Coltcuddling for Dummies
A Beginner's Guide to Colt-Milking
By Butterscotch Cream
Chapter One
"If you're reading this, you may lack experience with colts, you might feel a little off your game, or maybe you just want to prep yourself for that special encounter. No matter what your reason or experience level, one thing is for certain: you want to rumpthump like a pro. You are the alpha stallion, the top, the bucker, the colt-milker, and you want to prove your moves. You ca—"
"Macintoooooosh!"
The red stallion grimaced a little as the yell pierced through his concentration like a javelin, thrown with no small force by Applejack's voice. Tossing the book down on his bed with an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself up on his haunches and stuck his head out the conveniently positioned hotel window to locate his sister on the dusty street below.
"Eeeyup?"
"C'mon down an' help with the luggage here will ya? Rarity just got in!"
"...Eeeyup."
Macintosh couldn't help grunting a little after his less than enthusiastic affirmation, but dragged himself reluctantly off the bed and down the stairs all the same — after stowing the book discretely beneath his pillow. Normally, Big Macintosh was a very patient and accommodating fellow, but this time was a little different for a couple of reasons. The first was that "this time" was the fifth time that morning since breakfast, and he'd barely gotten past the first paragraph. Actually, he hadn't even managed that.
Due to a fuddled combination of schedules, mixed transportation, and last-minute packing, Applejack's friends were all arriving in as organized a fashion as raindrops from a raincloud, though Applejack had managed to arrange getting there with him before anyone else.
Part of the plan was to exhaust their cousin Braeburn's exuberance before he could discharge it on the others. However, the additional opportunities to welcome ponies had done nothing but give Braeburn an exercise routine. In fact, as Big Macintosh plodded his way to the front entrance he could already hear the yellow colt yelling the trademark "AAAAAPPLE-LOOSA" that announced his spontaneous and invariably non-consensual tours.
No matter how many times, how long, or how recently you visited, Braeburn always hauled you from one end of the town to the other showing you what was new, what was old, what had changed, what hadn't, what was going to, and what needed to but never did. The old things just got older, the new things certainly didn't get newer, and the things that needed changing never did — including Braeburn in the whispered opinions of some.
The other part of the plan, though, was the luggage. While Applejack had touted it as vacation time, he got the distinct impression it came at the price of playing bellcolt. So far, that impression had held true.
Twilight arrived first and was technically the only one to arrive "on time." She always had three suitcases: one for clothes, one for books, and a third for miscellanea, all clearly labeled. Then came Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy. Their luggage wasn't so much of a problem. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy hardly brought any and Pinkie Pie—... well, no matter what or how much of "what" Pinkie brought, she only ever needed one suitcase, and everything inside it was as spring-loaded as she was.
He had discovered this by explosive experience.
While the series of interruptions had been an annoyance, though, it was still just the first reason he was disgruntled. The other reason was that he was here, at Appleloosa. Being here meant he wasn't home, and not being home meant no chores to tend. Having no chores, of course, gave him time to read, because when he was home and wasn't doing chores he was generally taking care life's two other necessities: Chores and more chores, with food and sleep on occasion.
Not that chores were bad — they were good, honest work and kept the farm running smooth — but when he had the opportunity to actually relax he liked to do just that. It didn't help that he'd been making some plans of his own this time around, which included aforementioned reading and a certain adorable stallion.
His reading material was a very... educational book he'd painstakingly smuggled through Spike. There was no way in Granny's girdle he was going to risk Twilight seeing that book. He shuddered to think what would happen if she got hold of it. Unfortunately, his discretionary pains weren't entirely successful where Spike's curiosity was involved, and it was partly his own fault for fibbing that it was a comic.
"This isn't a 'Captain Starhoof' issue! What's colt-mil—"
Big Macintosh broke off the irksome memory with another grimace. He would never have really flattened Spike's tail in the cider press, but the potency of the threat was enough to purchase him a lifetime of secrecy on the topic. By some gracious providence, at least the book's cover had been nondescript even if the title wasn't.
"Don't jus' stand there makin' faces at it, Macintosh! Load up an' carry it on inside! Lan'-sakes! Ya'd think we were askin' ya t' carry the train or somethin'!"
Applejack's reprimand snapped the stallion back to reality where he realized he was, in fact, wincing painfully at a wagon loaded with a ridiculously broad assortment of suitcases, hat-boxes, and bags: Rarity. He snuck a glance at the station to see just how much of the train's inventory Rarity's cargo had comprised and spotted two suspiciously exhausted colts slumped against one of the luggage cars. He'd never say it out-loud of course, but at times he wondered if Rarity attended these trips expecting to open an outlet, or if she just aggregated as much wardrobe as possible to waltz about in.
After clearing his throat and recovering his usual impassive demeanor, however, he went to work pulling off some of the larger items while Applejack returned to whatever discussion she'd been having with her friends. It sounded vaguely important, but he wasn't there to eavesdrop and he wanted to get as much unloaded as possible before Braeburn returned with Rarity from his fanatical exposition. He had... reasons for his avoidance.
