. After it passed, the car’s occupant, a white unicorn, sat glaring at them angrily. “Yes, what?” He asked quickly, his cheeks a dark shade of red.
The conductor reeled back for a second but quickly collected himself in a bow. “Your majesty, this fine stallion,” he gestured towards Mac, who meekly waved a hoof, “Is in need of accommodation.”
“I’m sorry, but clearly this compartment is taken. Have a fine trip.” The unicorn began to close the door.
The conductor shot his hoof out to hold it. “Eh, well you see, there’s a bit of a problem. See, this is a bit awkward. Apparently there was a miscommunication involving a VIP or something, and now there’s not enough room on the train for all the passengers. Funny how these things happen, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his eyes down.
“I’m sorry, did the meaning of the word ‘reservation’ change while I was napping?”
“No, sir, the conductor chuckled, “But company policy states that when a train reaches capacity, reserved compartments are to be filled starting from the front of-”
“Yes, yes, I understand, but I can’t spend my trip with some commoner!”
“Unfortunately, this is the only compartment with any vacancy. I’m afraid you’ll need to share.”
“Unacceptable!”
“Well, you could always spend the trip in the baggage car.”
“Yes, fine, be off now.”
“I meant you.”
The unicorn blanched a little. “Urg, fine,” he grumbled, “But you leave me alone, understand?”
“Eeyup.”
Mac stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him. It was a fairly large compartment, a good five feet between the two velvet cushioned benches. Above Blueblood’s head was what was surely an astoundingly expensive painting of some unidentifiable shapes.
With a jerk, the train began to move, sending Mac sprawling across Blueblood’s lap. He was promptly shoved off, thudding to the floor. He quickly got up and sat on the bench across from the unicorn. For while, they avoided each other’s eyes, choosing instead to look out the window, at their hooves, really anything but each other.
If this continued indefinitely, it wouldn’t be much of a love story.
“Pass me that trunk, would you?” he asked, pointing to a bright pink steamer trunk beneath Mac’s bench. Mac reached down, scrabbling for the handle, and finally got ahold of it. Pulling it out, he could see the words ‘To my one true love’ scratched crudely across the top.
“Never figured him the romantic type.”
“What was that?”
“Jus’ noticin’ yer trunk, is all. None o’ my business.”
“I’m curious.”
“Ah said, Ah never figured you the romantic type.”
With a click, the latch opened and the top lifted, revealing a messy collection of clothing and knick-knacks. Blueblood, undaunted, plunged his hoof into the untidy abyss and began shifting it around looking for something.
“Whyever would you think that?” He asked with his hoof deep inside the messy trunk.
“Well, my sister’s friend Rarity met you at the Grand Galloping Gala. She called you a boor.”
Blueblood paused and looked up, flabbergasted. “A boor?! Me, a boor?! But why?”
“Somethin’ ‘bout cake and a flower.”
He rummaged around some more. “Oh. That mare.”
“If’n ya don’t mind my askin’, what was that all about, anyway?”
"I deal with dozens of gold diggers like her every year. She didn't want Blueblood, she wanted a prince. Just any would do, really. I'm rather sick of it all, and no," he cut Mac off before he could speak, "Her status as a national hero does not warrant her any special treatment."
“So ya jus’ took it out on some mare you didn’t know?”
“Again, gold digging bitch.”
“She ain't that bad once ya get t' know her.”
“I'll have to take your word for it. Now what's the- Yowch!”
Following a very masculine yelp, Blueblood's hoof shot out of the trunk's unexplored depths. In its grasp sat an unknown object, possibly an item from a popular video game of your choice. Of course, there's really no way for a pony to know what it was, and so Blueblood tossed it unceremoniously in a corner.
"I'll have to apologize, then." He said, and returned to work.
A few minutes of digging later, and Mac was bored again. “So what’s the reason a fancy Canterlot-type like yerself is goin’ to a back o’ beyond town like Nagdad?”
