Keep Pretending, Two of Threeby Impossible NumbersChaptersIllusion ConfusionCrepusculaGrand Dreams, WordsmithIllusion ConfusionTrixie had pulled off the Hoofdini Half-Life, the single most devious escapology trick in history. Yet no lessons about chains, ropes, sacks, chests, tanks full of water full of sharks full of bloodlust, and whirring knife things that’d kill anyone without the brains of an escapologist, had prepared her for a simple chat with a loony. “Trixie, that was amazing!” said the mare, voice echoing in the caravan she’d broken into. “Your magic is the greatest in all Equestria!” Trixie had already tried “I think I see a friend over there”. She’d hazarded a “Sorry can’t stay stage-hooves need my help”. She’d even thrown out the classic “I’ve got a boyfriend waiting”, which was about as barefaced a lie as she could utter without her hat catching fire. “Look,” she said for the umpteenth time, “I know what it says on the poster. That is advertising.” “But you really did make the elephant vanish!” “Well, yes…” “And you really did make metal hoops turn into sticks!” “A mere magician’s warmup act.” “Then you dived into that glass of water, and I drank it, and you were gone, and then I spat it up, and you jumped out of it and landed next to me! Cos you really did it, didn’t you?” Professional pride prodded Trixie’s lips into a smirk. “One is capable of such fantastical feats.” “Then that proves it: You’re a princess!” Once more, Trixie groaned for the oncoming battle. This sometimes happened in her career. She used to encourage it. Nothing quite upheld the mystical mystery like pretending she was a long-lost royal. But she was supposed to be past all that, reformed, redeemed, et cetera. So alas, this nonsense had to stop. “I told you,” she said, “it was showmareship.” “If it’s showmareship, then tell me how it’s done.” “A magician never reveals her secrets to anyone else!” “Then it’s magic. Q.E.D.” “That doesn’t make any sense!” “How could it be done with trickery, then? It has to be magic! You’re just saying that to stop unbelievers figuring it out. But I’m a believer. You can trust me.” Trixie wiped her face down. What really got to her was that she couldn’t say magic didn’t exist. It’d be so easy if she could say that and stop the debate right now. But everyone knew it existed. Twilight proved it existed, in vast quantities. “It’s obvious! You’re a princess! But in hiding! We’ve seen right through it!” said the mare. She held out a booklet. “Our society would love to welcome you! We meet every Wednesday at the Dancing Dog. It’d be the greatest thing ever!” Grimly, Trixie stared down at the booklet. “The Followers of the One True Princess?” Trixie swallowed. “Yeah! We deciphered the decorations in your posters. See how the confetti makes the symbol of the sun in this corner? And that confetti makes the symbol of deception in the ancient pegasus language?” “Have you ever heard of pareidolia?” said Trixie, who’d picked the term up from Twilight once. Now the mare trembled with excitement. “Princess Trixie… may I… have your cape?” “What!?” “Your cape! So we can worship it on Wednesdays.” Trixie threw it as though it were a steak for rabid dogs. To her horror, the mare kissed it and then bent down and kissed Trixie’s hoof. Even worse, the mare leaned forwards and whispered, “Don’t worry, Princess! We’re organizing a plan to overthrow the pretenders on the Canterlot thrones. As soon as we’ve got enough members, you’ll have your rightful place.” “Has it occurred to you,” said Trixie, wiping the sweat off her brow, “that I could do that myself?” “Oh, we wouldn’t want you wasting your time doing lowly magic like that. You’ve got higher concerns to worry about.” Despite knowing that this mare had paid to see her perform stage tricks instead of the lowly magic of overthrowing monarchs, Trixie nevertheless said, “Such as?” “Secretly running world politics! And economy! And the universe!” Trixie looked around desperately. “Is there a window in here?” “Just there.” “I… thank you for your diligence, faithful soul. And now I’d like to reward you with a fiendishly impossible vanishing act.” “Well… Okay, but the window’s not open –” Trixie crashed through it. Cursing and full of glass bits, she galloped beyond this town’s borders. “I knew I’d been here before,” she muttered in-between panting. “Stupid old posters! Now I’ll need a new caravan. I can’t come back here. Thanks for nothing, past me!” CrepusculaYoung Twilight liked pretending. With her magical surges, though, “pretend” was a relative term. None of the other fillies wanted to play with her. Instead, they hid in doorways, toilets, classrooms: the playground was Twilight’s alone. Because when she played doctor, fillies were struck down with everything from Pony Pox to the Trots. When she played cops-and-robbers, the groundskeeper discovered a dungeon and crying foals trapped in chains. When she played Tag, no one wanted to be “It”. Foals would rather hide for hours than let Twilight make them “It”. “Sorry! Sorry!” said Twilight, to her classmates and tutors and headmasters and, when they were summoned, parents. She went from one establishment to another; however well she started off, sooner or later there’d be the first scream. This was in Magic Kindergarten. One bedtime, Twilight Velvet listened at the door, waiting for sobs to die away. Her daughter was best not disturbed while emotional. Carefully she knocked, then entered slowly so not to startle Twilight. “I brought Smarty-Pants.” Velvet tucked the doll in next to Twilight. “You haven’t tidied your room?” Twilight’s face was blank. “Tidying rooms is boring.” “We have to take care of our home.” “Home is boring.” “Is everything all right?” Twilight squeezed Smarty-Pants. “Got my friend. Don’t need anyone else. Don’t need anyone else…” Velvet bit her lip; she recognized the signs. “You know who’d make an amazing friend?” “Who?” “Princess Celestia.” Little ears rose at once. “Oh yes,” said Velvet happily. “She’s very powerful, and very special. Just like you. And she goes on adventures and meets all kinds of weird, wonderful friends.” “I’m like Princess Celestia?” “Oh yes. You like going out the house, exploring places. Scares me silly sometimes, but still. And I bet you could have lots of friends someday.” Very, very little now, the voice said, “I could have friends?” “As many as you wanted.” “Really?” “Really. You’re my little hero-to-be.” Velvet kissed her; Twilight’s eyes were already drooping, a slit shining with dreams. On her way out, Velvet heard: “Thank you, Mommy.” Her smile trembled under the first dribble of tears. The incident occurred the next day. Velvet hummed one of her old mother’s favourite tunes while carrying groceries back home. When she returned, her husband spoke fast, gestured wildly, pointed upstairs. Velvet listened. Her smile died. Her groceries hit the floor. She was lightning up those stairs. Already she heard the happy voice before she burst into Twilight’s room. Twilight smiled and waved from a table. She was back from Magic Kindergarten for lunch, an unusual circumstance in itself. Having a tea party. Five of her classmates. Dribbling. Eyes glowing green. Legs moving like puppets. Twilight’s horn. Aglow. Casting magic. She had all kinds of weird and wonderful friends now. As many as she wanted. The living room. At one end: Twilight, hiding behind a book. At the other: Velvet, watching her daughter. “They weren’t weird and wonderful,” said Twilight coldly. “I don’t need un-special friends. I can look after myself. Like Princess Celestia.” “That’s enough,” said Velvet. She was shaking. Velvet should have been overwhelmed with motherly concern. But she felt cold fear. What was this creature, taking her daughter’s place? Some enfant terrible who turned ponies into zombies? Should something like that ever be allowed…? Then she shook herself down. No! Somewhere in there was her Twilight. She moved forwards… Glowing eyes glared up. “I’m reading!” Coldness seized Velvet, froze her mid-step. Sheer terror escaped her motherly self-control. Her face contorted. She screamed. Glowing eyes dimmed. Twilight’s own quivered. Then came her long, low whine, the beginnings of a shocked sob. Velvet leaped, seizing Twilight tightly. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, to herself and to her crying daughter. “Nothing happened.” “I’M SORRY!” The voice was muffled by Velvet’s chest. “I didn’t MEAN to!” “I know you didn’t.” “I don’t WANT to be special! I HATE it!” “You haven’t learned how to control it yet. These things take time. You like tidying your room? A nice, everyday thing?” “I… like… being tidy…” “Yes. Lots of ponies do. You can make friends for very boring, everyday things.” Gently, she tilted the tear-stained face up and smiled. “One of the most boring, everyday things is that everyone deep down, no matter how special, is still a pony. Okay?” Eventually… “Okay.” Velvet delayed releasing her daughter for as long as she could. Inevitably, though, she had to. When she did, she saw Twilight. Behind a book. Alone. Grand Dreams, WordsmithDear Pa, I have just arrived in backwater Ponyville. Doesn’t show up on the map, so it’s perfect! An up-and-coming town for an up-and-coming stallion. Trust me, I’m going to make miracles here. Locals