Applejack knew he was a coltcuddler, but long ago she'd tried pairing him with Rarity as a 'true gentlecolt,' and Rarity had become so enamored with the idea she'd latched onto him like burrs from a hayfield — with the exception that burrs had the decency to come off in a shower. It also made things distinctly uncomfortable around Spike. He couldn't walk past the library for three weeks without feeling a pair of soulless eyes from the eerily darkened windows. There really wasn't much to incite jealousy except a number of awkward dinner dates, mediocre Ponyville pageants, and some shudder-worthy visits to her "boutique" best left in the neglected corners of memory.
Finally, he'd broken the news of his orientation to Applejack (news of which immediately repaired relations with Spike) and of course she'd stopped her pushing. The elegant white mare was not so easily dissuaded. Being the good sister she was, AJ had tried to explain the situation to Rarity, but it was all for naught. The determined fashionista firmly believed he must have felt something due to the dates he'd gone on with her, and waved it all aside with a florid speech that summed up to: "I can change him." While Rarity had since restrained her insistence to a respectful amount, he'd never again seen Rarity in the same outfit twice on these shin-digs, and she was always standing right where he couldn't—
"Hello, Big Macintosh~! It's so nice to see you again, darling! Did you enjoy your trip?"
...miss her.
"Eeeyup."
Big Macintosh immediately began scanning the area for Rarity's absent diversion. Braeburn shouldn't have been back for another—... Oh. A flash of familiar colors indicated his cousin's targeting system had misfired. Instead of Rarity, a cow-eyed Fluttershy was being haplessly hauled on a second helping of Appleloosan grandeur, the dazed victim of an enthusiastically oblivious Braeburn. Normally it would have been chuckle-worthy, but in this case it left Rarity a free agent.
"Do you like my new outfit? I worked arduously on it all last night. Of course the train ride was so bumpy it was very hard to get anything done. And you know you really should come to my boutique again, Big Macintosh~ I could make a suit you would look absolutely astounding in!"
Then came the prompting pause. Big Macintosh didn't particularly 'hate' anything, but Rarity had become distressingly adept at making statements he couldn't reply to with his three staple answers of "Eeeyup," "Nope," and silence. Right about then he conveniently noticed he had gathered enough luggage to warrant a trip inside.
"Thank ya kindly, Miss Rarity, an' ya look real pretty, but I'm afraid I don't fit in suits none too well. Beg'n yer pardon, though, do ya know what room yer stayin' in?"
For a brief moment Rarity seemed without reply. Her expression was just kind of startled, perhaps not expecting the dodge, or maybe contemplating the stupidity of saying suits "wouldn't fit" to a seamstress. He wouldn't have minded the latter; maybe if she thought he was stupid he'd seem less appealing. But, the shock didn't keep her down for long. In the next moment, Rarity had fully regained her usual refined deportment of inviting smiles and cordial laughter.
"Oh don't be silly, Big Macintosh! Why, that's my job~! You have my word of honor dear! You would look stunning! And I have just the set of gemstones to spruce up that old harness of yours!"
The fact that Rarity neglected to mention her room number was not lost on Big Macintosh, nor was the comment about his beloved harness, which he clutched with instinctive self-preservation. Apparently two could play that game and she was quite prepared with a hoof of cards.
"216! She's room 216," Applejack's head introduced itself between the two ponies shortly after the announcement was made, and thus the third player in the conversational game slammed down her trump. "Don't dawdle, Macintosh! You get that luggage upstairs right now an' don't come back till ya've got it all in the right places. Less chatter, more work! C'mon, Rarity, we need ya over here."
Once again Rarity looked to be in a momentary loss for words, though her eyes glittered at Applejack with a steely perturbation shrouded only by a veil of social training. Instead of dishing out her annoyance with a sizzled retort, however, she simply turned back to Big Macintosh and smiled with a nod.
"Very well, I suppose I'll see you later, Big Macintosh~" Though well-mannered, he'd heard mares had a second language of undertones they used with one another, and somewhere in that sentence echoed the tenacious resolve of, "I'll get him yet."
"Thank ya kindly, Miss Rarity. I hope ya have a very nice afternoon." Thus Big Macintosh absconded into the hotel, well over-laden by packages that likely contained the gallery of outfits awaiting their turn in the one-pony parade.
Now, Applejack had two nagging voices. The first voice was a somewhat bossy but endearing plead when she needed things done. The second was a very bossy and commanding snarl that brooked no argument. She only used that when she was rescuing him from an awkward situation, and it was hard for Macintosh not to smile as he tromped up the hotel stairs. He'd used the same tone with her on seldom occasion when she garnered harmless but unwanted attention from the summer help. It was an easy way to diffuse situations without horribly offending anyone, usually.
212... 214... 216. Big Macintosh unlocked the door with the key he'd gotten from the desk clerk and gave it a gentle boot with his hoof to swing it open. The room was one of the better suites available in Appleloosa, furnished with fineries likely imported from places he could neither pronounce nor spell. And thank goodness the room was large.