“I’m afraid it’s top secret. Technically I’m not even on this train.”
“You certainly ain’t bein’ too secret ‘bout yer trip itself.”
“Well, I, uh, that is...”
“Yer goin’ to the orange festival, ain’t you?”
“Orange festival? I am a prince! My words move mountains and shape history! Whatever makes you think I’d ever go to such a pedestrian event?”
Mac gestured to Blueblood’s open suitcase. On the top sat a white T-shirt emblazoned with the words Orangefest ‘13, the o replaced with a cartoon orange.
Blueblood visibly deflated. “... I knew I shouldn’t put that on top.”
The earth pony stepped over and playfully nudged him.
“Hey, liking oranges ain’t nothin to be ashamed of. Mah cousin happens to be an Orange.”
“You’re related to a fruit?” Blueblood deadpanned.
“He may not be th’ brightest bulb in th’ box, but that’s goin a bit too far.”
The unicorn shrunk back a little. “I’m terribly sorry, you see, what I meant was-”
Mac held up a hoof to silence him. “Nah, Ah know what ya meant.”
After several more seconds of searching, Blueblood finally found what he was looking for. Out of his bag floated a large blue book. It was just the wrong size, too small to sit flat and too big to hold comfortably with hooves. Luckily for the unicorn, he was a unicorn.
He easily opened it to the middle and began reading. Mac just sat quietly, contemplating the poor choice of not bringing any reading material. Instead, he studied Blueblood. His face was hidden behind the book, but two important things stood out.
One, the book was less blue and more a light purple. Two, the book had no title on the spine or covers. Three, he wasn’t reading the book.
Mac could see the edge of another book peaking over the bottom of the one Blueblood was pretending to read. Why a royal stallion such as him would feel the need to conceal his reading material he didn’t know, but most guesses involved either wild Garofalos or that tabloid that claimed the Great and Powerful Trixie was dying and Princess Twilight was pregnant.
It was in the pursuit of this knowledge he asked his next question.
“Whatcha readin’?”
“Validus Opus.”
“Which one?”
Blueblood’s face flushed a bit and hesitated before replying. “Ferrum Fuga?”
The red stallion shrugged. “Ah read that one once. It was alright.”
“You? You read this?”
“Eeyup,” he replied, “That Validus, always gettin’ into trouble.”
“Oh, er, yes, always getting into trouble.”
“Y’know, Ah’m pretty sure they print that one in Equestrian, too.”
“I’m quite sure they do not!”
“It’s called Daring Do.”
“Pffwhat?!” Blueblood sputtered, “This isn’t some foal’s picture book! This is a work of classic Roaman literature!”
“Yer majesty, that’s a latin version of the new Daring Do book.”
“I think I would know if I was reading Daring Do!”
In his shock, the unicorn’s horn sputtered out, sending the book to the floor. As it fell, a small magazine slipped out from between its pages, the cover featuring a pith helmet-wearing pegasus riding a motorcycle in front of the unmistakable symbol of the Germane Neighzi Party. A comic book.
Mac’s eyebrows raised at this development.
“Uh, this, eh, it’s--”
Mac held up a hoof. “Ah won’t tell a soul.”
“Ah, well, perhaps I misjudged you slightly. Prince Blueblood.” He offered a hoof, which the earth pony gripped firmly and shook.
“Big Macintosh.”
“So, Big Macintosh, how familiar are you with Daring Do?”
They talked about a lot of things, most of which are unimportant. The unicorn explained every nuance of the Daring Do, the history of the franchise and his own presence at the conception of the character. Mac only had a passing interest in Daring Do, but this one time, he felt he could listen. Occasionally interjecting with questions and remarks, he was content to remain silent and just listen to the velvety tones of the unicorn.
Suddenly, their rather one-sided conversation was interrupted by a chime. “The time is now 8:30 PM. The dining car closes in thirty minutes. Thank you for riding the Great Equestrian Railway.”
