Chapters You can smell it…in the air…
The grey colt sat upon the porch of the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse, head held high and nostrils flaring. The early morning breeze held a hint of chill that just weeks ago had not been there. The little chef knew that this could only mean one thing: that the dog days of summer were behind them and that the autumn season was ready to begin.
“Hmm…” Peppermill, the youngest of the Ponyville Apple clan, found himself having mixed emotions as this understanding sunk in. On one hoof the chef in him looked forward to the bounty of produce and other culinary delights. But, as he was well aware (provided no draconequus in the vicinity were attempting to mess with the seasonal cycles), autumn is followed by winter. And for a pony who loathed the cold that was not a prospect he looked forward to.
“I feel like…I am forgetting something…”
***
Out in the west orchard a massive red drafthorse lifted his head to sniff the air, before loading another basket of fruit onto a wagon.
“Summer’s endin’…” rumbled Big Macintosh to himself. “Seems lahk it barely started…” For a pony whose life revolved around the growing cycle of the common apple, the change of season usually only meant a different breed of apple to harvest.
But Big Macintosh was not remotely an average apple grower.
As the stallion continued to load the cart, a distant memory bubbled to the surface of his mind. It was a memory that always came at this time of year, and it was a memory that never failed to furrow his brow and darken his usual docile mood.
“Gonna be jus lahk every other year…”
***
Peppermill was back inside his personal domain aka the Sweet Apple Acres kitchen, trying to decide what he would feed his family that day. Normally this was a technicality due to his vast knowledge of cuisine, but today he found himself drawing a rare blank. This was due in large part to the nagging feeling there was something he was forgetting, or missing.
“Autumn…” muttered the colt as he rummaged through the pantry. There was something about this word that struck a chord in the colt. No matter how much he tried to focus on food, images that he associated with that particular season kept popping up in his mind’s eye.
“Wait…what happens during…autumn?””
***
Big Macintosh hitched himself to the wagon laden with baskets of apples, and began his trip to the nearby barn to this quadrant of the acreage. His steady gait hid his stormy thoughts of the future, and he was not fretting about finances or fruit.
‘Hate’ was a strong word, and few ponies would ever expect to associate it with the gentle giant. But the thoughts of what was to come in the following weeks were enough to put a scowl of his face. Like a wisp that you couldn’t put your hooves on, it was the memories of what could have been that set the stallion on edge. He hated that his mind (or was it is heart?) kept bringing the memory up like a nagging toothache or a thorn in one’s fetlocks.
“Harumph…” grunted the Apple pony as he plodded his way to the barn.
***
“Calendar…where the hay…is the calendar?” Peppermill had given up on trying to come up with a meal, and decided to solve the other major mystery plaguing him. The dark-maned colt paced in and out of the ground floor rooms looking for a calendar. He felt maybe something tangible to look at might help answer his question.
Eventually the colt found what he was looking for, much to his chagrin, back in the kitchen right by the door to the porch. He reared up onto his hind legs and managed to pull the calendar off of the nail it hung on. He placed it on the floor then and there and leafed through the pages.
“What happens…in autumn…besides the apple harvest?” questioned the colt out loud. It was then that his eyes fell upon a small image at the end of one of the pages.
“Is that…a pumpkin? But why does it…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Oh!”
***
As Big Macintosh finished unloading the baskets, his gloomy gaze happened towards on wall of the barn. This particular building was not just used for storage, but was also used by Big Macintosh as his own private domain not unlike the upper level of one of the other barns that his adopted brother used for privacy.
This was where the red pony kept a large number of his personal trophies he had accumulated over the years. While Applejack might have valued her rodeo awards, the stallion tended to find himself on the top podium for various strength and other strongpony competitions. On a wooden shelf sat dozen of various trophies and plaques he had won for his phenomenal strength, reaching back all the way to his youth. It was a source of pride for the stallion to know that his muscles had been of great use to him since colthood.
But another look at the shelf revealed there was one spot that seemed…bare.