There was at least another trip worth of luggage to carry up (two, if he wasn't so desperate to finish in as few trips as possible), and he wasn't sure where to put any of it. If it'd been his luggage, Applejack's or any of the other ponies the answer would be simple: set it on the floor. But he feared that wouldn't suit Rarity, and as much as the opportunity to disenchant the mare's attractions appealed to him, he still considered himself a gentlecolt.
Each location he checked echoed a response, appropriately, in Rarity's voice. Bed: it would get dust on the covers... The coffee table: Too small. They'll topple on the floor! Inside the closet: Too inaccessible for unpacking. The couch: Still too dusty. The bathroom: They might get damp — oh, the wrinkles! Going through the darn things and putting them away himself: How rude!
"Jus' stick'em on the floor an' don't worry yerself about Rarity." Big Macintosh turned to find Applejack standing in the doorway behind him, smirking a bit and carrying the other half of Rarity's things. "Didn't think I was gonna let ya handle the whole kit'n'kaboodle by yer lonesome did ya?"
He grinned and stepped to the side to let Applejack in while shrugging at her suggestion. "I don't think Miss Rarity would like that too much, AJ, otherwise I would."
"I doubt she'll mind that much. 'Sides, the only messes Rarity'll ever be happy with are the ones she makes herself. That 'inspiration' room'a hers? It. Is. A. Disaster. Granny 'd tan my hide if I ever let my room get like that. Here..." She trotted up beside him, shook her own load off onto the floor (literally) and then nodded at her brother. "Give'em t' me."
One by one, Big Macintosh plucked the luggage off of the case-carrier draped over his back and gave it to her, and one by one Applejack tossed them onto the pile she'd started. Somehow they ended up semi-neatly stacked.
"That should do it," Applejack stated with a self-satisfied grin, "Now we can jus' tell her I did it. Go'on and get back to whatever ya were doin'."
Big Macintosh grinned again and squeezed her in a brawny foreleg. "Thank ya, AJ."
Wasting no time, Big Macintosh shimmied out of the luggage carrier he'd picked up downstairs and set it on the floor next to the doorframe. One of the bellcolts would come by and collect it later, he figured. More important matters were on his mind for the time being, and he practically pranced back to his room down the hall. He kicked his door closed with a swift thunk of his hind hoof and trundled over to the window to sneak a glance outside, perhaps possessed by an underlying guilt that wanted to make sure his secret wasn't discovered.
Whatever his reason, it was soon recanted.
Rarity, guided by her predatory instincts, was already staring at his window the moment he'd looked out and immediately began to wave with demoralizing enthusiasm. Before he could stop it, he began to give a half-hearted wave and a dim smile born of unremembered social obligation ingrained at foalhood. No!
Big Macintosh lurched away from the window desperately to stop himself, but it was too late. Rarity had seen it, and worse yet Pinkie Pie had been beside her. In the split-second it took to duck out of sight and plaster himself against the bed he witnessed the two mares put their heads together in whispered giggles, and he wasn't sure what part of that whole sequence was most disturbing.
Despite the sudden churning in his stomach, though, at least for right now there was a door and a barrier known as "Privacy" between him and them. After a moment to clear his head, he pushed the unsettling worries out of his mind and slumped back into bed with a sigh, rolling around till he'd discovered a comfortable position with his book. Finally, back to business.
"If you're read—" Bah! He wasn't going to get stuck reading that paragraph again. Big Macintosh began skimming for the place he'd actually left off reading. Wait, no. He didn't need to read the intro for a patronizing pep-talk either. All he needed was the how-to. Next section.
"Step One: Enticing your Target"
A small grin played over Big Macintosh's face at the title. While he hadn't actually done anything, he liked to believe himself pretty capable in that regard. He already knew who he was going for, too. That flamingly gay, boisterous, bouncy and most importantly, respectably distant cousin, Braeburn. Well, a wee bit less distant since they were both in the same town, but that wasn't the point. "Cousin" was more of a nick-name than an actual known fact, seeing as no one knew exactly how he was related aside from being an Apple.
Sure, the yellow colt's boundless energy could be overpowering, but there was an irresistibly adorable quality to him. The fact Braeburn's flank hadn't already been tackled by every eligible stallion in town astounded Big Macintosh slightly, even if said town was mostly populated by Apples of marginally closer relation, but he wasn't about to question good fortune. Besides, he was curious how Braeburn would act under— hoooooold it! He was here to read. Not fantasize. Mostly.
"Now, we're going to start off this section with the assumption you are neither stalker nor creep, and we highly recommend that you do nothing obnoxious or illegal. Those lesser points aside, being an obnoxious jerk will really hurt your chances of landing a date. You will get farther being considerate, or so ridiculously rich and famous that no one cares if you're not. One is far easier to achieve than the other.
"So the rule of hoof is as follows: don't be a jerk, be considerate, and be observant. It's better to have a little paranoia than to be so oblivious you don't see the hoof coming at your face till it slams your jaw into the back of your head. Don't just be confident, be courteous. However, this book is about the 'meatier' parts of male courtship, so we'll also make the assumption here that you understand what we're getting at, and entrust any additional learning to field experience and medical bills."
