Chapters The doorbell to Carousel Boutique tinkled lightly, its pale sonority ringing out across the silent shop and finding its way to Rarity’s ears. The alabaster unicorn in question looked up from her sewing machine, eyes automatically moving towards the front door, despite the wall separating her from the object of interest. She frowned lightly, lips barely twitching to show her displeasure—it was after closing time, and she wasn’t particularly thrilled about the prospect of visitors at the moment.
Wistfully, she allowed her gaze to drift over to the row of mannequins that stood silently near the window. They stared back at her, with blank eyes that had always unnerved the fashionista, no matter how often she worked with them. One near the front of the queue had a wide-brimmed hat placed delicately over its head, with a veil deliberately covering its face—one less emotionless doppelganger to stare at her.
“Just a moment!” Rarity called, her words sing-song. She tried to remain professional, not letting the strain of the night work its way into her voice. She turned away from the mannequins—they only encouraged her to ignore the doorbell and keep working. And however tempting that sounded . . .
Opalescence the cat poked her head around the door and mewled patronizingly at her owner. She crossed the room with several quick strides and hauled herself up onto a nearby table. Avoiding Rarity’s gaze, she turned once, then sat heavily on top of a sheaf of fabric.
“Who’s at the door, Opal?” Rarity mused to the inattentive cat. Opal, unsurprisingly, ignored her and instead lowered her head to begin daintily licking her nether regions. Rarity spared a moment to run her hoof gently across the top of her cat’s head, then stood to leave. The main room of the Boutique was dark, and the light spilling from the back room threw a wide puddle of illumination across the carpeted floor, Rarity’s silhouette splashed across it in a heroic emblazonment. The image was erased from existence, however, when Rarity flicked the light switch next to the door. Overhead, the electric lights flickered to life.
“Coming!” Rarity said, assuring whoever was at the door that she was actually going to heed their request. “Just a moment!” Rarity broke into a trot, but immediately faltered as her mind latched onto a possible explanation for the visitor.
Applejack! Rarity thought to herself. She had those overalls that needed patching! She’s probably just coming to pick them up.
Some of Rarity’s animosity towards her visitor dissipated; it was only Applejack. Not some eager fashion connoisseur looking for her opinion on some atrocious headgear that could barely even be called a sun hat, or a delivery pony whose fabric shipment was late because he’d “gotten lost in the rain”, or . . .
Rarity shook her head. She pasted a smile to her face in preparation for answering the door, prepared the best gushing “Applejack, my darling!” she could muster. Her hooves only clopped lightly against the white-carpeted floor, but sounded deafening in the silence, so she quickened her pace to shorten the duration of the trip.
She waited until she was right in front of the door to activate her magic. The light blue that emanated from her horn reached out to take hold of the doorknob, twisting the brass knob clockwise and pulling inward simultaneously. Stretching her smile even wider, she poked her head around the door to view her visitor, the words already rolling across her tongue.
“Applejack, my . . .”
Rarity’s throat constricted, preventing the rest of her sentence from escaping.
The pony waiting on her step was hardly Applejack.
Instead of the light orange, Stetson-clad farm mare, standing sheepishly on the doorstep, his hoof partially raised to ring the doorbell again, was Applejack’s brother, Big Macintosh.
Startled, the stallion hurriedly lowered his hoof to the ground, clopping on Rarity’s doorstep much louder than he had probably intended. Big Mac looked down, a sheaf of orange hair flicking across his face, hiding one eye. It was hard to tell, given Big Mac’s normal crimson coloring, but Rarity got the distinct impression that Applejack’s brother was blushing.
Recovering from her surprise, Rarity coughed daintily, lowering her own eyes to her hooves. She realized that the beaming smile that she had reserved for Applejack was still affixed to her face, and quickly adjusted it to something more . . . suitable for Big Mac.
“Why, Big Macintosh! What a . . .” Rarity floundered for words, distracted by Big Mac’s unexpected presence. Luckily, he looked just as awkward as she felt. “Delight!” she decided firmly, taking a chance to allow her eyes to flick back up to the stallion’s face, a slightly less exuberant smile now adorning her facial features. Politely friendly, not overdoing it any more than she had to.