Big Macintosh sauntered over to the shelf and stared hard at the empty spot. Anypony who knew (or thought they knew) him would of assumed that a trophy or award was missing from that spot.
And as far as he was concerned, there was…
***
“I can’t believe…I forgot!” Peppermill exclaimed, a jubilant smile on his face.
***
“Ah cain’t believe it’s that tahm again…”
***
“Maybe this…will finally be…the year…”
***
“…that ah ken finally enjoy…”
***
“…Nightmare Night!”
“Nightmare Night in Canterlot must be amazing.” sighed Silver Spoon. The pretty grey filly and her equally grey colt companion sat at their usual table at Ponyville’s ice cream parlour.
“I wish…I could say yes…or no to that.” remarked the colt. He sipped at his root beer float, but there was no mistaking the excited twinkle in his dark eyes.
“What is that supposed to mean?” queried the filly.
“I have never…spent a single…Nightmare Night outside…of the restaurant.” The colt focused on a long sip of his frosty drink, glancing up at the open-mouthed shock on his friend’s face.
“You mean you’ve never been out trick or treating?!”
“Don’t forget the…restaurant was in the…middle of Canterlot’s business…district. The closest… neighborhood with…homes was way too…far away for me to go. At least…that was what…Mother and Father…always told me.” Silver Spoon let this explanation sink in for a moment until Peppermill spoke again.
“Don’t get me wrong…you would have…been amazed at what went…on during Nightmare Night. Anypony in…a costume was given…a discount on their meal. Father went all out…to make special spooky…dishes and Mother…had a knack for…dark décor. Believe me…I didn’t miss out…”
***
“Ah always missed out on the fun…every year.” Big Macintosh and Caramel were having their usual get-together at the local watering hole, and the red pony was oddly talkative on this day. The younger stallion knew better than to dare interrupt the massive pony’s…well, for all purposes rant, and remained silent as he nursed his bottle of cider.
“It aint lahk I didn’t enjoy carrying ponies on the hay wagon. But ah always had to wear that same costume every year.”
“The…uh, costume?” Caramel knew fully well the stallion referred to the rather simple hat and cloak combo that was as famous as Big Macintosh’s harness.
“Do ya know I had them since I wuz just a colt? It was the only thing I could wear…”
***
“I always loved…looking at all the…fancy costumes the…guests to the restaurant…would wear…” Peppermill’s eyes shined as he and Silver Spoon headed out of the ice cream parlour and into downtown Ponyville.
“Since when are you interested in dress up?” teased the filly.
“I have always…liked the idea…of dressing up…” The filly realized that her friend was serious, and gave him a surprised look.
“The idea of…looking and sounding…like a completely different pony. I just found it…amazing. Sometimes even the staff…would dress up. Some of them were…really good at…changing their mannerisms and…their voices to the point…I didn’t recognize them. I wanted so badly…to do that…”
I would have never expected this sort of thing from him… thought Silver Spoon.
***
I never knew Big Mac was so…intense about this sort of thing. Caramel could only watch and listen as the draft horse continued his speech, probably the longest amount of time he had ever seen Big Mac speak.
“It seemed all the other ponies were havin’ so much fun during Nightmare Night, wut with the parties, the food and the trick or treatin’. I never got a chance to do that on account ah had to go to bed early to work the next mornin’. But ya know nwut I wanted to do more than any of that?”
“Um…”
“I wanted to dress up…”
“Dress…up?” The smaller stallion winced, bracing himself for some sort of angry response, but it was obvious Big Mac was far too deep in his memories and longings.
“Ah ain’t talkin’ about fancy stuff. Ah mean in a costume, or so gussied up that no pony could recognize ya. I always thought that if ah looked lahk a different pony, maybe they wouldn’t be so shy around me cuz of mah size. Or maybe I could feel lahk somepony other than mahself. Maybe…more inclined to be friendly and social-lahk…” The sudden sobriety made the smaller pony feel the need to say something comforting, despite having no idea what exactly to say.