The grin on Big Macintosh's face got a little wider as he slid back against his pillow and turned the page.
"The second rule of seducing a colt is Hello, Big Mac! Oooh! Oh! Oh! What'cha reading!? Wait. Coltcuddling?! Why are you reading about coltcuddling!? 'A beginner's guide to—' your hoof is covering it."
"Pinkie!" Big Macintosh sat upright and slammed the book down so hard he nearly broke the bed, glancing down only long enough to ensure his hoof was still covering the only word that had been spared discovery before glaring at the pink mare. "What are y'all doin' in here!? Didn' ya see my door was closed!?"
"Not completely! And your window was open!"
"My win— my winda' ain't got nothin' to do with it! An' if my door wasn't all closed it was intended t'be." He huffed and deftly folded his blanket over the book to make sure it was obscured, then cleared his throat with an expectantly leveled gaze at her. "Now, what d'ya want?"
Pinkie Pie only paused a few moments as she processed this information. He wasn't entirely sure how much of it had registered, and the wall of privacy wasn't normally something he worried about others breaching. Up till then, Pinkie Pie's particular brand of irreverence hadn't been a matter of personal experience.
"Well really, Big Mac, you gotta be more careful about closing things so ponies don't get the wrong idea and barge in! I mean if you closed the door then I could've come in through the window, though I'm really glad you didn't 'cause I'd have to go crawling over the roof — but anyway! Rarity and I were talking and I saw you wave and she told me that you liked her and I thought oh that's wonderful! We could throw another party — cause your coming-out party was loads of fun! But then I came up here and got upset because I found you reading about coltcuddling which means you're a coltcuddler again and now I'm not sure if I should just throw you another coming-out party or if I should throw you a going-back-in party and then throw another coming-out party! You should really make up your mind about things because it's confusing and while I love parties you can only come-out and go-back-in so many times. I get dizzy when I do that, though that can be fun up till you get sick—"
"Pinkie!" Big Macintosh rolled off the bed and turned to face her like he would an errant Applebloom, pulling out his paternal reprimand voice. "I'm still gay, I always have been gay an' I never stopped bein' gay for Rarity!"
Pinkie Pie gave him an uncharacteristically serious look of disbelief. "You can't be gay for Rarity! You're a stallion! ...riiiight?"
There was a resounding thud as Big Macintosh facehoofed with a beleaguered cringe. "I mean, I am not attracted t'Rarity. I'm stickin' with colts."
"....so would that be a sticking-out party?"
"There ain't no party! Now I'd appreciate it if ya kindly let me read my book!" The floor shook underneath the furniture as Macintosh stomped across the room, preparing to pull open the still-mostly-closed door and usher her out, forcibly if necessary. However, he'd turned his back for a moment too long.
"They produce milk!?"
The door slammed shut in panicked reflex to prevent the escape of further incriminating words as Big Macintosh wheeled around, terror welling in his eyes. Pinkie Pie, of course, was peeking under the blanket at the book. He was about bellow out a terribly uncharacteristic rebuke when his thoughts were arrested by a heavy thump in the hallway. Doors didn't make that sound.
Jerking the door open again, Big Macintosh poked his head out and began searching frantically for the source of the noise. At first, the coast seemed clear, but then he looked down, and found himself staring at an unconscious Rarity. She was sprawled on the floor in appropriately dramatic pose with a slightly bloodied lip, likely the victim of untimely eavesdropping.
Big Macintosh fell back onto his haunches and dragged a hoof over his face, letting out a gut-wrenched groan. As if his day couldn't g— No! He was not going to think those words! She should've known better than to be listening behind doors anyway. A business-like calm settled over him as he pulled himself up and stepped over to try and wake her again. This happened often enough when newbie applebuckers got conked on the noggin one too many times.
"Miss Rarity? Miss Rarity, are you alri—"
"Hey look! A chiclet!" Pinkie was proudly displaying her discovery on a hoof: a small, candy-like square of white. "A weird-shaped chiclet with red on it. I wonder if it's cherry-flavored!"
No sooner had she said this than a cold horror seized him and an ugly thought blasted into his mind. Big Macintosh yanked open Rarity's mouth to confirm his fears: a black gap where one of her otherwise pristine front teeth should have been. The stallion recoiled and stamped his front hoof on the floor in consternation. "Of all the—" He glanced up to find that Pinkie Pie had already popped it into her mouth and was making tell-tale chewing motions. "Pinkie Pie! Spit that out! That ain't no candy! That's Rarity's tooth!"
There was a moment of dumbstruck silence before Pinkie abruptly spewed it out in disgust. The tooth was unwilling to forsake its new host so easily, however, and grappled Pinkie's lip with a long thread of siliva. Pinkie whipped her head left and right attempting to rid herself of it, but the tooth just swung around through the air like a desperately clinging spider. "Ew-ew-ew-ew-EEEEW! It wasn't chewy! And it didn't even taste like cherry!"