Peeking out from under his mane, Big Mac nodded once. “Eeyup.”
Rarity’s carefully-crafted smile suddenly became forced, taking on the appearance of a clown’s face paint. “Can I help you?”
Big Mac straightened to his full, considerable, height, but still wouldn’t meet Rarity’s gaze straight on. His eye line seemed to flutter everywhere else except for her own eyes. Rarity watched his emerald orbs rove around, hypnotized by the deep green of his irises. She barely realized what she was doing, until Big Mac coughed uncomfortably.
“AJ needed to work tonight,” he said, his deep gravelly tone ringing in Rarity’s ears. “Ah came t’ pick up her britches.”
“Britches?” Rarity inquired, unfamiliar with the rustic-sounding term. Her stoic grin tightened.
Big Mac looked down again. “Erm . . . overalls,” he clarified. “You had ‘em here for . . .” He trailed off, hoping that Rarity would finish the thought for him. He kicked out a hoof in a shapeless gesture of hopelessness.
“Ah! Right! Applejack’s overalls that needed patching! Of course!” Rarity slapped her forehead as if she had just thought of the notion. She stood aside graciously. “Would you like to come inside whilst I fetch them?”
Big Mac nodded. “Thank yeh, Miss Rarity.” He stepped inside, ducking ever so slightly to avoid hitting the bell that hung above the door to announce visitors. Despite his caution, the top of his head still brushed the bell, causing it to whisper out a quiet tinkle. He flinched at the noise. “Sorry.”
“I assure you, it’s quite alright,” Rarity said condolingly, since the expression on Big Mac’s face was akin to one that he would wear if he had accidentally trodden on her cat’s tail. A crime that would be less easily forgiven, by the way.
Hesitantly, Big Mac nodded, stepping further into the boutique. The heavily-muscled farm stallion looked out of place surrounded by all the delicate displays and frilly, brightly colored dresses. Evidently Big Mac noticed this as well, because he seemed to try to shrink, making himself less imposing—a feat which he failed magnificently at. His eyes continued to dart around the room, hastily flicking away when they came anywhere near Rarity.
Slightly amused by Big Mac’s uncharacteristic nervousness, Rarity smiled warmly. “I’ll be just a moment, if you would kindly just wait here.”
“Eeyup,” Big Mac intoned simply, looking simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Rarity was leaving the room. He looked nervous to be left to his own devices, even if it was only for a short period of time.
As Rarity withdrew into the back room, she momentarily made eye contact with Big Mac. His eyes widened and he hastily looked up at the ceiling. Smiling to herself, Rarity set about ascertaining the location the object of Big Macintosh’s interest: Applejack’s coveralls. She racked her brain, traveling back to the week before, when she had actually performed the patch job. She remembered draping the overalls over the back of one of the mannequins at one point, but none of the faceless effigies lined along the wall bore them. Rarity frowned. The supply cupboard, perhaps? No, it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t have left it in there.
Still, on that whim, Rarity nosed open the already-ajar door to the cupboard. The light from the outside room wasn’t enough to completely illuminate its contents, though, so Rarity reached up to tug down on the thin chain that dangled from a bare light bulb on the ceiling. Dirty yellow light threw the supplies into sharp relief, and Rarity was pleased to see the familiar shape of Applejack’s denim trousers draped over a wooden chest full of sapphires. Barely visible, Rarity could make out the outline of the stitching she had used to perform the patch job, but only because she was specifically looking for it. Almost invisible—one of her finer patches, if she did say so herself.
Rarity emerged from the back room, the overalls hovering just above her head. Big Mac hadn’t noticed her; he was focused on a particularly flashy ensemble that stood near the front of the store—a gold-inlaid, gemstone-encrusted piece that Rarity had been commissioned to make for the pop star, Sapphire Shores.