“You are plenty social Big Mac…”
“Mah own younger sisters and little brother have more friends than ah ever had, and all cuz they ain’t shy. Ifin I wuz a different pony, ah could be that way to…”
***
“Why would you want to be a different pony? I think you are just fine the way you are.” Despite her sincerity, Silver Spoon found herself a bit…concerned about just how zealous the little chef seemed to be about the topic of costumes.
“I don’t know…why anypony wouldn’t. Didn’t some famous…pony say something about…walking a mile…in some other pony’s…horseshoes?”
“I think you might be a bit confused Peppermill.”
“Well ok then…what about the idea…of confidence? Rarity…always talks about how…a beautiful dress makes…her feel even more…glamorous than usual…”
“I don’t see you as the…ahem…glamorous type.” snickered the filly.
“This coming from…the filly who has a servant…spend an hour every morning…braiding her mane…” It was all Peppermill could do not to swallow his tongue when Silver Spoon spun around and waved a hoof under his snout.
“Don’t go saying things like that so loudly!” hissed the filly through bared teeth. “I don’t want any of the other fillies to hear about that. I am trying not to seem like some sort of spoiled princess…”
“You just about…said brat.” Peppermill simply grinned, knowing the grey filly’s fierceness was more show than anything. She gave a haughty snort and turned around, flicking her tail under his nose. The colt gave a chuckle, but continued on his train of thought undaunted.
“Maybe it was because…I always loved how Mother…looked in all those…amazing dresses and outfits…she wore as a…fashion model.”
“So what you are saying is you want to wear dresses?” teased Silver.
“…maybe.”
“What?!”
***
“The moment ah saw that there trophy fer Best Nightmare Night Costume, ah wanted it. Ah figured the other colts an’ fillies would think that I wuzn’t so scary and more lahk them, they might, ya know, want to be friends with me…” Big Macintosh’s semi-rant had dissolved into morose self-pity much to Caramel’s chagrin. The smaller stallion felt he had to say something…anything at this point even though he was grasping for straws for ways to comfort his friend and mentor.
“Maybe…maybe this year will be different?”
“Darn right it’s gonna be different!” The massive stallion slammed a hoof on the table, rattling the empty cider bottles and making Caramel stifle a squeak of fright (not to mention squeaks from some of the surrounding patrons). Big Mac blinked and looked around sheepishly. “Uh, ah saw an ant on the table…” Once the other ponies were satisfied (and their heart rates had returned to normal), the Apple stallion continued in a more moderate tone.
“This tahm around ah got a secret weapon. Ah realized the reason I ain’t had a chance to win the costume contest is that I kept doing it fer mahself. But now I got a better reason to fulfill mah dream…”
“A better reason?” questioned Caramel. Big Mac leaned in, his green eyes twinkling.
“Ah got a little brother. A little brother just the right age fer costume contests.”
As was their habit at the end of the day, Big Macintosh and Peppermill made their respective ways to a small hillock on Sweet Apple Acres property that gave a spectacular view of the setting sun. Underneath an old apple tree was where the stallion and colt would sit, watch the sky dot itself with stars and discuss all sorts of topics important to male ponies.
“So…a tail flick is a…good thing?” asked a skeptical Peppermill.
“Reckon so, ifin the number of tahms I got one of those from a gal…” rumbled Big Macintosh. The little chef sniffed, but decided to accept his more…experienced brother’s knowledge as truth. The colt gave another sniff, this time closing his eyes and frowning softly at the unpleasant (to him, at least) chill the night was forming in the air.
“Ah reckon we’ll hafta break out the parka fer yah…” grinned the stallion, watching his adopted kin shiver slightly.
“If only…you weren’t joking…” grumbled the colt. ”By the way…what is your opinion…on pumpkins?”
“Ah ain’t got a problem eatin’ them, if that’s wut yer askin’. While I lahk AJ’s apple pies ah won’t say no to a nice piece of pumpkin pie…”
“Have you ever…tried pumpkin soup?”
