The Savages We Are

Reaction: Applejack

The world ain't what it used to be, that's for certain.  Life used to be simple.  Easy.  You live according to certain rules, and eventually everything works out.  You break the rules, and you get punished.  Or blessed, sometimes, depending on how you want to look at it.  I should know.

I saw Spike kiss Rarity.  I don't think there was a single pony in Ponyville who didn't see it and didn't stand there gaping like a train had just slid off the tracks.

And as it turns out, everypony includes Apple Bloom.

I know I have to talk to her about it eventually.  Pretending that the things that make us uncomfortable don't exist is foalish, particularly when you're dealing with the next of kin.  More often then not, they know more than you do, because they aren't as skittish, aren't scared as easily.  But I knew then that my blessed time had run out.  Some things had to be addressed.  Even facing the truth with the last pony I would want to have this conversation with.

But if I ain't honest, I ain't nothing.

So like I said, I was there when it happened, just as captivated as everypony else.  I'd like to say that there wasn't any anger, but there was.  It was more than just sympathy and sorrow, but believe me, they were there too.  But I still find myself getting mad, and I'm not sure why.  It's Apple Bloom, I say, and I believe it.

It's time.  It's the day after the celebration, and the Apple family is eating breakfast.  Mostly apples, of course.  Apples are a miracle food, or so Granny Smith insists.  We've got some grain from the cellars, too, and some eggs from the chickens to round things out.  I watch Apple Bloom to see how she's been affected by what happened.  She must have noticed the reactions of the other ponies around her.  She's not that unobservant.  At the very least, she should be confused.  But I don't see anything in her, so I drop the bomb.

“I don’t want you hanging out with Spike no more.”

Apple Bloom looks up from her meal.  There's the confusion.  Her eyes are still trying to decide if they want to be surprised or confused; she doesn't know what to make of what I'm asking her.

“But why?” she asks.

I want to groan or grumble, but I don't.  I know that wouldn't be called for.  She's just curious, after all, like a little filly should be.  Innocent.

I hate that I'm going to have to be the one to shatter that.

All night I've been going over exactly how I'm going to word this explanation.  Strangely, as I open my mouth, every word I had prepared vanished.  Like stage fright, but with worse consequences.

Apple Bloom is still looking at me, and I worry that her patience is drawing thin.  If I don't provide an explanation soon, she's going to think that I'm crazy.  Maybe I am.

I start, even if I don't think I'm ready.  “Spike is... well... he's a sort of special type of pony.”

“Pony?”

I am not off to a good start.  This is for both of our benefits, but Apple Bloom is so caught up on the details that I don't know if she'll see the big picture.  “You know what I mean.  He's not quite right, and you ought to know about it so you can be prepared.  So he won't tempt you into doing something rotten.”

“Rotten?  Spike?”  At the sound of her voice, I see him as Apple Bloom sees him:  a soft-spoken friend of a friend.  Bumbling and insecure, but well-meaning.  She's only getting more confused, and I don't blame her.  I'm beginning to realize just how strange my words must sound, and how much her learning has been lacking.  Why didn't I do this before?  I realize now.  I know I wanted to protect her, but leaving her unarmed and defenseless wasn't accomplishing anything.

She needs me, and I'll be there for her.  Nothing foul is going to hurt Apple Bloom.  I won't let it.

I need to hurry and make things right.

“You ever think about girls?”

“Like love?” she asks me.  I give her an encouraging nod.

And finally she starts to get grossed out.  She's a pretty hardy filly but it seems it's the mushy bits that finally get to her.

“Ew.  'Sides, I ain't got time for that.  I should have my cutie mark first, don't ya think?”

“What about Sweetie Belle?” I ask.  “Or Scootaloo?”  Scootaloo's really just an afterthought.  She's too boyish.  Which I suppose actually makes her a better match for Apple Bloom's tough-as-nails attitude.

“They're friends,” she assures me.  “I don't think about them like that.”

“You will,” I assure her.  “That's the thing that all ponies have in common, Apple Bloom.  At one point or another, we all fall in love.  You're going to meet a mare that's more beautiful than anyone.  And you're going to love her more than you love Big Macintosh and Granny Smith.  More than you love me.”

She shakes her head, offended by the idea.  “Have you gone kooky, sis?  I'll never love anypony more than you.”

“You will,” I assure her, “just like I have Rainbow Dash.  And how someday Big Macintosh is going to saddle up with a stallion of his own.  Probably sooner, rather than later, considering the looks Caramel's been giving him.  That's just the way things are.  The way things are meant to be.  And it's beautiful.”