Rarity was struck with the sudden mental image of Big Macintosh wearing the same dress, the piece barely stretched far enough to cover his massive frame. She smiled to herself at the thought, and without realizing she was doing it, she tittered quietly. It was audible enough, however, for it to catch Big Mac’s attention. He started, jumping as though he’d been stung by a bee, and immediately looked ashamed for doing it.
“Here we are then,” Rarity said. Out of respect for Big Macintosh, she decided not to comment on his apparent nervousness. She levitated the overalls in the stallion’s direction, and he turned sideways for her to drape the denim across his well-muscled back. “Do tell Applejack I said hello, wouldn’t you?”
Big Mac nodded, but kept his head down. “Ah will. Thank yeh kindly.” Behind him, the door opened, seemingly of its own accord. First, he looked surprised, but then his eyes dropped to the turquoise aura around the doorknob and he nodded in understanding. “Have a good evenin’, Miss Rarity.”
“And yourself, Big Macintosh,” Rarity replied, smiling evenly.
Big Mac, having already turned to leave, twisted his head around to flash a quick, nervous grin of his own in Rarity’s direction.
Rarity looked after the farm stallion, leaving the door open long after he had left, simply staring at Big Mac’s retreating figure.
At the sight of his smile, something had lurched in her stomach—a momentary flutter, that’s all.
A momentary flutter that she hadn’t felt since . . .
It was probably indigestion.
Nothing more.
Hours earlier . . .
Applejack dragged the back of her hoof across her forehead, thin lashings of sweat dislodging and disappearing into the air. More moisture trickled down the side of her face, try as she might to beat it away. Halfheartedly, she lashed out with her hind legs, making contact with the tree behind her. The impact barely rattled the trunk, and only one apple fell from the leafy canopy overhead. Frowning, Applejack shook herself. She momentarily removed her Stetson and fanned herself with it. She cast her eyes upwards, locating the sun and cursing it for being so infernally hot.
A few trees over, Big Macintosh meandered, picking up the few apples that hadn’t landed in his baskets. He thought that if his sister’s stare was any more combative, it may just cause the sun to freeze up and fall out of the sky. “Ya doin’ okay, AJ?” he inquired.
“Peachy,” Applejack replied, a hard edge to her normally upbeat voice.
“Sure?” His sister wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Whatever.”
“Applejack . . .” Big Mac pressured.
“Ah’m fine!” Applejack insisted, her voice rising. “Jus’ a little overworked, is all. And this accursed sun, here . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. She forced a smile. “Don’ worry about me, okay?”
Big Mac shrugged. “If ya say so, sis. I won’t say ‘ah told ya so’ when you work yourself to death out there.”
“It’s just the south fields, Big Macintosh. T’ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“We normally do those fields over a span of three days, an’ that’s with Applebloom’s help.”
Applejack lashed out with a particularly anger-fueled kick. The impact rattled the tree on the receiving end, and a thin spiderweb of cracks split the surface of the bark. Frowning, she traced a particularly deep crack with the edge of her hoof. “Yeah. An’ usually the other Crusaders as well,” she admitted absently.
“Want me to go fetch Dash? She’d speed things up.”
Applejack looked horrified. “Rainbow Dash? Oh, no no no no no, don’t do that!” she begged.
“Why not?”
“She’s still gettin’ her licks in for when we had to enlist her help for that whole shin-dig with those Flim Flams. She’d never let me hear the end of it if ah came teh her again.”
Big Mac snorted. He gave the tree in front of him a light rap with his forelegs—the single stubborn apple that still clung to one of the higher branches tumbled down, giving little resistance. It took its place on top of the bulging mound of apples at the foot of the tree. “You bein’ the Element of Honesty and all . . .”
“What about it?” Applejack said, eyes narrowed.
“Sometimes, you’re so . . . I dunno.”
“I’m so what?”
Big Mac thought for a moment. “Noble?” he suggested.
Applejack laughed drily. “There a problem with that, big brother?”
“Nah, it’s just that you spend a little too much time making sure that the scales are balanced, if ya know what I mean.”
“What’s that supposed teh mean?”