“Didn’t know you could make soup from a pumpkin…”
“It will…be something to look forward…to then. Speaking of…looking forward to things…” While the grey colt knew his elder brother would never do so, Peppermill felt a bit sheepish about having to admit his lack of experience in regards to Nightmare Night and all the activities involved. While he was sure he could have asked just about any pony in town, he much preferred to question the red stallion.
“Oh? You expecting something to happen?” asked the stallion. Truthfully, Big Mac also was hoping to broach the subject of the upcoming festivities. He figured the clever little colt would have a wagon-full of ideas about costumes to wear for Nightmare Night. Granted, it might be a bit tricky to convince the cook that a full-grown stallion wanted nothing more in the immediate future than to ‘dress up’.
“You do know…what big yearly event…is coming in…a few weeks?” asked the colt of the stallion.
“Hmmm…well…” The stallion rubbed his chin with a massive hoof, looking thoughtful but amused. The two Apple boys enjoyed bantering and teasing each other, both of them remarkably good at wordplay. The longer Big Macintosh held off from answering, the more ‘annoyed’ Peppermill became.
“Do I have to…spell it out for you?” Peppermill asked sweetly. Even before getting an answer, the colt began to poke at his brother’s rock-hard chest. “N…I…G…H…T…”
“I hope that ain’t yer strrin’ hoof yer using.”
“Would you rather…I use my hind legs?’ grunted Peppermill.
“Well. Ah reckon yer tryin’ to tell me that Nightmare Night is commin’ up.”
“Yes…it is…” panted Peppermill, ignoring the throb in his hoof. It’s like…poking a mountain…
“Believe me, ah know all too well that there celebration is coming up. The Apple clan plays a mighty big part in makin’ everything right. Who do ya think provides all the food fer the party?”
“For…the whole town?” The colt suddenly found his train of thought switching tracks, the chef in him pondering the logistics of providing party food for an entire town. So caught up in his sudden change of topic, he missed the next few things his brother spoke of with a wistful glimmer in his eyes.
“An’ of course there will be the annual costume contest. Everypony in town wants nothin’ more than to get their hooves on that there trophy…”
“If the normal…serving is for four…and taking into account the…differences in appetite of….foals and grown ponies…”
“And seein’ that you have probably seen and worn all sort of fancy costumes in Canterlot trick or treatin’…”
“…and of course, there…are allergies and…the tendency for ponies to…get pumpkin seeds…stuck in their teeth…and that they never can tell…that all pumpkins are gourds…but not all gourds are pumpkins…”
“Now ah know some folks think that only a youngun’ should be part of that contest, but ah ain’t never seen any rule about that. And don’t think ah am gonna take all the credit fer winnin’. Ah would consider it an honor fer the two of us to share that trophy…”
“…um…I think I can manage making the food.”
“I knew you’d see it mah way! Thanks fer helping me with mah costume!”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Big Mac…did you say costume?”
“Of course ah did. Wut are you going on about food?”
“I’ve never worn…a Nightmare Night costume…in my life…as short…as it is…”
“Never worn a costume…”
“I was hoping…you would help me…with a costume…”
“I wuz hoping you could help me with a costume…”
“Do you know…anything about Nightmare Night…costumes?”
“Ah ain’t got the faintest idea…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…oh horseapples…”
“Oh…bother…”
“Ah reckon is wuz just not meant to be…” This deep lament came from the morose Big Macintosh as he went about his duties in the orchard alongside his sister Applejack.
“Honestly Big Mac, ifin ya keep moping lahk this ahm gonna hafta do the buckin’ mahself!” grunted Applejack. Her older brother had been carrying on about costumes and Nightmare Night for three full days and she was at the end of her limited patience.
“You just ain’t able ta understand. You’ve been using the same scarecrow costume fer years…”
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that there costume!”