The image of an older Apple Bloom with a girlfriend makes me smile.  I wonder who the lucky mare might be.  Sweetie Belle is like a softer version of her, the same spitfire personality wrapped up in a deceptively gentler appearance.  They would go well together.  Or maybe there's some other pony out there I haven't met yet that will steal Apple Bloom's heart and make me proud.  But as endearing as this is, it's not helping the topic at hand.  I press on.

“And then there are some ponies, like Spike, that for some reason or another don't want that, and they try to turn it into something else.  Something that doesn't work.  Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.  You're saying that Spike is bad because he likes Rarity instead of a stallion.”

“Precisely.”  For a moment I think I've gotten through to her, but her next question reminds me that I've still got a long way to go.

“But why is that so bad?” she asks, and I'm torn by her ignorant innocence.  “It’s not like Spike’s doing any harm by dotin’ on Rarity.  It’s kind of cute.”

I'm too late.  They've got to her already.  “Not causin’ harm?” I echo her words in my own worrying tone, as if it will change the meaning.  “Apple Bloom, what’s Spike’s doing is dangerous.  You should understand that.”  But she doesn't, of course.  This is turning out to be more difficult than I expected.  The gap in her understanding, the gap between my experiences and hers, is wider than I thought, although in hindsight I should have expected it.

“Dangerous?” says Apple Bloom, still not accusing, still not angry.  Wanting to learn.  “What's dangerous about Spike?  He's in love.”

A new thought occurs to me, like a tickling in my mind.  Maybe Apple Bloom isn't picking up on my point because my ideas aren’t as simple and self-evident as I believed.   If I have to build up a background I didn’t realize I needed, that I had believed went without saying, does that say something about her or me?

I push the thought aside.  It's too dangerous.

“Okay, settle down, Apple Bloom, and hear me out.  You need to understand, and I hope that you take this to heart.”  I realize that since the talk has already moved away from the script, I no longer know what to say.  I try to find a talking point, and it turns out to be something else I'm not ready to talk about.

“Apple Bloom, sugarcube... you know where foals come from, right?”

My finicky behavior is probably doing more to make her uncomfortable than the subject matter.  She's  weirded out but not disgusted.  “Course, sis.  I helped you and Big Mac deliver a calf last month, remember?”

Right.  She may be immature, but she's still a farmpony.

“Let me give you an example,” I say.  “Did you know that in some of the bigger cities, there are secret meetin’ places for ponies like Spike?  Bars and hotels and such.  So imagine a breeder like him going to one of these places and meetin’ up with a girl breeder.  The two of them start talking and realize they have a fondness for each other.  They start warming up to each other, getting more and more touchy-feely, and the next thing you know they decide to start getting intimate right there in the alley behind the place.”  I do a basic pantomime with my hooves without thinking, and when I take notice I quickly force them back on the ground, ashamed.

She’s still not squeamish.  The tickling returns, briefly, but I decide it means something else.  She’s not disturbed because they’ve already started to get to her.  Things are more dire than I thought.

Apple Bloom wrinkles her nose, and I give her the benefit of the doubt that it’s about what I’m saying and not about me.  “In the back alley?” she asks, like I just tried to convince her of a fairy tale.  “They don’t even wait ‘til they get home?”

“They can’t help it.  Their hormones are all messed up, and it makes them antsy and foolish.  When you’re messed up in the head, you can’t think straight, and bad ideas start looking like good ones.  And that’s why they don’t think twice before sticking it in.  And nine months later a baby pops out.”

“Aww.”  Despite the bluntness and crassness of the story, Apple Bloom’s heart still warms at the thought of a newborn foal.  That’s what I love about her.  She may be a feisty little ball of energy, but she’s not ashamed of her soft side either.  She’s doesn’t think it makes her weak.  It’s the one lesson I really feel like I passed down to her.

Maybe that’s the way to get through to her, I think.  Appeal to her maternal instincts.  “Maybe it’s cute at first,” I say, trying my best to have none of the misplaced sympathy that’s gushing out of her.  “But tell me, Apple Bloom.  Who’s gonna look after the baby?”

“The couple, of course.”  She says it like I just asked the most obvious question in the world, but that’s fine, because now I’ve got control of the conversation again.

“But they didn’t want one.  They aren’t ready for a foal.  They can’t afford it.  They’re too busy to give the kid the love and attention she deserves.   And that’s assuming they’re still together.  They weren’t committed when they made her, since the mother got herself knocked up before she even knew the father.  You think they’re gonna stay together, two ponies who scarcely know each other?  Course not.  He’s gonna run for the hills and leave her to raise the baby on her own.  That’s the problem with these breeders.  They bring foals into the world when they aren’t ready for them.