“Well, you don’t always have to go out of your way, riskin’ life and limb to repay one of your friends who done ya a little favor, that’s all. Like, with me an’ Caramel—I probably owe him about a thousand bits worth o’ drink, but he don’t want my money. He’s jus’ bein’ nice, is all.”
“Sounds like you’re takin’ advantage of Caramel’s good nature, if ya ask me.”
“Nah. I offer, but he jus’ likes sharin’ his blessings, ya know?”
“Huh.”
“And you know Dash . . . any chance she has teh show off her flying moves, she’ll take it. She’ll be rarin’ to go at them apples.”
Applejack turned her back on her brother, moving to the next tree down the line and belting it with three consecutive wallops. Most of the apples tumbled down from the leafy canopy, leaving only a few stragglers left for her to collect. “Ah understand yer reasonin’, but mah pride’s at stake here.”
“Is there anything ah can help with, then?”
Applejack paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “It’s mah turn to write to the princess, but I’ll do that later by myself . . .”
“Eeyup.”
“And I’ve gotta repaint that old fence gate.”
“Uh huh.”
“Then I have to take a trip down to Rarity’s later, and that’ll eat up a good chunk of daylight that ah don’t really want teh lose.”
“Rarity’s?”
“What of it?”
“Nothin’, just . . . that’d take at least an hour round trip, provided that yeh don’ stop to chat.”
“Yeah. Say . . .”
“Ah can do it,” Big Mac offered, too quickly. Too enthusiastically. Too fervently. He mentally kicked himself. Applejack looked over her shoulder quizzically, and Big Mac made an effort to hurriedly cover his tracks. “Ah mean, if you can’t spare the time, ah’d be happy teh help. What do yeh need from Rarity?” he added hastily.
“Mah overalls that she did a patch job on,” Applejack replied, still eyeing Big Mac suspiciously.
“Right. No problem.”
“You seem mighty excited to go collect mah britches. Any reason for that, big brother?”
Big Mac cringed inwardly. Any hope that he had that Applejack wouldn’t voice her misgivings was dashed. “Nah. You do what you need to do; I’ll take care of the trip to Rarity’s.”
Applejack surveyed him with an oddly knowing smile. “Okay then. You may want to get right goin’ if you want to get back before dark.”
“Sure thing.”
Big Mac left his sister to continue with the endeavor of clearing the south field, and started the long trek back to the homestead. His lumbering pace was quickened by his hammering heart, turning his normal slow gait into more of a skip.
Rarity. The most beautiful mare in all of Ponyville . . . no, Equestria . One of the only ponies who didn’t laugh behind Big Mac’s back, giggling over his unintelligent speech. The one who always smiled when he passed by. Big Mac’s throat pulsated, caught in the shockwave of his throbbing heart; his chest thrummed almost painfully with every beat.
Cautiously, Big Mac nosed the farmhouse door open, casting his eyes upwards apprehensively. Granny Smith was asleep upstairs, and waking her would earn him and earful that he’d never forget. Padding as lightly as his enormous frame would permit, he made his way to the kitchen, where he popped open a small bottle of vitamin supplements with his teeth. He downed a few, relishing the bitter taste of the tablets. His firm belief was that you could always tell if something was good for you if it tasted absolutely disgusting. He then nosed open an overhead cupboard and withdrew a glass. He held it under the tap for a few seconds, allowing it to fill about halfway with water. In a single draught, he downed the liquid, letting it chase away the aftertaste of the vitamins.
The hum of the refrigerator caught the stallion’s attention, and he looked wistfully towards it. He was sorely tempted to retrieve something stronger than water to calm his nerves, but he beat down those urges; he would need his full concentration for this. No alcohol. Not now. Maybe later, but not now.
Taking a moment to listen for movement upstairs, and deciding that Granny Smith was still safely in dreamland, Big Mac carefully edged himself out of the house, closing the door gently behind him. It clicked softly, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Big Macintosh!” screeched the wizened voice of Granny Smith. “What have ah told yeh about makin’ all sorts of racket while ahm tryin’ teh sleep!”