are pretty neighbourly. Already made friends at the bakery. Grand Pear. Dear Pa, The bakers here sent me to some apple farm! Alas, the bigwigs own the land “by royal appointment”. Big for their britches here, but that’s why I damn well love it! The old pear charm’ll wrangle us a farm. Grand Pear. Dear Pa, Life Lesson Number One: Just because the main farmhoof is a mare, don’t expect her to be instantly charmed. The Apple family daughter runs things. She’s got a tongue like a whip! Grand Pear. Dear Grand Pear, I know your “wrangling”. Tried asking nicely, idiot? Papa Pear. Dear Pa, Yes. It worked. Where’s the fun in that? Grand Pear. Dear Mister Pear, This here’s the map laying out your new pear farm. I got you a spot in the marketplace. Miss Smith. Dear Miss Smith, Thank you for all your help, from the bottom of my heart. To show my appreciation, may I invite you to dinner tonight? Grand Pear. Dear Mister Pear, Don’t you come on to me! Ma warned me about Pears like you. This is strictly business. Miss Smith. Dear Miss Smith, I apologize. You see, my old town Vanhoover was so stuffy and hectic. It’s incredible to come to such a peaceful place and meet such relaxed friends. Would you consider dinner tonight? As friends? Mister Pear. Dear Mister Pear, Well, alright. It wouldn’t be neighbourly otherwise. Miss Smith. Dear Grand Pear, You wanna meet up again tonight? Tell me more crazy stories! That last one still makes me laugh. Miss Smith. Damn delighted to. Mister Pear. Again tonight? You’re a rare find. We could play that horseshoe-tossing game again. Granny Smith. Dear Granny, Roll this way, Apple-Of-My-Eye! Grandy. Dear Grandy, Again tonight? Granny. Dear Granny, Whoa, slow down. I’m losing my sleep. All right. Grandy. Dear Granny, I’m concerned. How come you didn’t show up last night? Grandy. Dear Grandy, Ma and Pa stopped me. Pears are best kept at a distance, apparently. Forget their rules. I’m slipping out. Granny. Dear Granny, It’s nonsense. Look at us. We’re thick as thieves, stealing away with all the charm. Still, it might be worth pretending we distrust each other. Keep up appearances. Can’t wait for tonight, my dear “Crabapple”! Grandy. “Prickly Pear”, Charred Oak sent you this. I trust him. I hate pretending we hate each other. Take me to Las Pegasus like you promised! This farm-work is killing me. Granny. “Crabapple”, Use your secret name! Yes, what my kin say about you is beyond shocking. Be strong! We need money first, which means farming. At the moment, Las Pegasus is somewhat above my pay, but I'll damn well try harder. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Balderdash. You said your Pa was rolling in it. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, Forgive a stallion a lot of things said in his passionate throes, my sweet. We will go places in time. I would promise you the moon. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, When? I ain't got time for daydreamers making promises their legs can't keep, you know. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, When I damn well please, my dear. Life is long, the pleasure limitless. Trust me. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Don’t you swear at me. I asked a civil question. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, What is this? You used to love my swearing, not so long ago, my romantic penpal. You said it was “liberating”. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Common courtesy ain’t a burden. Your pears don’t sell as well as our apples, so when is this mythical Las Pegasus trip? “Crabapple” “Prickly Pear”, Also, you talked to Cinnamon Swirl in the square today! Leave her alone. She’s my friend. I don't want you using your tongue to wrangle other ponies, you hear? “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, I’ll talk to whoever I want. There’s enough pear charm to go around. She’s sympathetic and a dear to boot. Anyway, you talked to Charred Oak last night. I heard you downhill. Nothing wrong with being neighbourly, is there? “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, None of your business! In fact, forget this! I’m telling Ma what’s been going on between us. Maybe then it’ll serve as a warning not to get drawn in by a good-for-nothing scallywag who's as honest as the day is dark. “Crabapple” To Miss Smith, Suit yourself! I don’t want to get bogged down by a high-and-mighty workaholic who can't take a bit of ribbing. Good day to you, ma’am! Mister Pear. To Mister Pear, Glad to hear what’s rightfully on your mind. To think that used to charm me. Miss Smith. To Miss Smith, Alas, when you wear the mask of hatred too long, you inevitably become the mask. Fare thee well, Crabapple! Mister Pear.