For the first time, she doesn’t have a comeback.  She’s silent.

“I guess I never thought about it that way,” she finally says, admitting defeat.  I silently cheer, and when I speak again, I’m the caring understanding sister she knows.

“I know you didn’t.  Because you’re optimistic and sweet.  You want everything to work out for the best.  And it can, if we work hard at it, but not when we’re careless.  Do you understand now why ponies like Spike cause so many problems?   It’s for the good of the foals, Apple Bloom, and the next of kin.  Normal ponies only have kids when they’re ready for them, when both parents are committed and decide they can handle it as something they want to do together.  And every time a breeder has an ‘accident’, that’s another life ruined.  I’m not saying that Spike is evil.  He’s just reckless.  And you need to be careful, so that he doesn’t make you reckless too.”

There is now genuine confusion on Apple Bloom’s face.  I hate to do this to her, really.  I imagine the way she sees Spike is changing in front of me, but it’s for the best.

Call this looking out for the future.  Call it passing down life lessons.  Or maybe call it atoning for past mistakes.  All I really know is that I need to do this, and I’m more qualified than most.

I decide to tell the truth.

“I knew a breeder like Spike, up in Manehattan,” I tell her.  “This here’s a true story.  A girl breeder who wasn’t much older than you.  She wasn’t a bad pony, but she was curious.  Adventurous.  Wanted to know everything there was to know about everything so she could figure out where she fit into it.  So she went exploring to see what she could find.  And what she found was a colt.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.  That was her reasoning, that if it didn’t mean anything, if she didn’t really fall in love, then she wasn’t one of them.  She was just having fun.  Just once, just to know what it felt like.  And once was all it took.”

“So what happened to the foal?”

“Her daddy didn’t stay around, that's fer sure.  I don’t know if he even knew.  But he left her to fend for herself.”

“But she wasn't by herself.  She had you.”

I stop, trying hard to fit her sentence into the story.  “Yeah,” I finally admitted.  “She did.  But it still broke my heart.  And seein' her, that's when I realized how dangerous the city was.  How I wasn't cut out for it.  And not long after that I got the sign.  Funny, ain't it, that it was Rainbow who led me home.  I hadn't even met her yet, and she saved me.  I should have known she'd turn out to be perfect for me.”

“But what happened to the foal?”

“What do you think happened?  If you were her mother, what would you do?”

“I... I don't know.”

“Then if you don't know the answer to a question, isn't it better if you never have to answer?  This is a simple world, Apple Bloom.  You discover your special talent, follow it, and live right by other ponies.  That's what the cutie mark is for, why cutie marks are here in the first place.  When everypony follows the rules, life is easy.  Things are only hard when ponies step out of line.  And while it ain't always easy, we do our best.  For the good of everypony, that's the kind of life you need to lead.  And when there's an easy way to resist temptation, you use it.  Because it's easier to be taught lessons by those who have messed up before you than to learn them the hard way.  Do you understand?”

Apple Bloom frowns, lost in her attempts to wrap her thoughts around the conversation.  “I... I don't know.  I think I might get what you're trying to say.  But I don't really get it.”

I wrap a hoof around her to comfort her.  “I bet you will.  You're a clever pony.  That's why we have teachers, you know.  Like me and Cheerilee.  We don't expect you to learn everything from us, but gosh darn it if we ain't gonna try anyway.  Because what we can teach you will have to be enough, to last until you're able to learn things for yourself.  And knowing you, learning things ain't gonna be a problem for you.  You're curious.  But that's exactly why I need to tell you this.  Because curiosity, gem that it is, can get you hurt. And that's why, until you you're old enough to be your own pony, you need to trust us.  Do you trust me, Apple Bloom, on your life?”

“On mah life,” the filly repeats.

“Good.”  I let her go, even though I don’t really want to.  “Cause it can be a mighty dark place out there, Apple Bloom.  But that’s no reason to be scared of it,” I hurriedly add, not wanting to make her unduly afraid of a world she’s going to have to face eventually.   “You just have to be careful, is all.  Cause all this?  This deal with Spike and Rarity, ain’t even the worst of it.  There are some ponies, doctors that use their knowledge to kill of the foal before it’s born.  You don’t see them advertising it, because only a breeder would ever want that.  Normal ponies are with foal cause they want to be, but breeders, they didn’t mean for it to happen, so they try to find a way to cover up their mistakes.  And in the bigger cities, there are rich folk ponies that do that regularly.  They don’t see nothin' wrong with it.  It’s routine, like taking a bath.”