Big Mac cringed. Normally, his granny would be able to sleep like a log through just about anything, but there were some days where the slightest peep would bring her back to the world of the living. Violently, at that. “Sorry, Granny. Ahm just goin’ into town, feel free teh go back teh sleep.”
Granny Smith’s disheveled head popped out from the upstairs window. Her mane was a wild nest of hairs, bursting free from the strong-smelling product that she used to keep it in place. “Now there’s no use in that, now, isn’t there? I’m already awake, laddie. Might as well stay that way.” She narrowed her eyes down at him suspiciously. “What’re you goin’ to town for, anyhoo?”
Big Mac replied as nonchalantly as he could. “Jus’ goin’ teh pick up some of AJ’s overalls from Miss Rarity.”
“Is that so?” Granny Smith brightened. “That bee-autiful bombshell of a mare that every stallion in Ponyville has had a piece of at some point?”
“Granny!”
“Tellin’ it like it is, Macintosh. I’d get on that train before it leaves the station, if you know what I mean . . .” Granny Smith winked.
“Ahm goin’ now.”
“Welp, be back before dark, boy, or that’s a paddlin’.”
Big Mac rolled his eyes as he turned away. Threats of physical violence had ceased to be frightening ever since he’d been six years old. At that point, he had already been much taller than his wizened old granny, and cared little if she decided to cane him.
Muffled threats followed him as he departed, growing fainter and fainter as he went farther. Eventually, they cut off altogether.
Free from the grating sound of admonitions in his ears, Big Mac took a long breath through his nose. He held it a moment, then let it out in a long, stretched-out exhalation. He took several more deep breaths, counting the seconds on the inhalation, the hold, then the release. Silence followed his breathing exercise, punctuated only by the periodic crunch of his hooves on the dirt road leading down from Sweet Apple Acres. Apple trees lined the path. He had known these trees for his entire life, and knew their ideal harvesting time, preferred amount of fertilizer, and even their favorite music. Many liked Applebloom’s dismal harmonica playing, or AJ’s fiddle, but there were a select few that would only grow when Big Macintosh exercised his singing muscles on them. These few were his favorites.
Big Mac’s eyes passed over the silent rows, noting any abnormalities or potential problems that would have to be resolved. He noted a spot of mold clinging to a trunk, a caterpillar inching its way along a thin branch, a couple of malformed apples that had fallen prematurely . . .
A rainbow-patterned tail dangling from the leafy canopy.
Big Mac stopped in his tracks. Upon closer inspection, he could make out the sleeping form of Rainbow Dash, nestled in to a fork between two of the larger branches. In sleep, she hardly appeared as graceful as she did in the air—her limbs were tangled in a hopeless mess around herself and her mouth was wide open, drizzling a strand of saliva that dangled freely in midair.
“Miss Dash?” Big Mac inquired.
Rainbow stirred slightly, but still remained fast asleep.
“Rainbow?” he tried again, a little louder.
The pegasus’s eyes tightened and her mouth snapped shut. She was awake, at least partially, but wasn’t willing to accept that fact yet.
“Rainbow Dash, you busy?”
Rainbow buried her face in her forelegs. “Five more minutes, Dad.”
“Dad?”
“I’m sick. I don’t wanna go to school today.”
Big Mac waited until she regained full consciousness before trying to talk to her again. It took a little while, but finally, with much yawning, stretching, and cute little moans, Rainbow Dash returned to the world of the living. In the process, she had tumbled off of her branch and floated lightly down to the ground, where she sat up, looking around blearily. Her sleep-gummed magenta eyes rested on Big Macintosh, and she laid back against the trunk and yawned again.
“Oh, hey, Big Mac.”
“Miss Dash.”
“What’s up?”
“Are yeh busy righ’ now?”
“Well I was . . .” Rainbow looked up at her nap spot longingly. “But you sure put a stop to that , big fella. You need something?”
“Not me, no.”
“Then why’d ya wake me up, ya dingus?”
“I was wonderin’ if you could head over to the south fields and give AJ a hoof.”
“With what?”