"Jus' grab the tooth an' help me find Braeburn — we gotta get this fixed or I'm a cored apple!" He knelt down and dragged Rarity's desecrated form onto his back as gently as he could, while Pinkie unceremoniously pounded the clingy tooth into the carpet with her hooves to force detachment. Just then, Twilight and Braeburn came up the stairs into the hallway. For once Braeburn had perfect — or at least more convenient — timing, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Macintosh got something out of his mouth first.
"Braeburn! Ya got a dentist here? Rarity went an' got'er tooth knocked out, an' we need it fixed pronto."
Twilight, as usual, bounded into help-mode. "Pinkie! Go get a glass of milk to put the tooth in! Keep her head elevated Macintosh, don't let her sag or she'll bleed all over! There's a dentist down on E-street, I read it in the brochure! How did this happen?" Before he could reply, Pinkie Pie provided an accurate, if painful summary.
"She was eavesdropping by the door and Macintosh slammed it on her face! Oh! Oh! Should I get regular milk or—"
"Regular! ...milk." Big Macintosh ignored the odd looks his emphatic interruption earned him. He was not taking chances on Pinkie's sensibilities. Fortunately, Pinkie Pie took his response as sufficient.
"Okay! I'll be back in a jiffy!"
While they were talking, Braeburn had trotted to Big Macintosh's side and repositioned the noodle-like mare into a spread-eagle position to keep her from slipping off. Her limbs dangled lifelessly around the shire's shoulders and flanks, and her head was propped awkwardly between his ears with her lips parted just enough for the gap to be visible.
Overall, the pose and expression gave her an uncanny resemblance to a snoozing hobo. Despite being late to the conversation, Braeburn finally found his turn to speak and he wasn't about to miss it. "Sure do, cuz! An' I gotta say he is the best dentist roun' these parts! Why I'd bet my best horsehoes he—"
"Braeburn," Macintosh interrupted with a meaningful glance, "jus' get us there." Then a thought occurred to him. "Oh, uh... wait jus' a minute." He hustled back into his room with Rarity's body bobbing around on his back in puppet-like exaggeration his motions, then shortly re-emerged tucking something underneath his harness. "Alright. Let's get'a move on." Right about then, he became aware of a breeze on his neck, and he turned to see Twilight waving a wing furiously at her friend's head. "What in tarnation are ya doin', Twi'?"
"I'm trying to help wake her up if you'd just hold st—"
"No!" In a feat of agility unbecoming his size and stature, Big Macintosh lept clear across the hallway over to the stairwell, somehow managing to keep the jelly-like mare on his back. "Have ya gone darn nutty!? I'm thankin' Celestia she's still sleepin'!"
Author's Note
This was written for laughs, so if some characters seem slightly out of character that's because this was intended to be more funny than accurate, though I did try to be fairly faithful to canon. Just have fun. Also keep in mind, this story was started before Season 3 (yeah, way back).
In this story, Braeburn is a distant "cousin." We're never told how far removed he is, so I'm taking creative liberty. Besides, Elvis Presley! Stay tuned for the next chapter!
Coltcuddling for Dummies
A Beginner's Guide to Romance
Chapter Two
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HA-HA-HAAAAAAA!!! MY TOOPH! My bootiful... MY WONDERFUL TOOOPH! I'M RUIIIIIIII-HIII-HII-HIIIINNNNED! AAAAAA-HA-HAAAAA-HAAA!!!"
There were two doors and a hallway between the exam room and the waiting area. The sound penetration was downright impressive, and due to her missing tooth, every time Rarity tried to pronounce an "S" it came out as an ear-popping whistle. Dr. White barred his teeth, raking a hoof through his mane in agony.
"What in the blasted blazing baffnaps is that pony's problem!? Gumdrop! Please get that patient in here!"
Gumdrop glanced down at her work sheet before quirking an eyebrow with a concerned expression. She'd been a nurse at a mental ward before this, so her ears were more accustomed to prolonged assault. Or perhaps slightly deafened. "But, sir! You still have another appointment before—"
"—I don't care! that mare has been screaming so much I had to give my last patient anesthesia for a gum exam! A gum exam!"
"I LOOK LIKE A SSSSSSSSLOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOB!! AAAAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAAAAAA!!"
Dr. White's expression got a little more desperate, but he did his best to wrestle his temper down when he looked back at Gumdrop. His voice was raised, but now just to be heard over the incessant wailing, "Send my apologies to the appointment and offer to reschedule if they can't — or won't — wait today. If this goes on any longer I'll anesthetize myself."
"Yes sir, I'll let them know." The lavender mare trotted out of the office, leaving Dr. White to slump over his counter, trying to block out the worst with his hooves. Accustomed as she was to yells and screaming, even Gumdrop tucked her ears back as she dragged herself up the hallway through the concussive waves. If the screaming didn't delay her with reluctance, it might've by sheer force.
The remnants of their appointments for the day were either unabashedly covering their ears, curled up in their chairs, attempting stoic composure behind shaking newspapers or... gone. Mostly gone. The term 'squeakiest wheel' seemed both apt and understated.
It was logical to assume the four ponies clustered around the siren were company rather than prospective patients, though they looked no less pained than anyone else in the room. Well, all except the pink pony. Though not as loud, she appeared entirely undaunted by the excessive volume and instead was gleefully searching for harmonized pitches: a difficult if not impossible task, considering how frequently it shifted.