“You’ve worn it fer so many years ahm surprised it hasn’t fallen ta pieces, let alone fit ya…”
“Ah hope fer yer sake that wasn’t supposed to be a joke. Ah might not be fussy about my looks lahk some, but ah will still buck ya one ifin you are trying to say something about mah appearance.”
“Eenope…though ah reckon ya have been asking fer thirds of Peppermill’s cookin’ more often…” The stallion braced himself for the inevitable kick to the ribs from his sister for his comment, but not even the brief flash of pain could relieve the ache in his heart. In truth he was feeling far sorrier for his little brother than himself, upon learning Peppermill had never been trick or treating or wore a costume in his life.
There are just some things a youngun’ ought ta do…and ah ain’t about to let mah little brother down…
***
“I’d make a joke…how size does matter…but it would be…too obvious.” The grey colt was once again with his equally grey filly counterpart Silver Spoon, as the two of them discussed the recent turn of events up in the chef’s loft.
“I never would have guessed Big Macintosh was so into something like that.” admitted the filly.
“Tell me…about it.” sighed the colt. “He dragged me…to where he keeps…his trophies and…told me all about how…he wanted that costume contest…award since he was…my age.”
“I still don’t get why it is such a big deal for you boys. It’s just dressing up, isn’t it?”
“I guess a filly…with a massive closet…full of designer dresses…wouldn’t understand how it is…for a guy who maybe has…one or two articles of clothing…during a lifetime.”
“Ok, that is strike two!”
“Oh come on! Every…filly and colt…in town knows…you have them…”
“And every last one of them was either an unwanted gift or something forced upon me by an overzealous ‘got to look better than every other filly’ Diamond Tiara…” grumbled the filly.
“At least you…have options. I have no…idea where…I am going to find…a costume that could…fit Big Mac.”
“Big Mac? I thought you were trying to figure out something for yourself?” In response, the colt produced a calendar he had brought with him and showed it to his friend.
“I have plenty of…Nightmare Nights I can celebrate. But the same…can’t be said…for Big Mac. What kind of brother…would I be if…I didn’t try to help…my big brother fulfill…his lifelong dream?”
***
“Eeyup…ah reckon that is the only thing ah can do.” The determined face of the red stallion didn’t do much to remove the unimpressed glower on the face of the orange mare.
“This had better have somethin’ to do with apple bucking…”
“Am gonna help Peppermill come up with a costume fer Nightmare Night. Ah intend to make it the best one he has ever had!”
“And ya ain’t gonna try to live…wuts the word Twilight told me…vicarious-lahk through him?” Big Macintosh gave his sister an amazed look.
“Ah reckon that wuz the fanciest word ah ever heard you say AJ…ahm mighty impressed.”
“Thank ya kindly.” beamed the mare.
“And you can bet ah ain’t going ta be vicarious at all. Ah just want wuts best fer him.”
“Good.”
“In fact, ah reckon ahm gonna find him right now and the two of us ken figure out the best dang costume Equestria has ever seen!” And with that, the stallion jogged off. Applejack, still preening over her increased vocabulary and complement, suddenly blinked.
“Hey! Ya ain’t finished the bucking! Dang nab it Big Mac!!!”
***
“Well, should it come to it I would be happy to lend you the bits to get a professional costume for Big Macintosh.” Silver Spoon waited at the bottom of the ladder as Peppermill descended.
“Let’s call that…Plan B.” Peppermill jumped off the last rung onto the ground just as the big door to the barn swung open thanks to a mighty heave. The impact of the door startled the two young ponies, causing Peppermill to fall flat on his face at the filly’s hooves.
“Peppermill?” rumbled Big Mac, looking around.
“Um, over here Big Macintosh.” called out Silver Spoon, motioning to the colt who was picking himself off of the ground.
“Honestly…is there some…rule that says…Apple ponies always…have to slam doors open…and closed?” grumbled the grey colt.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” mumbled the stallion. “Ah was just excited is all…”
“Excited, about what?” questioned Silver Spoon.
