Quick Fics, Silly Shorts and Other Musings
Hats Off
“Conflabbit, where did I put that darn thing?” Applejack muttered as she dug through her closet. A small cloud of dust was beginning to rise around the room and the air smelled like old leather. “I just wore it yesterday, it shouldn’t be THIS hard to find.”
Backing out of the closet, the cow pony shoved the small pile of clothes back in and forced the door closed. Rarity would be appalled at how Applejack cared for the Gala dress that had been made for her all those months ago, but the way AJ saw it she’d probably never end up wearing it again, at least not if she could help it.
She cast a gaze around the room, mentally checking off all the places she had looked. When it came to her kind of work, a mare’s hat was near enough the most important thing in the world. It kept your brow cool, your mane back and the sun out of your eyes. Not to mention it looks quite stylish when worn by the appropriate pony.
“The chest,” Applejack muttered to herself. “I haven’t looked there yet.” She couldn’t think of any reason she’d have put it in the chest, but it was one of the few places she hadn’t looked. Bending down she reached in and pulled the chest from beneath her bed, making a loud scraping noise and scratching up the floorboards.
Opening up the chest brought back a flood of memories. If there was ever something of value in AJ’s life, it eventually wound up in this chest. There was the blue ribbon from the first pie making contest she had won, the empty jar that had once been her first jar of zap apple jelly, a picture of her parents and countless other bits and pieces from her life tucked away where they would be safe.
“Applejack, what are you doing?” Apple Bloom stood yawning in the doorway. Being so young and not having many responsibilities to the orchard yet, the little filly wasn’t used to getting up this early.
Smiling, Applejack gestured for her sister to come over and have a seat. “I ever show you any of this stuff?” she asked.
Apple Bloom shook her head.
“I was a lot like you growing up. All that running around, playing with my friends and the like.” Rummaging through, AJ pulled out an old card decorated with pink ribbon that had faded considerably over the years. “I ever tell you about the first time I met Pinkie Pie? When she first moved to Ponyville? She took over the town hall by force and invited every last pony in town to a big party. She wasn’t throwing the party for herself, mind you. Nah, all she was interested in was making sure everypony had a good time.”
Another yawn. “That’s great, sis. Sounds like y’all had fun.”
Applejack chuckled. “Darn tootin.” Placing the invitation back in the chest, something else caught her eye. “Hold on a minute.” Reaching in, she pulled out a small hat. The style was much the same as the one she wore now, except cut from red materiel and the brim was trimmed with white embroidery. She’d gotten too big for this particular hat years ago, but it was the perfect size for a growing young filly. “Take this.” She pushed the hat down onto Apple Bloom’s head and gave it a tussle. “There, we’ll make a proper cowpony out of you yet.”
Apple Bloom smiled groggily. “Thanks, Applejack. It’s a nice hat.”
“You’re darn right it is,” AJ chuckled. “Now get on off back to bed, little sister. I’ve got to find my hat and get to working.”
“Uh, sis?”
“Yeah, what?”
“It’s on your head.”
Quick Fics, Silly Shorts and Other Musings
Just Desserts
“You’re lucky the brass is soft on fraternization.” Spitfire smirked as she touched down. “Otherwise we could be court martialed for this.”
Soarin grinned and playfully nudged his commanding officer’s shoulder. “Oh lighten up will you? Can’t we just forget about work for one evening?”
The flame haired pegasus let out a soft laugh as she moved in to nuzzle her boyfriend’s neck. “Sure, I guess we really could use a break.”
From the doors of the restaurant before them wafted the tantalizing smells of a dozen delicacies. The building itself was ornately decorated with a roof crafted in old fashioned, curved, clay shingles. Various vines were planted along the walls and potted flowers were hung from the overhang. Stepping inside revealed a warm atmosphere, each table individually lit by its own lantern and the deep red of the cherry wood seating contrasting the pale color of the earthen walls.
“Did you hear something?” Spitfire asked, peering back out the door behind them. “I could have sworn I heard—“
“Spitfire, we’re in the city. There’s always something to hear,” Soaring chided. “Come on, our table is ready.”
A waitress greeted them and led them to their table, a comfortable stall next to a window overlooking the dusk lit city.
Spitfire started paging through her menu idly. “You said this was your favorite restaurant, right? Mare Calender’s?”
“You bet your flank it is!”
Sighing, she began to glance over the options. It seemed like standard restaurant faire to her, although with a few country home cooking tweaks added in. Glancing up she noticed Soarin hadn’t even touched his menu. “Aren’t you going to order?”
“Oh,” Soarin replied, “I already know what I’m having.”