“Oh my, is it that late already?” Blueblood said, “Why, we’ve been talking for a good hour, at least! Come, let’s go get some dinner before they shut it down.”
“I am Mephistopheles. Great are the works of your Lord, But greater still are those of mine. For this world is wicked. It is cruel and vain, giving no alms to the weak or lame. Does your Lord, Creator of All, allow such things to be? Yes! But mine shall destroy this imperfect creation For he is Lucifer, bringer of light. All apples are his seed And all Apples shall bear his-”
“Git outta here! Ain’t nopony touchin’ mah lil’ sister! Git!”
Applejack kicked the demonic creature in the face, sending it crumpling to the floor.
The assembled ponies stared wide-eyed at the unconscious monster, which quickly burst into flames and disintegrated. Granny Smith turned her head to Blueblood and spoke.
The walk to the dining car was... Uninteresting, to say the least. It was a walk. They moved one step at a time, down the hallway, into the next car, then the next, and through there to the dining car. This description is already boring you, isn’t it? Well it should! It was a boring walk!
Anyway, they’re in the dining car now.
Comfortable straight-backed booths in red vinyl lined both sides of the carriage, and at the back was the silver serving counter of the galley. It was surprisingly empty for such a full train, with only an earth pony couple sitting near the door and a bored-looking waiter leaning against the far wall. Upon noticing the newly arrived... Well, I wouldn’t say couple, maybe duo, he lurched to his hooves and grabbed two menus before approaching them.
“Y’guys can sit right there,” he said, nodding towards the booth next to them. They complied, and a moment later were staring at their menus.
A cornucopia of choices, what would be correct? Blueblood gazed over the listing and started to sweat. What if he ordered something light, and Mac ordered something big? Some working ponies ate meat for extra protein, high society would never allow one of their own members to be associated with a meat-eater! Luckily for the poor stallion, he found the choice made for him by his compatriot.
“Ah’ll have an apple pie, then.”
One can’t expect such a high class unicorn to know what an apple pie is, but his growing connection to this simple stallion was cause enough for Blueblood to go out on a limb. “Same.”
The waiter looked at them strangely, then trotted down the aisle to the kitchen, leaving the two sitting awkwardly. Mac wasn’t speaking, and Blueblood’s eyes shot all over in search of something, anything, to serve as a distraction from the hardworking, strong, muscular, virile- ‘Ah. There we go.’
Next to him on the seat was a folded newspaper. Picking it up, he beheld a copy of the Equestrian Enquirer, a bastion of journalistic integrity and credibility. Sure, they might’ve hacked somepony’s message crystal, or beaten up a few dozen immigrants, but it was all surely in the best interests of Equestria, and since when has that stopped anypony from committing morally-dubious deeds?
The newspaper offered little of interest. Apparently there was a giant chicken attack in the Crystal Empire, some hairless monkeys appeared in Ponyville, a couple sentient robots were put down in Manehattan, all quite ordinary. ‘If only something interesting would happen, like a train crash or a murder or something...’
His pondering was cut short by the arrival of the waiter with their meals. “Here’s your orders.”
Blueblood looked up. His eye twitched. He slowly recoiled from the plate and the ‘culinary masterpiece’ that sat upon it. It was hardly what one would term haute cuisine (*), sat wafting steam into the air. He held his breath to keep the scent out of his nose.
He couldn’t just leave, heads would start turning, he was beginning to make a scene! Glancing side to side, there was the waiter with a covered cart, if he could reach it before Mac noticed--
“Uh... Yer highness? What’re you doing?”
Found out. Blueblood slowly inhaled as he slouched back forward. “I’m, uh, stretching?”
Mac didn’t notice the uncertainty in his voice, or at least decided not to point it out. Blueblood looked down at his plate. Upon it sat the single most despicable ‘food’ in the civilized world. It was mushy. It was brown. It was an apple pie. Dark and steaming, a hole in the centre revealing what was assuredly a pile of slippery, mushy, brown sugar-coated apple slices.