“Well, ah has decided that ah am gonna do everything possible to make this coming Nightmare Night the best Peppermill has ever had. Ah reckon he is gonna knock the horseshoes off of every pony in Ponyville with the costume ah am gonna get him.”
“The costume…you are going…to get me?” asked Peppermill.
“Eeyup…”
“Well, that is…all well and good…Big Mac but…I am the one that is…going to get you a…costume for Nightmare Night.”
“You are getting’ me a costume?”
“Ahem…eeyup.”
“Well that is all well an’ good but ah reckon yer ain’t. Ah am getting you a costume, and that’s that.”
“Big Mac…you will never win…that costume contest…without a little help…”
“And a fella that ain’t never wore anything more fancy than a tie don’t know the first thing about costumes!”
“Oh…and I suppose you…are an expert?”
“Yer looking at a fella that has been studyin’ costumes fer years…a lot longer than you have been alive ah reckon.”
“Big Mac…your idea of…’fancy dress’…is a tie. My Mother…was a fashion model so…I think I might…know a thing or two about…dressing up…”
It…doesn’t sound like a fight…but… Silver Spoon could only stare as the two male Apples attempted to assert their respective opinions. Considering they were nose to nose (albeit with Peppermill up on his hind legs to do so) but still speaking in a civil tone did not make her feel any better. She decided that it might be a good idea to beat a hasty retreat before things got out of hoof. She scurried away, with the boys oblivious to her leaving.
“Ahm making yer costume!”
“I am…making yours!”
“A young’un needs to enjoy the holiday!”
“You need to…fulfill your life-long dream!”
“Dang, but yer a stubborn one…”
“That is the…pot calling the kettle…black…”
One of the many skills Peppermill had learned at his father’s side was that of multi-tasking, or as Pepperoncini had called it ‘the art of juggling courses’. It meant, as far as the colt was concerned, to be able to keep two or more different trains of thought going smoothly in his mind. Some ponies might have considered this a lesson in futility and possibly spectacular failure, but the grey colt had become rather adapt to it.
At the moment he was trying to keep the ideas of menu ideas and costume designs from meshing too much.
…
…
…
“I wonder…if there is…such a thing as…a taco costume.” This rather…obscure thought drifted through the youngest Apple’s mind as he made his way towards the back of one of the larger barns at Sweet Apple Acres.
After a little more debate-slash-bickering with Big Macintosh, the two Apple males had come to a compromise of sorts. They decided that they would work together and team up to win the coveted Best Costume prize at Nightmare Night. Of course, time was not on their side and both Big Mac and Peppermill were far too stubborn to ask for help. As a result the boys had basically gotten on the bad side of their female siblings with their near obsession and tendency to ignore their other chores.
For example, Peppermill at this time of day should have been beginning preparations for the evening meal. But he found that every time a meal idea came to him it would suddenly turn into a rather poor idea for a costume. He had decided that he needed to bounce some idea off of his older brother, if for nothing more than to clear his head. He knew Big Macintosh would be cleaning up after a hard day’s work in the orchards, and would be found at his ‘super shower’.
Being larger than most of the other pony’s in the area, Big Macintosh had learned pretty quickly that the standard tub-and-shower set-up for an average Equestrian home was simply not adequate enough to deal with his unique needs. But the stallion had proved to be just as handy (hoofy?) with construction tools as he was with apple bucking. Thanks to a bit of research and a few called-in favors in regards to plumbing and zoning laws he had pulled off a rather impressive building project.
Outside one of the more remote barns at Sweet Apple Acres, away from potential prying eyes, sat a large shower stall. It was large in the sense that a massive draft horse could walk in and out of it, not to mention turn around with ease. There were no less than four separate shower heads at the four cardinal directions, and the walls of the stall were solid stained oak. Big Macintosh took particular pride in the brass pipes he had fitted by hoof, not to mention the boiler that he maintained to keep the water hot and flowing hard.