Illusion ConfusionTrixie had pulled off the Hoofdini Half-Life, the single most devious escapology trick in history. Yet no lessons about chains, ropes, sacks, chests, tanks full of water full of sharks full of bloodlust, and whirring knife things that’d kill anyone without the brains of an escapologist, had prepared her for a simple chat with a loony. “Trixie, that was amazing!” said the mare, voice echoing in the caravan she’d broken into. “Your magic is the greatest in all Equestria!” Trixie had already tried “I think I see a friend over there”. She’d hazarded a “Sorry can’t stay stage-hooves need my help”. She’d even thrown out the classic “I’ve got a boyfriend waiting”, which was about as barefaced a lie as she could utter without her hat catching fire. “Look,” she said for the umpteenth time, “I know what it says on the poster. That is advertising.” “But you really did make the elephant vanish!” “Well, yes…” “And you really did make metal hoops turn into sticks!” “A mere magician’s warmup act.” “Then you dived into that glass of water, and I drank it, and you were gone, and then I spat it up, and you jumped out of it and landed next to me! Cos you really did it, didn’t you?” Professional pride prodded Trixie’s lips into a smirk. “One is capable of such fantastical feats.” “Then that proves it: You’re a princess!” Once more, Trixie groaned for the oncoming battle. This sometimes happened in her career. She used to encourage it. Nothing quite upheld the mystical mystery like pretending she was a long-lost royal. But she was supposed to be past all that, reformed, redeemed, et cetera. So alas, this nonsense had to stop. “I told you,” she said, “it was showmareship.” “If it’s showmareship, then tell me how it’s done.” “A magician never reveals her secrets to anyone else!” “Then it’s magic. Q.E.D.” “That doesn’t make any sense!” “How could it be done with trickery, then? It has to be magic! You’re just saying that to stop unbelievers figuring it out. But I’m a believer. You can trust me.” Trixie wiped her face down. What really got to her was that she couldn’t say magic didn’t exist. It’d be so easy if she could say that and stop the debate right now. But everyone knew it existed. Twilight proved it existed, in vast quantities. “It’s obvious! You’re a princess! But in hiding! We’ve seen right through it!” said the mare. She held out a booklet. “Our society would love to welcome you! We meet every Wednesday at the Dancing Dog. It’d be the greatest thing ever!” Grimly, Trixie stared down at the booklet. “The Followers of the One True Princess?” Trixie swallowed. “Yeah! We deciphered the decorations in your posters. See how the confetti makes the symbol of the sun in this corner? And that confetti makes the symbol of deception in the ancient pegasus language?” “Have you ever heard of pareidolia?” said Trixie, who’d picked the term up from Twilight once. Now the mare trembled with excitement. “Princess Trixie… may I… have your cape?” “What!?” “Your cape! So we can worship it on Wednesdays.” Trixie threw it as though it were a steak for rabid dogs. To her horror, the mare kissed it and then bent down and kissed Trixie’s hoof. Even worse, the mare leaned forwards and whispered, “Don’t worry, Princess! We’re organizing a plan to overthrow the pretenders on the Canterlot thrones. As soon as we’ve got enough members, you’ll have your rightful place.” “Has it occurred to you,” said Trixie, wiping the sweat off her brow, “that I could do that myself?” “Oh, we wouldn’t want you wasting your time doing lowly magic like that. You’ve got higher concerns to worry about.” Despite knowing that this mare had paid to see her perform stage tricks instead of the lowly magic of overthrowing monarchs, Trixie nevertheless said, “Such as?” “Secretly running world politics! And economy! And the universe!” Trixie looked around desperately. “Is there a window in here?” “Just there.” “I… thank you for your diligence, faithful soul. And now I’d like to reward you with a fiendishly impossible vanishing act.” “Well… Okay, but the window’s not open –” Trixie crashed through it. Cursing and full of glass bits, she galloped beyond this town’s borders. “I knew I’d been here before,” she muttered in-between panting. “Stupid old posters! Now I’ll need a new caravan. I can’t come back here. Thanks for nothing, past me!”