Mac stopped chewing. “Y’all ain’t eating.” He pointed out.
This was it, no alternatives. Blueblood inhaled, exhaled, and lifted a slice up with his magic. Inside, one could see the spotted brown apples, the slime holding it all together between two flat and mushy crusts.
For Equestria! He thought, disregarding the question of whether his eating an apple pie was truly of national importance. The slice slowly moved towards his face, the scent filling his nostrils. Mac was staring at him, he must be, of course he is! I’m a prince and I’m eating carnival fare and he’ll tell the tabloids and my reputation will be ruined and--
--he took a small bite. It was warm and moist, two things Blueblood absolutely hated in food. Chew. It wasn’t... Terrible, at least. Not poison. Just... Apples. A couple seconds of that, eyes away from his dining partner, and swallow.
Mac broke the silence. “See, not so bad.”
“Whatever makes you think I was at all reluctant to eat that?” Blueblood huffed indignantly.
“Nothin’.” He said, stifling a chuckle.
“Hmf.”
A short while later, the two found their plates empty (Come up with better wording for this.). The conversation over dinner was more-or-less nonexistent, and the quiet at this point was... Painfully awkward.
Mac broke the silence, “Ah’m on a trip to visit mah cousin Jaffa. Real friendly, you should meet him!”
“I’m afraid I might not have time, you see,” he leaned in closer, “I’m not actually here for the Orange Festival at all.”
“What, then?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Hardy harr, Ah guess.”
“No, I’m serious, if I told you what I’m going to Saddle Arabia for, I’d have to magically stop up your veins, killing you within minutes.”
“That’s... Kinda dark.” Mac said with a bit of trepidation.
The unicorn clapped his hooves together. “I know! That’s what makes it so funny!”
“Wait, so that was a joke?”
Blueblood’s eyes were bright with humor. “It depends! Would you like me to?”
“No, not really.”
“Then I won’t!”
And again, silence. Horrible, awkward silence.
Many things could’ve happened at this point. An alien robo-pirate attack is just one of them. Unfortunately, what happened was a lot more (or, quite possibly, less) realistic.
The stallions looked at each other across the table, the rest of the world dimming around them, a certain glimmer shining in their eyes. Closer, closer they leaned, their lips just brushing--
It’s right around this point the train went over the cliff.
(*) Due to a recent lawsuit by Mr. Legal Limbo, Esq, on behalf of ponies whose names are also common phrases, we are required to mention that the intention of this story is not, nor shall it be, to mock Mr. Haute Cuisine, nor to draw negative attention to himself, his family, or business. See also: Donkey Show, MD, v. Donkey Show Adult Entertainment Inc.
“Hey Applejack.” The smaller, yellow earth pony who may or may not be called Applebloom asked her much larger (not fat, just a bit more weight to put into her kicks, or as the family would call them, bucks, leading to the obvious ‘more to love’ joke) older sister.
“Yeah?”
“What’s funnier than Dick van Dyke?”
“Ah don’t rightly know.”
“Adolf Hoofler.”
“Who wants dessert?” Called a crackly old voice from the kitchen.
White unicorn. Nrocinu etihw. White unicorn. Nrocinu etihw.
Where o where didst thou lose your horn? Surely in thy wanderings thou hast discovered an alternative. For thou art an explorer, a searcher who shall uncover the secrets of this and all other worlds.
White unicorn.
White unicorn. Sadness. Depression.
Sitting in a darkened room, staring at a photograph of happier times.
White unicorn, red pony.
Atop ferris wheel. Fireworks in background. Judging by angle, picture taken by pegasus.
As Blueblood came to, he realized two things. The first, he wasn’t on the train anymore. Second, there was a camel in a turban standing over him.