She’s shocked and disgusted, her eyes unfocused and her throat giving off a soft choking sound as she tries and fails to block the images.  “But… why?” She asks, and I sadly shake my head.  “Why would they do that?”

If I hadn’t convinced her before, I have now.  Mission accomplished.  I feel a tiny bit guilty for what I’ve done, but I know I shouldn’t.  What did I do wrong?  I told her the truth and taught her a lesson.  Those are things to be happy about, right?

“Spike wouldn’t do that, though, right?” she asks me.  “Spike would know better.”

“Do you ever do things that you regret?”  It’s a rhetorical question, of course.  This is Apple Bloom.

“But, if he did, y’know, get a mare… with foal, he’d be responsible, right?  He’d take care of it.  Spike's good.”

It takes me a while to answer.  It doesn't feel right, talking about Spike like this, assuming so much about his character.  “If he's even halfway decent,” I say, “then he would never be in a situation like that.  If he was really good he wouldn't have kissed her.  He never would have brought all this uncomfortable stuff to light.  So I hope, for his sake and yours, that he is decent.  But if he's not, you can't say 'Well, at least he ain't worse.'  If he knocks somepony up, regardless of what he ends up doin' with the foal, he's less than gentlemanly.  And I know you think well of him.  So do I.  But, just for now, at least until we can find out what kind of creature Spike really is, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be around him.  Understand, sugarcube?”

She's not looking at me, anymore.  She's looking at her food, or perhaps through it.  It's a lot to take in.  I have faith in her.

“I have to get to school,” she tells me, and while it's not the reaction I was hoping for, it's better than nothing.  It's progress.  She gets up, still leaving half her plate untouched.  Under normal circumstances, I'd force her to finish.  Instead I let her go and finish it myself in silence.

I know I did the right thing.  I had to have.  I was protecting her.  Saving her, even.  But something about her face stuck with me even after she left for school.  There was something different in her that I couldn't deny.  She looked... older, almost.  More weary.  It had to come eventually, I tell myself, but that doesn't change the fact that the young mare I just finished educating isn't at all the filly I knew from yesterday.

And I was responsible for that change.

Accountability.  It's an interesting problem.  I was protecting her from greater harm.  I was choosing the lesser of two evils.  That should be enough, right?  It means that I shouldn't feel guilty, and many ponies would counsel me and tell me I did the right thing.  But it was still my hoof, my own actions that forced this confusion upon her.  Who should I blame?

I need to talk to Rainbow Dash.  It's in the middle of the workday, likely during one of her shifts, even.

Which means that she's probably taking a nap somewhere.  Fortunately, I know all of her favorite hiding places.

I get lucky and find her on my second try, lying among the cornfields.  Coming onto my property when dodging work seems to be an increasingly common habit of hers.

Ponies like to accuse her of being oblivious to the feelings of those around her.  Hay, I've probably said that too.  But I guess that makes me an exception.  She can always read me, even when I try to hide it.

And when I'm not trying to hide anything?  When I let my emotions just flow?  I'd be darned if she doesn't drop everything she's doing to fix it.  Loyalty at its finest.

She's an expert when it comes to my body language.  She should be.  She's had a lot of time to study it.  I don't even have to say anything.  She wakes as I approach, a habit she's picked up to avoid being caught sleeping on the job, and by the look on her face, I'm a mess.  She walks over to me silently and cradles me, gently pulling me down so that we're lying on the ground alongside each other.

She doesn't have to ask.  If I want her to know, I'll tell her.  And in this case, I know I need to talk to somepony.  Somepony I can trust.

Somepony who already knows what I haven't told another soul.

“It's Apple Bloom,” I tell her.  I'm opening up about feelings I barely understand myself, things I don't think I'd be able to tell any other pony, not even my family.  Rainbow Dash is the only one who knows and doesn't judge me.  “I worry about her all the time.  I want to keep her safe, but it's hard.  There's so much dangerous stuff out there, and she's gonna get hurt, because she's too nice to be careful.”

She reads the situation right off my face.  “Did something happen between you and Apple Bloom?” she asks me.

“We talked about Spike.”

I hear a huff of breath from Rainbow.  We don't always see eye to eye on some issues, but I put up with it.  Because she's worth it.  I treasure her company, but sometimes there's a noticeable wedge between us.  It hasn't hurt us yet, and I'm determined to make sure it never does.

“What did you tell her?” Rainbow asks me.

“The only thing I could.  I told her the story.  Her story.”