“Apple buckin’.”
Rainbow stretched out to her full length, working the joints in her hind legs. She popped off the ground, using her wings to propel herself slightly into the air. “She still owes me for that one time," she said flatly.
“She knows, and is sorry to have to ask yeh again, but we’re in a little bit of a pinch. So . . .”
“Will I get the chance to prove to her that pegasi are superior to earth ponies?”
Big Mac rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I reckon you will.”
Rainbow launched up above the trees. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. Later Macaroo.” Without waiting for his response, the rainbow-striped bolt of lightning zipped off in the general direction of the south fields.
“Bye, Miss Dash,” Big Mac said to thin air, watching the prismatic afterimage slowly fade into nonexistence. Turning away from the farm, he resumed his trek.
As he went, he cast his eyes skyward, taking in the magnificent splashes of pink, yellow, and orange that the sunset had painted across the sky. A beautiful painting, one that no mortal artist could hope to replicate.
He liked the sky, no matter what mood it was in.
Come rain, or clouds, or night.
He liked the sky, because it was the only perfect thing in the world.
Besides, perhaps, Miss Rarity.
Rainbow Dash twirled around the tree, spiraling in a tight corkscrew. A prismatic afterimage followed her blurred form like a second shadow, making it look like the tree was wrapped in a colorful tornado. Leaves whipped up in a whirlwind, with the occasional red apple being tossed out onto the ground.
Applejack frowned, looking down at the mess of foliage and fruit that Rainbow had strewn across the neatly-kept grass. “Rainbow Dash! Stop that this instant!” she shouted.
Rainbow’s head poked out of the leafy canopy, her miniature windstorm petering out lazily. “What?” she asked innocently.
The farm mare bent her head to pick up an apple by the stem. She could already see an ugly bruise marking the shiny crimson skin of the fruit. Carefully she placed it in a waiting bucket. “That’s not how yer supposed teh do it, Dash. Yer makin’ a right mess, and the apples are gettin’ bruised.”
“Ah.” Rainbow Dash carefully lowered herself to the ground. “Sorry. Last time I did this, you had me picking apples, it was for the cider, ya know? And with that, you can usually get away with a couple of bruises . . . right?”
“Yeah, but this is diff’rent.”
“I know, I know.” Confidently, like she’d done it for her entire life, Rainbow lashed out with a sharp kick with her back legs. Applejack was pleased to see that the amount of apples that tumbled down from overhead was significantly less than what a kick of her own would shake loose. “Ya know,” Dash continued. “You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
“Whas that supposed teh mean?”
“I’m helping you with all this out of my good nature.” Rainbow puffed out her chest proudly, placing her hoof at the base of her neck. “I’ve got nothing to gain from this, but my overwhelming sense of loyalty prevents me from leaving a needy friend un-helped.” She cleared her throat. “So you’re welcome.”
Applejack turned away from the pegasus. “T’wasn’t mah idea, ya know.”
“Still, though.”
“I specifically told Big Mac not to go an’ find you.”
“Because you thought I’d show you up?”
“No, it’s ‘cause I hate owing you.”
“Aw, c’mon, you know I always forget what favors ponies owe me.”
“Ah don’t.”
“I know you don’t, farmer. Here, how’s about you do me a favor, and forget about all this. We square?”
“You sound jus’ like Big Mac.” Applejack said it with a sense of finality, hoping that it would end the conversation. No matter how much Rainbow Dash hashed up her indifference, Applejack couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow cheating her best friend.
Rainbow snorted a laugh. “Huh. Hey, speaking of the big guy, what was he going into town for?”
Applejack, who had just started counting the number of rows of trees left to clear, lost count at the interruption. “What was that?”
“What’s Big Mac doing in town?”
“Oh. Jus’ taking a trip to Rarity’s to pick up mah overalls.”
“Rarity’s, huh?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Applejack started counting again, but Rainbow wasn’t finished.
“He’s got his eye on her, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“And it’s a big ol’ secret, innit?”
“He thinks so.”
“So I’m not the only one who’s noticed?”