“Wh-what? What’s going on?!” He shouted, bracing his hooves to jump up.
The camel grabbed the unicorn by the shoulders, forcing him back onto a colourful blanket that would probably be worth a small fortune in Equestria.
“Calm! Train flip. Accident. Many ponies hurt. We help.” He spoke, gently lowering him back down. Unfortunately, this peace didn’t last for long.
“Mac! Where’s Big Mac!” Blueblood cried as he attempted to shoot up again.
“Big Mac?” the camel turned turned to his companions and repeated the name. As they conversed in what seemed to be some ancient desert language, but in reality was probably just some ponified variation of Farsi, the shaken unicorn looked around. He was sitting on one of many blankets spread out across the rocky ground. Creatures of all sorts milled about, a pony sleeping over here, a griffon with a broken wing over there, and a small diamond dog was munching contentedly on a chunk of basaltic stone.
Off to the right and down a slope sat the train. Once proud and strong, it now lay sideways like the ancient corpse of some great serpent. The steel body shone like silver in the moonlight. A poet might describe it as punishment for hubris, and while that may be a valid explanation, the more likely cause of the crash was the hundred foot cliff just the train that it had plummeted off.
Straining to look up, Blueblood could see the twisted remnants of rail along the edge. ‘How could this have happened?’
He was torn from his pondering by the sound laughter from his host and his fellow camels.
The first one turned back to him, “So, who is Big Mac?”
Of course they wouldn’t know the name. “Er... He’s an earth pony, a sort of deep red, his cutie mark is a green apple with some sparkles around it.”
The camel put a hoof to his chin, deep in thought, before his eyes widened slightly and nodded his head.
This got Blueblood excited, naturally. “Yes! Yes he is! Where is he?”
“He is over there,” The camel gestured to a tent off in the distance ,“ but I must warn you-”
Without waiting for the bull to finish, the unicorn shot off towards the tent.
Through the door flap, across the floor and straight into the side of yet another camel.
“Oof!” he grunted as he fell to the ground.
The camel was the first one to recover. “Effendi, are you alright?” He asked, gripping the pony’s hoof with his own.
“Yes, thank you,” was Blueblood’s reply, “I’m looking for an earth pony by the name of Big Macintosh? Red, green apple cutie mark?”
The camel looked solemnly at Blueblood, then pointed over to a bed in the corner. His eyes followed the tribesbull’s hoof.
The red stallion was on his side, unmoving save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. A few dark splotches marked where shards of glass had been removed from his body. In an instant, Blueblood was next to him.
A camel placed a calloused hoof on his shoulder. “We tried everything, effendi. I think he won’t be waking up.”
Blueblood stared hard at the prone pony. He looked peaceful, breath slow and shallow, a small cut below one eye crusted over with blood that almost blended with his coat. If these were to be their last moments together, and the feelings that had blossomed on the train be put to rest, then there was only one thing to do. Blueblood’s head lowered towards his sleeping... Well, more than friend, surely. Lover sounded about right. Blueblood’s head lowered towards his sleeping lover.
Lips locked, and Macintosh’s eyes opened. It was painfully cliche, like Sleeping Beauty but gayer and with ponies, but that’s what happened. And it was wonderful.
The hospital room was white, sterile, and like every other hospital Blueblood had ever been in. On one side, a white door that lead into the hallway and a hundred other rooms exactly like it. On the other, a window opened to a view of one of Nagdad’s wide avenues. Our horned hero sat in a decidedly uncomfortable chair across from his frie- ‘No,’ he reminded himself, ‘coltfriend, like we agreed.’.
Indeed they had, during the long (and believe me, boring) ride across the desert to the distant city, there had been a lot of talking. Due to a lack of evidence to the contrary, the two stallions had decided that they were in love. They also discovered a mutual hatred of falafels, but that’s beside the point.