This sends a shock through her.  “She knows?”

“No.  I didn't tell her it was her.  Just some random Manehattan filly.”

And then she asks the question I've been avoiding.  “Are you ever going to tell her?”

Because it's Rainbow Dash asking, I try to come up with the answer fresh. Every time I've worked it out in the past, the answer always turned out to be “not yet.”  And of course, “not yet” becomes “later”, which becomes “”much later”, and pretty soon you're left with “never.”  I realize that “not yet” isn't an option.  Yes or no.  It's a pretty simple question.

But since I still want to stick with “not yet,” I now know what that really means.

“No.  It's better for her if she never finds out.  It's better if no one else ever finds out.  I don't like to talk about it, Rainbow Dash.  Nopony does.  Granny Smith and Big Macintosh do their best to ignore it, to look past it, but you can tell sometimes.  Sometimes it's too much for them to ignore.  You can see the shame in their eyes.”

“That's not true,” assures Rainbow Dash in the most soothing voice she can manage.  Soothing ain't something she's used to, so it ain't easy.  I appreciate the effort.  “You family loves you.”

I know she's trying to comfort me, but lies aren't comforting.  “Why shouldn't they be ashamed of me?” I ask her.  “It ain't enough that I messed up, but I have to l live with what I've done every single day, showing her off like some sort of scarlet showpony.  Every time I see her, and every time they see her, and every time anypony who knows sees her!  It doesn't let you forget.  Maybe...” and I have to pause to fight the bulge that's making its way up my throat.  “Maybe I would have been better off if I had just...”

She doesn't let me finish.  “No.” she tells me so sternly I believe it instantly.  “We've  talked about that before.  Don't ever say that.  Don't even think it, because you know it's not true.”

She's right, of course, and the rising horror of what I almost said scares me.  Could I really ever be that desperate?  I'm just a normal pony.

I'm just a normal pony, like everypony else.  We make mistakes, but that doesn't make us less normal.  Something clicks, but I'm not sure what it means.

“Is it really fair for you to punish Spike for something he hasn't done?” Rainbow asks me.  I feel a bit more sober, a bit less frantic.  But Spike brings part of the fervor back.  Spike is the symbol of my fear, my self-anger, and worst of all, my shame.

“Hasn't done yet,” I correct her.  “I won't give him the chance.  One time I messed up, and I'm still paying my debts.  And that's why I will never, ever force Apple Bloom to go through what I went through.  Because she's better than me.  She has to be.  I used to have potential, and then I used it to make her.  Whatever I could have been is everything she can be.  She has to be big, because if she ain't, then I'm nothing.”

I'm on the verge of tears.  I've finally said something that I wasn't even aware that I was thinking.  That this isn't just about Apple Bloom.  There's love, of course, but there's an inkling of selfishness too.  Her outcome is a reflection on me, on my ability to make something of my life.  And from this comes a shift.  I don't know what to think anymore, who to trust.

“I'm scared, Rainbow Dash,” I manage to mumble into her shoulder.  “I'm at the end of my rope and I don't know what to do.  Apple Bloom's growing up, going out into the world, and I don't know if she can handle it.”

“I'm pretty sure she'll be fine.  She's tough.  You have to trust each other; that's real loyalty.”

“Fine.  Then maybe I don't know if I can handle it.  Since she was born, all I wanted was to do right by her, and now I don't know if I can.  I made so many mistakes myself growing up, and I guess I just want to keep her from falling into those same traps.  If I can't pass on what I've learned to the next of kin, what can I do?”

“Hey, listen to me, Applejack.  Yeah, you made mistakes when you were younger.  We all did.  Nopony's going to deny that.  But look at you.  Look at where you are now.  You've got some of the best friends in the world.  You've got a family that's always gonna have your back.  You've got a daughter that loves you more than anything.  I'm starting to think that for a screwup, you didn't turn out half bad.  And why do you think that is?”

“'Cause I wisened up?”

“Exactly.  You learned to pick yourself up and you made yourself into a mare I'm proud to call my girlfriend.  That's all I can ask for, right?  That's all any of us can ask for.  So I guess what I'm saying is, if you turned out this perfect without your parents to be there at all, just think how amazing Apple Bloom's future is going to be when she has an awesome mom like you to fall back on when she needs it.”

“I love her, Rainbow.  I don't think she really gets it like I do, but it's true.”

“Would you still love her if she turned out like Spike?”

I don't even have to think about the question.  “Course,” I tell Rainbow Dash.  “Why would you even say something like that?”

“Then you're already doing your job just right.”