“Of course you do,” Spitfire muttered. Flipping through the menu again, she finally settled on a cheese stuffed baked squash filled with a variety of vegetables and spices. She was grateful for the window seat; it made her feel less cramped although she would have preferred outdoor seating. She hated having a roof over her head for too long. Well, unless the ceiling was particularly high of course. ‘There’s that sound again,’ she thought. She was sure she heard it this time, coming from right outside their window.
“Hi, I’m Lucky Tipper and I’ll be your server today. Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked, having reappeared at their table. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”
“I’ll have a Colt-a-Cola,” Soarin ordered. He looked across the table at Spitfire. “You want anything?”
“Just water will be fine, thanks.” Spitfire smiled up at the waitress. “I’ll be having the country stuffed squash to eat.”
Lucky Tipper scribbled furiously in her notepad. It was no mystery why most waiting staff were unicorns, their magic gave them an edge when it came to serving their customers. Finishing her recording, the waitress turned to Soarin. “And for you sir?”
“Ah, yes. I’d like to order your Prance-style apple pie.”
“Just a slice or a whole pie?”
Soarin grinned. “Whole pie, please.”
Suddenly it was all too clear why this was Soarin’s favorite restaurant.
Lucky Tipper smiled and bowed. “Alright, I’ll be back with your drinks.”
Sighing, Spitfire turned towards her partner. “Really, Soarin? You’re having pie before you’ve even eaten any dinner?”
“Are you judging me?” Soarin teased. “I’m a grown stallion. I can eat whatever I want, when I want. And besides, who says pie can’t be for dinner?”
Spitfire straightened up. “Soarin, if you don’t eat healthily you’ll fall out of shape and won’t be able to keep up with the rest of the squadron. What am I supposed to do if something crops up and I’m a stallion down?”
Soarin snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pull rank on me out here. That really would get you court martialed, given the circumstances.”
“All I’m saying is you should take better care of yourself.” Spitfire sighed. “After all, being a part of a team is a huge responsibility. Not to mention the celebrity status.” A flash of color caught her eye and she spun her head to look out the window. The sun was nearly set and the first stars were managing to peek out. In the meantime, Lucky Tipper had returned with their drinks.
“Did you see that?” Spitfire asked.
Soarin glanced out the window. “See what?”
“I thought I saw… something, I don’t know.”
Reaching across the table, Soarin laid a concerned hoof on Spitfire’s shoulder. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been a bit jumpy since we got here.”
“I’m fine, it’s just… I don’t know. Maybe work is getting to me.” Spitfire rested her head on one hoof, using her foreleg to prop herself up. “These last few years have been absolutely nuts, ever since that Nightmare Moon incident. Since then we’ve had dragons, ursas, chaos gods, shape shifters and more. Heck, not even the annual Best Flier contest went smoothly. We all almost died. And then the same ponies that caused that mess showed up to the Gala and create one just as big if not as dangerous. And now we not only have one new princess to serve but two! I recognize the latest one from before but where did this Cadance even come from? You get what I’m saying?”
“I guess so,” said Soarin. “When I really stop and think about it, it really has been a crazy few years.”
At that point Lucky Tipper returned to the table with their food. “Here we are, country stuffed squash for madam and a whole Prance style apple pie for sir.” Setting the food down, she gave them both her best smile. “Is there anything else I can get youuuAHHHHAHAHHHH!” The waitress backed up frantically several steps in fright.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” Spitfire knelt close to Lucky Tipper who only pointed out the window. Pulse pounding in her ear, Spitfire slowly turned around and discovered the source of the waitress’s terror.
“SPITFIRE, CAN I JOIN THE WONDERBOLTS YET?” Rainbow Dash yelled from the other side of the window. She had practically plastered herself to the outside. “I’VE BEEN PRACTICING EVERYTHING YOU TAUGHT ME AT CAMP. CAN I SHOW YOU SOMETIME?”
“Oh sweet Celestia, of all the times…” Spitfire straightened up. “Go home Dash, you’re drunk!”
“BUT YOU SAID SOMEDAY I COULD BE IN THE WONDERBOLTS.”
“MAYBE! I said maybe!” Gathering her composure, Spitfire returned to her seat. “Go home, Rainbow Dash.”
“AWWWWW COME ON!”
“I said go home!” Spitfire practically spat the words out through gritted teeth.
“OH MAN, THAT PIE LOOKS REALLY GOOD. CAN I HAVE SOME?”
“Rainbow Dash,” the captain of the Wonderbolts squashed down several violent impulses, “I swear to Celestia that if you do not leave right now I will not only never make you a Wonderbolt but I will see you grounded for a year.”
Grumbling, Dash peeled herself off the glass and staggered off into the night.
With a sigh, Spitfire turned back to her date. “Well now. I’m glad that’s dealt with. Shall we?”
“Y-you go ahead, Spitfire.” Soaring did his best to stifle a belch.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Soaring tapped his empty pie tin. “Stomach ache.”
fin