CrepusculaYoung Twilight liked pretending. With her magical surges, though, “pretend” was a relative term. None of the other fillies wanted to play with her. Instead, they hid in doorways, toilets, classrooms: the playground was Twilight’s alone. Because when she played doctor, fillies were struck down with everything from Pony Pox to the Trots. When she played cops-and-robbers, the groundskeeper discovered a dungeon and crying foals trapped in chains. When she played Tag, no one wanted to be “It”. Foals would rather hide for hours than let Twilight make them “It”. “Sorry! Sorry!” said Twilight, to her classmates and tutors and headmasters and, when they were summoned, parents. She went from one establishment to another; however well she started off, sooner or later there’d be the first scream. This was in Magic Kindergarten. One bedtime, Twilight Velvet listened at the door, waiting for sobs to die away. Her daughter was best not disturbed while emotional. Carefully she knocked, then entered slowly so not to startle Twilight. “I brought Smarty-Pants.” Velvet tucked the doll in next to Twilight. “You haven’t tidied your room?” Twilight’s face was blank. “Tidying rooms is boring.” “We have to take care of our home.” “Home is boring.” “Is everything all right?” Twilight squeezed Smarty-Pants. “Got my friend. Don’t need anyone else. Don’t need anyone else…” Velvet bit her lip; she recognized the signs. “You know who’d make an amazing friend?” “Who?” “Princess Celestia.” Little ears rose at once. “Oh yes,” said Velvet happily. “She’s very powerful, and very special. Just like you. And she goes on adventures and meets all kinds of weird, wonderful friends.” “I’m like Princess Celestia?” “Oh yes. You like going out the house, exploring places. Scares me silly sometimes, but still. And I bet you could have lots of friends someday.” Very, very little now, the voice said, “I could have friends?” “As many as you wanted.” “Really?” “Really. You’re my little hero-to-be.” Velvet kissed her; Twilight’s eyes were already drooping, a slit shining with dreams. On her way out, Velvet heard: “Thank you, Mommy.” Her smile trembled under the first dribble of tears. The incident occurred the next day. Velvet hummed one of her old mother’s favourite tunes while carrying groceries back home. When she returned, her husband spoke fast, gestured wildly, pointed upstairs. Velvet listened. Her smile died. Her groceries hit the floor. She was lightning up those stairs. Already she heard the happy voice before she burst into Twilight’s room. Twilight smiled and waved from a table. She was back from Magic Kindergarten for lunch, an unusual circumstance in itself. Having a tea party. Five of her classmates. Dribbling. Eyes glowing green. Legs moving like puppets. Twilight’s horn. Aglow. Casting magic. She had all kinds of weird and wonderful friends now. As many as she wanted. The living room. At one end: Twilight, hiding behind a book. At the other: Velvet, watching her daughter. “They weren’t weird and wonderful,” said Twilight coldly. “I don’t need un-special friends. I can look after myself. Like Princess Celestia.” “That’s enough,” said Velvet. She was shaking. Velvet should have been overwhelmed with motherly concern. But she felt cold fear. What was this creature, taking her daughter’s place? Some enfant terrible who turned ponies into zombies? Should something like that ever be allowed…? Then she shook herself down. No! Somewhere in there was her Twilight. She moved forwards… Glowing eyes glared up. “I’m reading!” Coldness seized Velvet, froze her mid-step. Sheer terror escaped her motherly self-control. Her face contorted. She screamed. Glowing eyes dimmed. Twilight’s own quivered. Then came her long, low whine, the beginnings of a shocked sob. Velvet leaped, seizing Twilight tightly. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, to herself and to her crying daughter. “Nothing happened.” “I’M SORRY!” The voice was muffled by Velvet’s chest. “I didn’t MEAN to!” “I know you didn’t.” “I don’t WANT to be special! I HATE it!” “You haven’t learned how to control it yet. These things take time. You like tidying your room? A nice, everyday thing?” “I… like… being tidy…” “Yes. Lots of ponies do. You can make friends for very boring, everyday things.” Gently, she tilted the tear-stained face up and smiled. “One of the most boring, everyday things is that everyone deep down, no matter how special, is still a pony. Okay?” Eventually… “Okay.” Velvet delayed releasing her daughter for as long as she could. Inevitably, though, she had to. When she did, she saw Twilight. Behind a book. Alone.