Getting the wailing patient to the dentist took higher priority than notifying the next appointment of the obvious delay. At any rate, it would be easier to tell them when their hearing wasn't impaired. If they were still there.
"Please tell the patient to follow me. Dr. White will see her now." Gumdrop's voice, while not quiet, was apparently still not enough to cut through.
"What?!" Twilight shouted back, leaning forward with a hoof very slightly cocked out of its ear-plugging position.
"I said, Dr. White will see her now!"
Twilight succumbed to a brief montage of exasperated and increasingly pained expressions as her mind battled between social standards and pragmatism. Pragmatism won, and a second later Rarity's onslaught was abruptly stifled to a confused whimper.
"I'm sorry. What?"
The silence was so deafening it practically had an echo, and there wasn't an eye in the room not staring at the purple hoof corked in Rarity's muzzle, including Rarity's, who had gone cross-eyed with a perplexity too shocked to be insulted. Gumdrop fumbled with her clipboard for a few moments, blinking as if all memory of the last 30 seconds had been wiped.
"I um... I said-... Dr. White is ready, please follow me." The moment "ready" left the nurse's mouth both Macintosh and Twilight clamored to oust Rarity from her seat with 'supportive' exuberance. As quickly as they managed this, though, their speed afterward was anticlimactic, what with Mac craning his neck under one foreleg as Twilight took the other, hobbling on three legs as Rarity salivated over the fourth.
A mare who was still bravely waiting her turn watched them from behind a cage of her own limbs, a single eye visible as it followed their unsteady progress to the hall door. When they reached it, Macintosh cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.
"If y'all can make it okay, I'd kinda like t'stay behind an' wait for ya in the waitin' room. I uh... I got some readin' I'd like t'get done." Macintosh followed this up by widening his awkward grin, hoping to disguise his blatant attempt at invoking Twilight's literary sympathies. Apparently it worked.
"Big Mac! I didn't realize you read!" She blinked, "Oh, well I mean I know you can read but I didn't realize you enjoyed reading!" Perhaps grasping this wasn't coming across as positively as intended, Twilight wisely dove for the conclusion, "Aheh... Far be it from me to stand in the way of a pony's book list! We'll be fine! Besides, it'll get crowded. Why don't both you and Braeburn wait out here?"
For a split second, Macintosh almost looked dismayed; despite his feelings toward Braeburn, he was really hoping for some alone reading time. Emphasis on alone. He didn't want to risk 'taking the test' before he was ready, and he certainly didn't want Braeburn catching him with a literal how-to on coltcuddling, as if he didn't know what he was doing. Which he didn't, entirely, but that was beside the point.
All things considered, though, he already had much more personal space in the waiting room than he could have hoped for thanks to Rarity. So in the spirit of not looking a gift-horse in the mouth (in multiple senses) he opted to go along with the arrangement.
"Why thank ya, Miss Twilight!" He nodded to both her and the silenced Rarity, the latter of which stared up at him with a whimpering, tearful gaze, "An' I'm awful sorry that happened t' ya, Miss Rarity. I'm sure the doc here'll fix that tooth right up."
. . . an awkward pause followed as Macintosh tried to determine how to extract his support of the white unicorn without risking disengagement of Twilight's hoof. The princess also seemed to recognize this complication, and with the shared demeanor of a bomb squad they glanced up, down, and everywhere to take stock of the precarious configuration. Then an idea occurred to him.
"Miss Twilight? I don't s'pose you got one'a them..." He wordlessly drew a circle in the air with an unoccupied forehoof, and Twilight's eyes flew wide with an immediate spark of recognition.
"Of COURSE! Why didn't I think of that!?" Not a split second later, Twilight's horn lit up and poomf! A bubble of pink magic formed around Rarity's head. When she pulled her hoof away, Rarity's outburst resumed full force.
Except silently.
"Wonderful! Now Rarity can have her catharsis and we can... not... suffer hearing damage," her voice had drifted from a statement to something of a groan, "I think I was too busy having a headache to remember I could even do that. Anyway, I think we've got it from here. Enjoy your reading~!" Twilight's tone had regained some of its chime as she waved her slobber-slicked foreleg in his direction.
Macintosh pulled away as Pinkie Pie slid in to take his place, and with one more shaky smile he turned to trot back up the hall to the waiting room. Pinkie was already filling the offensive silence with rambling of her own.
"Y'know they say if you listen to a sound long enough you can start hearing music in it? It's true! I could hear melodies and tunes that I made all myself, and I could even start hearing my favorite songs in the screams just by tweaking the sounds in my head a liiiiittle bit! And I had a super-duper-UPER idea! If we can't fix her tooth, maybe we can help her do a line of hobo-pony fashion! 'Rags by Rari—" poomf.