Sure enough, Peppermill heard the sounds of the high-pressure water spraying before he spotted the stall and its lone occupant. He sauntered up to the hoof-made appliance and potentially waited, for once Big Mac began to let the hot water sooth his multitude of muscles he became oblivious to everything else.
Maybe I am…going about this the…wrong way. Maybe I…should try thinking…about costumes the…same way I think…about recipes. After all…it is a case of…’the sum of their parts’…” The colt was deep in thought, until he half-hearted gaze fell upon another familiar sight. There, leaning against one wall of the shower was Big Macintosh’s work collar.
Huh…the only time he…ever takes that off is…to shower and to sleep… thought the grey colt. The chef found himself with a rare opportunity to give the iconic harness a close look, and he decided not to pass the chance up. Taking one more moment to make sure the stallion was not looking, the colt crept up to the metal and leather device.
The colt peered hard at the worn, but still functional article of farm work. He found himself tapping the hard metal protrusions on the top of it, and noting the smoothness of the worn leather on the inside of the collar. It radiated the essence of power, and Peppermill was amazed at just how solid it was.
Hmmm… Peppermill leaned forward, noting that a small colt could just about squeeze through the space in-between the stall and the other side of the collar. The colt carefully pushed his muzzle into the gap and twisted his head, trying to aim for the opening in the collar. In his haste, he never noticed that the collar was no longer balanced properly and was beginning to slide.
He did notice when it slid far enough to drag him onto the ground, pinned underneath it.
“Ack!” squawked the colt in alarm, the weight of the collar shocking him. He always suspected that Big Macintosh’s collar was heavy, but not this heavy. No wonder he is so…strong… His alarm grew as he found it harder and harder to breath and his vision began to blur. He tried to call out, but nothing came out…
…
…
…
…until he found himself being lifted off of the ground. Peppermill gave a few massive gulps of air, and then peered up. He was indeed off of the ground, his body draped in the collar and the collar being held up by a less than impressed Big Macintosh.
“You know better than ta touch things that ain’t yers without permission.” rumbled the stallion.
“…sorry.” squeaked the colt, slipping out of the collar and onto the ground in a heap. The stallion put the collar back onto his mountainous withers, adjusted it a bit then peered down at his younger brother.
“Any particular reason why yer looking at mah collar?”
“I was…just curious…that’s all.” managed Peppermill, pulling himself to a sitting position.
“You know wut they say about curiosity and cats.”
“…is that…a costume suggestion or…a reprimand?” It was just like Peppermill to crack a joke in a time like that, and that was one reason why Big Macintosh could never stay mad at him for long.
“Ah ain’t sure ahd make a good cat…a tiger maybe…” Peppermill gave a small grin, and then a thoughtful look came across his face. The colt suddenly cocked his head, closed his eyes, pulled one foreleg tight against his barrel and tapped his temple with the other.
“Hmm?” Big Macintosh, as well as the rest of his family and friends, had dubbed this unique posture as the colt’s ‘heavy thinking mode’. It was considered good manners and a generally wise idea not to interrupt this, for quite often it resulted in a flash of in sight from the bright colt. Finally, the colt stopped tapping his head, and spoke.
“Big Macintosh…where would somepony…find a collar like that?”
“Well,” drawled the draft horse “Ifin I ever needed to get a new one, which ain’t gonna happen, ahd go the leather goods store. But ah reckon you ain’t got the muscle to wear something like that, at least not yet…”
“Humph…”
“But…”
“But?”
“Ifin it’s something that just looks lahk this, ah reckon you could go an’ ask Miss Cheerilee.”
“Miss Cheerilee?”
“Since she is the school teacher and all she keeps all of the stuff the young’uns need fer their learning. That includes all sorts of costumes and such fer school pageants. As ah recall, there is a collar that looks a lot lahk mine they have used. Of course, it’s colt-sized and a whole lot lighter. “
“Are you…sure about that?”
“Eeyup.”