Applejack snorted. “You kiddin’ me? The only one who hasn’t noticed is Rarity herself! An’ that’s only because he’s too scared o’ her to even talk to her.”
“Shame,” Rainbow yawned. “Has he ever . . . done it?”
“Done what?”
“Ya know . . .” Rainbow paused to think for a moment. “Threaded the needle? Hot cooking? Been around the block? Reached home plate? Aerial Maneuver Sixty-Nine?” She was met by a blank stare. “Seriously? Have you ever even heard of a euphemism?”
“Yeah,” Applejack said defensively. Was euphemism the one that when somepony said something, and it meant something else? Or was that a metaphor? Maybe both. “Of course Ah have.”
“Going all the way?” Rainbow offered.
Now THAT one she knew.
“Rainbow Dash!” she yelped indignantly. Against her will, she felt a hot rush of blood surge into her cheeks. “Ah’m not nosy enough to find that out! That’s his business! Not mine, and definitely not yours!”
Rainbow laughed uproariously as Applejack’s embarrassment. “See, that’s about the reaction I was expecting from you!”
Applejack huffed sulkily. “Why do you care?”
Rainbow shrugged indifferently. “I figured that if he hadn’t gotten any, we might be able to give him a push in the right direction, you know?”
“Rainbow Dash, I don’t know what yer plannin’, or why you even care, but it can’t be good.”
“Hear me out, okay? See, the whole world knows that he’s got eyes for Rarity, so if we played a little bit of matchmaker, we could kill two birds with one stone, see? You know, just give them a couple of little nudges when they need it.”
“Two birds?”
“Yeah, we make Big Mac and Rarity super happy together, and all the gossip that the spa ponies have been gabbing will be shut down!” Rainbow looked expectantly at Applejack, evidently expecting praise for her harebrained scheme.
Applejack narrowed her eyes. “And how exactly do you know about the spa ponies’ topics of conversation?”
“No reason. I, uh, heard about it from Fluttershy. When she went there with . . . Rarity. I wasn’t there myself, see. But that's not important!”
“Sure. There’s a reason that Ahm the Element of Honesty and you aren’t.”
“So . . . what do you say?”
“I still don’ see why you care so much.”
“As the Element of Loyalty, it is my duty to make sure my friends are achieving their maximum potential, and that means in the romance department as well.”
“I don’ think so.”
Rainbow looked disappointed, but jumped in with another suggestion. “I’m . . . just trying to maintain the greater good?”
“Try again.”
“Okay, fine.” Rainbow Dash screwed her face up in exaggerated anguish. “I’m a hopeless romantic!”
“Come again?”
Rainbow Dash took a deep breath, filling her lungs to their maximum capacity, then let loose with a torrent.
“I mean, I started off reading just Daring Do, and that was awesome and all for a while, but then I ran out of books in the series, so I asked Twilight what else I could read, and she gave me a bunch of big ol’ boring textbooks and stuff and I would rather tear off my wings than read them so I started to look around by myself in the library and I found a whole bunch of sappy romance novels but I was all like ‘no way José’ but Twilight was like ‘Try it and you’ll love it’ and then she guilt tripped me because I didn’t want to read Daring Do and I ended up loving it so why can’t this be the same? So I started reading them, and I couldn’t put them down—I even accidentally missed a day of work because I was so distracted. I told Twilight that they were taking over my life and she looked really happy about it, all ‘I told you so’ about it. And it wasn’t anything TOO smutty, by the way . . .” Rainbow finished breathlessly, blushing more scarlet than Applejack.
Applejack stared. Her jaw had long since thudded to the ground, and she made no effort to pick it up. Rainbow Dash, the adamantly tomboyish athlete that had hated all the gush and goo of Twilight and Rarity’s romantic fiction, who had practically retched after overhearing one of their conversations relating to their favorite fictional stallions. “Uh . . .”
“So, are you in?”
“Erm . . .”
“It’ll be fun,” Rainbow coaxed.
“I don’t know . . .”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Sweet! Okay, where do we start?”