Once again the waiting room was silent as Big Macintosh closed the door. Much to his relief, Braeburn had already seated himself, making it easy for Macintosh to select a chair distant enough for privacy. Two chairs between them should be plenty, he reasoned. One would invite interaction and three would suggest avoidance, but two was the sweet spot of social neutrality. Settling in with a grunt, Macintosh finally pulled his contraband from its location in the harness and opened it up once more.
During all of this, it was impossible to ignore that Braeburn was being abnormally reticent.
Macintosh was something of a wallflower, and as such was accustomed to standing out about as much as an ink spot on a busy newspaper. Braeburn, on the other hoof, made a practice of being the front page headline and yet he hadn't peeped a syllable since they got there. While the red shire was loathe to have more reasons not to read while he had the opportunity, he couldn't help but sneak a glance.
Braeburn was just sitting there, staring at the floor. Anxious? Surely not about Rarity's tooth... odd.
But as always, Macintosh wasn't about to question good fortune, even if it did come in the midst of pretty bad fortune. Turning back, his eyes skimmed through the pages: No stalkers or creeps... ridiculously famous... illegal... courteous... meatier... medical bills—Ah ha!
"The second rule of romancing a colt is being yourself. We just covered not being a creep, so now we'll cover the broader but related topic of being normal. Note that we said 'normal,' not 'suave' or 'classy.' In fact, the harder you try to 'impress' your target with your incredibly urbane skills, the more likely you'll be incredibly painful to watch. You don't want to try your luck hoping your fumbles end up looking cute, either, because unlike the movies they probably won't. Stallions in the cinema get tons of rehearsals, professional make-up artists, and scenes that were written for them, so even the stupid looks romantic."
"Hey... Macintosh?"
"An example: Leaning to a claustrophobic degree and delivering a 'winning grin' that vibes of a serial killer on the hunt. Trust us, no matter how appealing the visage of being a hunter is in your mind, it's not nearly as attractive in person, especially when forced. Save yourself a kick to the privates and don't try to squeeze into the witty, script-induced charisma of super stars. You'll do far better being the best version of yourself, but still yourself.
"A relaxed stallion is an attractive stallion."
"M-Mac?"
"Yes Braeb-Braeburn!!!" Macintosh and his voice jumped two stallions high in the squealed outburst. Somewhere between "The second rule" and "a relaxed stallion," Braeburn had shifted down to the chair right next to him. His massive, fumbling hooves couldn't cram the book out of sight fast enough, shoving it so far under his rump it felt awkward.
He sat there frozen in a posture suggesting electrocution a good long time before his brain calmed down enough to move. The yellow stallion was in practically the same state, except craned in the opposite direction as far as the armrest allowed.
"I-I-I'm sorry cuz! I didn't mean t' startle ya! I wasn't eaves-readin' or nothin' I swear! That'd be bad manners!" The words had tumbled out tinged with an odd desperation, as though he'd been waiting for the moment Big Mac registered his presence again to say them; he actually sounded scared.
It was right about then the words "A relaxed stallion" echoed in Macintosh's brain and he cleared his throat. He had to salvage this, somehow. As smoothly as he could, Big Macintosh desperately willed himself to relax, grinding his body back into the chair to achieve a pose less hysteric. It's very hard to 'relax' when every part of you feels like cement. And of course when you're relaxing desperately.
"S'alright Braeburn. Imma-krf-I'm jus' a little skittish after Rarity's urm... impairment. What'd ya need?"
As Big Mac "relaxed," Braeburn tried to follow suit in a disturbingly identical fashion, heaving an exaggerated stretch and sprawling in his chair as though nothing mattered in the world. The fake was real with this one, though he probably wasn't any better.
"Oh nothin' much. I was just uh... wonderin' about Applebloom!" Braeburn's sentence gained a suspicious energy halfway through, strongly suggesting it had discovered itself along the way, "How is the filly these days? An' Granny Smith!"
"Oh, they're fine... they're fine..."
"That's good."
"Eeeeeeyup."
. . .
"Well look cuz, I'll uh... I'll jus' git back over to m'seat and let ya to yer readin'. We c'n catch up a mite later!" Braeburn exited his 'relaxed' posture much more naturally than he entered it, which is to say he scooted nervously back to the chair he originally occupied and crammed himself in. He then immediately pulled his hat down over his face as though to snooze, but there was the merest bit of muzzle sticking out the bottom, enough to see a twisted expression of mortified embarrassment.
Here, Macintosh got to thinking. And he thought a little more. And a little more, ruminating over the sequence of events and behaviors. And a little more... and then he smiled, just a bit. One of those smiles you might imagine a detective gets when he solves a case and everything fits.
This time when he relaxed it was perfectly natural, settling in the waiting room chair about as comfortably as Granny's rocker back home. When he pulled his book back out from under himself to resume his scholarly excursions it was with a note of solid confidence and a twinkle in his eye. It almost threatened to become a grin—then his face plummeted into frustration.
The book was folded halfway over.
"To help with visualization of the scenarios going forward, we've provided some imag-" Suddenly, Big Macintosh's face grew a few shades deeper and he rapidly turned to the next page, wiggling uncomfortably with a snort. Well, he tried to. With the pages bent the way they were from being sat on, it took an average of three swipes for each one, five if the content was especially incriminating.