“Hmm…” A slow smile crossed the cook’s face. “I just had…a brain wave.”
Things were finally begin to fall into place for the Apple boys, and not a moment too soon. Thanks to some help from Cheerilee, who supplied the essential prop and Rarity who directed the little chef to the necessary final touches Peppermill had devised what he felt was the perfect pair of costumes for himself and his older brother.
Now, all they had to do was keep the rest of their nosy family from spoiling their Nightmare Night surprise.
When Peppermill had presented his idea to Big Macintosh, the draft horse was initially uncertain of how they could pull off this stunt. But the more the colt described his plan, the more and more excited the Apple stallion became. It was exactly the sort of thing that he had wanted to try his entire life, but never had the opportunity to do. As a result, he was quite happy to spend every moment not at his chores with the colt preparing for the big night.
In order to keep it a surprise, the boys had taken to using another unused barn on Sweet Apple Acres property. To make doubly sure of their secrecy the Apple girls had been forced to swear on the Apple Family Album (quite possibly the most sacred tome in the Apple clan) not to go snooping around said barn. This was a feat that was far easier said than done.
“This is drivin’ me crazy.” muttered Applebloom, using a pair of binoculars to watch the barn from her room on the second floor of the farm house. “It’s already hard enough as it is to get Big Mac to give up secrets, but Peppermill is ten tahms as worse…”
“Ah admit, ah didn’t expect those two to be so excited over something lahk dressing up. At least, not Big Macintosh…” agreed Applejack. The Element of Honesty, as it turned out, was just as frustrated at being left out of the loop as her younger sister when it came to things involving her family.
“It don’t help that those two keep droppin’ all sorts of hints and such.” sighed the red-maned filly. “It’s lahk they are enjoying making us crazy.”
“Don’t fret too much sugarcube.” Applejack patted her sister’s head. “We only got three days left before Nightmare Night. And ah reckon we got our own business to take care of, seeing as though ahm running the catapult this year.”
“And me and the other Crusaders are working on a route that will get us the most candy in the least amount of tahm, so as we ken go see all of the costume contest. Ah ain’t gonna be happy till ah find out just what the boys are doin’…”
***
“Look Big Mac…I know that you…can do it. Just try again…”
“It ain’t nearly as easy as ya make it sound. I ain’t the talkative type…”
“You make it…sound like I am like…Pinkie Pie…”
“I reckon there ain’t no pony lahk Miss Pie.”
“You are…smart enough…you just have to…actually say it instead…of keeping it to…yourself. Besides, I am…the one who…is going to have…a tough time. Making my voice…that deep makes…my throat hurt…”
“Humph.”
“Ok…let’s go on…to something else then. Were you…able to get what I…asked for from Rarity?”
“Eeyup…but I reckon we are gonna hafta owe her for it. I reckon this much dye ain’t cheap. At least these little trinkets from Miss Twilight seem straight-forward.”
“You know…Rarity would never accept…money from us. She is far…too generous. And she…likes you.”
“Yeah…she and every other mare in town ah reckon.”
“And look at it…this way, when this…is all over you’ll…probably been even…more popular than…you already are…”
“Ah ain ‘t all that keen on being popular…”
“Still…”
“Humph.”
“Big Mac?”
“Eeyup?”
“You aren’t getting…cold hooves about all this…are you?”
“Heck no! Ah jus’ didn’t think getting dressed up fer Nightmare Night wuz gonna take so much…well, work.”
“The costume is…only part of it. Think of it…like acting in a play…”
“Actin’?”
“It is one thing…to look like…a different pony. But it…is something else to…think and act…like one.”
“You know, you sure seem to be takin’ this all serious-lahk…”
“I guess I just…always wondered how it…would have been if…I wasn’t a chef. Being this…mature and charming…can take its toll…on a colt.”
“It ain’t easy being you huh?”
“Eenope.”
“Naw, naw. Ya gotta make that first syllable longer and the second shorter to do it right…”
“Now who is…taking things too…seriously…”