Grand Dreams, WordsmithDear Pa, I have just arrived in backwater Ponyville. Doesn’t show up on the map, so it’s perfect! An up-and-coming town for an up-and-coming stallion. Trust me, I’m going to make miracles here. Locals are pretty neighbourly. Already made friends at the bakery. Grand Pear. Dear Pa, The bakers here sent me to some apple farm! Alas, the bigwigs own the land “by royal appointment”. Big for their britches here, but that’s why I damn well love it! The old pear charm’ll wrangle us a farm. Grand Pear. Dear Pa, Life Lesson Number One: Just because the main farmhoof is a mare, don’t expect her to be instantly charmed. The Apple family daughter runs things. She’s got a tongue like a whip! Grand Pear. Dear Grand Pear, I know your “wrangling”. Tried asking nicely, idiot? Papa Pear. Dear Pa, Yes. It worked. Where’s the fun in that? Grand Pear. Dear Mister Pear, This here’s the map laying out your new pear farm. I got you a spot in the marketplace. Miss Smith. Dear Miss Smith, Thank you for all your help, from the bottom of my heart. To show my appreciation, may I invite you to dinner tonight? Grand Pear. Dear Mister Pear, Don’t you come on to me! Ma warned me about Pears like you. This is strictly business. Miss Smith. Dear Miss Smith, I apologize. You see, my old town Vanhoover was so stuffy and hectic. It’s incredible to come to such a peaceful place and meet such relaxed friends. Would you consider dinner tonight? As friends? Mister Pear. Dear Mister Pear, Well, alright. It wouldn’t be neighbourly otherwise. Miss Smith. Dear Grand Pear, You wanna meet up again tonight? Tell me more crazy stories! That last one still makes me laugh. Miss Smith. Damn delighted to. Mister Pear. Again tonight? You’re a rare find. We could play that horseshoe-tossing game again. Granny Smith. Dear Granny, Roll this way, Apple-Of-My-Eye! Grandy. Dear Grandy, Again tonight? Granny. Dear Granny, Whoa, slow down. I’m losing my sleep. All right. Grandy. Dear Granny, I’m concerned. How come you didn’t show up last night? Grandy. Dear Grandy, Ma and Pa stopped me. Pears are best kept at a distance, apparently. Forget their rules. I’m slipping out. Granny. Dear Granny, It’s nonsense. Look at us. We’re thick as thieves, stealing away with all the charm. Still, it might be worth pretending we distrust each other. Keep up appearances. Can’t wait for tonight, my dear “Crabapple”! Grandy. “Prickly Pear”, Charred Oak sent you this. I trust him. I hate pretending we hate each other. Take me to Las Pegasus like you promised! This farm-work is killing me. Granny. “Crabapple”, Use your secret name! Yes, what my kin say about you is beyond shocking. Be strong! We need money first, which means farming. At the moment, Las Pegasus is somewhat above my pay, but I'll damn well try harder. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Balderdash. You said your Pa was rolling in it. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, Forgive a stallion a lot of things said in his passionate throes, my sweet. We will go places in time. I would promise you the moon. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, When? I ain't got time for daydreamers making promises their legs can't keep, you know. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, When I damn well please, my dear. Life is long, the pleasure limitless. Trust me. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Don’t you swear at me. I asked a civil question. “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, What is this? You used to love my swearing, not so long ago, my romantic penpal. You said it was “liberating”. “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, Common courtesy ain’t a burden. Your pears don’t sell as well as our apples, so when is this mythical Las Pegasus trip? “Crabapple” “Prickly Pear”, Also, you talked to Cinnamon Swirl in the square today! Leave her alone. She’s my friend. I don't want you using your tongue to wrangle other ponies, you hear? “Crabapple” “Crabapple”, I’ll talk to whoever I want. There’s enough pear charm to go around. She’s sympathetic and a dear to boot. Anyway, you talked to Charred Oak last night. I heard you downhill. Nothing wrong with being neighbourly, is there? “Prickly Pear” “Prickly Pear”, None of your business! In fact, forget this! I’m telling Ma what’s been going on between us. Maybe then it’ll serve as a warning not to get drawn in by a good-for-nothing scallywag who's as honest as the day is dark. “Crabapple” To Miss Smith, Suit yourself! I don’t want to get bogged down by a high-and-mighty workaholic who can't take a bit of ribbing. Good day to you, ma’am! Mister Pear. To Mister Pear, Glad to hear what’s rightfully on your mind. To think that used to charm me. Miss Smith. To Miss Smith, Alas, when you wear the mask of hatred too long, you inevitably become the mask. Fare thee well, Crabapple! Mister Pear.