Big Macintosh was sitting upright, a bit of a smile on his face as he looked at his special somepony. To think, a poor farmer like him getting swept away by a handsome prince like that, the stuff of fairy tales! It was almost impossible to imagine it happening in real li--
Suddenly, the door flew open and slammed against the wall. Standing panting in the doorway was a maroon-colored stallion with black hair. He seemed absolutely insane, like one of those crazy ponies Blueblood has read about in the newspaper.
Mac’s voice, much cheerier, rang out. “Jaffa!”
The crazy pony practically flew in, grabbed Mac by the cheeks and pulled their faces close. “Hello cousin Macintosh!” With that, he kissed him full on the lips. After a full minute of mouth-to-mouth, he pulled back with a gasp. “And who is this?” He asked, turning his wide eyes to Blueblood.
“That’s mah... Uh... Friend, Blueblood.”
Blueblood was thoroughly terrified by this, and bravely leapt behind the chair, tail tucked regally between his legs. This didn’t deter the maroon maniac, however.
“Yes! You are his friend! And any friend of my cousin is a friend of mine!” Now, Blueblood was the one being kissed. Odd, he thought, this may be the only time I’ve ever objected a kiss.
As he prepared to shove the lunatic off, his person was suddenly vacated, and the madcolt was again at Mac’s bedside.
“I heard about the accident! Are you alright, cousin?”
“Ah am, thanks to Blue over there.” He gestured back at the chair, the tip of a white horn just visible over the back of it.
With that he was back in Blueblood’s face. “You saved my favorite cousin?!”
“Um, if I answer yes, will you go away and never come back?”
“No!” Wrapping his arms around Blueblood, he squeezed so tight he was sure his eyes would pop out.
“Urk! Can’t-mff-breathe!” He shouted, muffled by the hairy chest of the pony Mac seemed to refer to as Jaffa. Well, most ponies’ chests were hairy, but this one especially. And again, the insanity had left him and returned to the other stallion’s bedside.
“You are missing festival, cousin!” He shouted, standing over the farmpony, “Does this not upset you?”
Mac gestured indifferently. “S’alright, Jaffa. Ah can watch it from the window. Y’all outta get back to the parade.”
“Then I bring festival to you! One moment!”
Suddenly, everything was orange. That’s what Blueblood thought, at least. The truth, while more likely, was still just as confusing. Ponies seemed to flow through the room, trotting past the two main occupants, delivering either a kiss on the cheek or some sort of gift to the two, before climbing out of the room’s window. There may have been a fiddle in the background, it was hard to tell through the joviality of the whole thing.
One can only wonder why they did that, considering the window was on the second storey. It’s entirely possible there was some sort of trampoline there. Maybe a stack of pillows. If not, it was a hospital...
Just as suddenly as they appeared, the parade had ceased, and the room was entirely empty save for our intrepid heroes.
Boxes, bags, and barrels were stacked haphazardly throughout the room, a pile tottering precariously next to Blueblood’s chair. In his remaining stupor, he failed to notice as his red companion’s eyes widened, or the hoof that shot up, or especially the words “Look out!” that billowed from his lips just as the tower came crashing down on his head.
The table had long been cleared, the dishes washed, and if anypony looked at the clock they’d find it was over an hour past Applebloom’s bedtime.
Applejack was the first to speak. “Well, that’s... Really somethin’.”
“Yep,” croaked Granny Smith, who had miraculously managed to stay awake, lending credence to the theory that she actually only pretended to nap so she could mess with ponies.
“Ah’ve got a question!” Applebloom said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“If’n yer both queer, how come y’all ain’t chewin’ th’ rug?”
Everypony’s eyes widened, and all of them opened their mouths to speak at once. It was hard to understand four questions at once, but they were all variations on a theme of “What?”
“Sweetie Belle said her sister’s queer fer Twalaht Sparkle, an’ she walked in on them chewin’ the carpet together!”
Granny Smith raised a withered hoof, and cuffed the small pony soundly on the head.