They had provided plenty of material to 'work with,' but he still considered himself a proper stallion! And that level of how-to wasn't something he nee— well... he'd review it later. But he didn't need it now! And it would introduce problems he needed even less, especially in public.
He took a deep breath and resumed where the largest section of text seemed to be, trying very hard not to let his eyes wander further up to the last illustration that hung tantalizingly above it, in every sense of the term. Actually, no, he turned to the next page again, just to be safe.
A fold-out of Soarin' sprang at him like a foal's pop-up story book, practically exploding to eye-level and bobbing stiffly in all the sports pony's unmitigated glory — if slightly creased. There were clearly things Rainbow Dash hadn't shared about Wonderbolt financing.
"Hey Big Macintosh! We're all done! I got tons of notes on the procedures. I didn't know there was so much involved in dentistry! How's the book?" Twilight's voice was so close it was like she was standing next to him. He saw her hooves. She was standing next to him!
WHAM! He slammed the book shut so hard between his hooves the clap rattled through the waiting room furniture. In as business-like a manner as frenetically possible, he rushed to stuff the book back under his harness. Again. Twilight and Pinkie Pie blinked.
"...Wow! You're... ...ready?" The princess sounded anything but certain on her choice of words. Floating in front of her was a notebook and quill, likely the distraction that allowed him to hide the book before she noticed, "...is that a map?"
He looked down, only then realizing he hadn't pressed the fold-out back into the book before closing it, and instead found it dangling face-down against his chest like a necktie.
"Eeeeyu—"
"With Soarin's head on it!!!" announced Pinkie, who had turned her own head upside down to see underneath. That did it. Macintosh yanked down the free-hanging paper, tearing it from the hidden book and balling up before anyone else could spot the nature of it.
Twilight was utterly incensed.
"Big. Macintosh! You should never treat a book that way! Why would you be so destructive?!" Her horn started glowing, and he felt the tell-tale tug of magic on both the wadded paper and his harness, "Here, I have a simple reparations spell that'll—"
"NOPE! Nope nope nope! NO!" 'Panicked flailing' doesn't quite capture the energy of the movements that followed. It was more a hurricane of limbs as he tumbled to the floor trying to wrestle out of Twilight's grip, somehow managing to shove the page under his harness to join the book as he did. Locking his forelegs around it, he put all his considerable musculature and weight into holding the harness down against her magic, which was gradually a losing battle that mostly just dragged his belly over the rug.
In his head, he knew he had to come up with a better excuse than "Nope" but nothing was coming to him. It was his default, after all. Then he saw a magazine another pony had left, "It was an advertisement!" Twilight was rightly incredulous, but she paused.
"An advertisement, in a book, for the Wonderbolts, that includes a map? That you felt the need to tear out and hide?"
Pinkie Pie was again 'helpful,' "It's a treasure trail map!" then leaned in to stage-whisper, "They've gotten reeeeeaaally liberal with their advertisements."
"Uh-huh." Twilight, being a ner—data-driven fact enthusiast—d, seemed unware of Pinkie's vernacular, but she was nothing if not persistent in the face of suspicion, a feeling she was very acquainted with, "I'm struggling to think of any publication that would include advertisements in book printing, Wonderbolts or otherwise." While Applejack may have been a terrible liar, that didn't make Big Macintosh any better at it, and his head was aching trying to come up with more.
"You an' me both, Miss Twilight! T'was as much a shock t'me as you, I swear!" His honesty was one hundred percent genuine on that point, complete with honest sweat, even if missing crucial context.
"You've been particularly verbose today, Big Macintosh, especially about this..." Her eyes narrowed further, and Macintosh continued to sweat so much he feared it might leave a Soarin'-colored ink-stain on his chest. But finally, whether she decided it wasn't worth pursuing or simply gave in to suspension of disbelief, Twilight released her magic.
Macintosh let out a heaved sigh as his head sank to the floor. He was a simple pony. Of all the things he never expected of his life, playing tug-of-war with an Equestrian princess over lascivious Soarin' pinups hadn't even made the list. Still, more than happy to take the win, he pulled himself back up to his hooves.
"I... suppose I... but..." she sighed and shook her head, then stared longingly at the location she knew the paper was hidden. One could almost feel her OCD battling her respect of privacy, "Well, if you change your mind on me fixing the boo—"
"—Y'all will be th'very first pony I come to, Miss Twilight. Awful kind'a ya t' offer," He bobbed his head sincerely, and then shot Pinkie Pie a warning look. She just smiled and blinked blankly; her train of thought had probably already left for the next station. Never had one of his secrets felt so precarious, but he hadn't exactly asked her not to tell, now had he? And now he couldn't, because Twilight was right there.
And so was Rarity, who had been woozily dangling between Pinkie and Twilight this entire time, and now made her wakefulness known.
"You're AAAAAAALL my BEST friends~ Such loveely ponies!" Her eyes brightened a bit as she recognized the blob of red before her, "And Shining. Armor! What a pleezing—a pleezure—a please—a place to meet you!" This interruption routed Twilight's attention off the book and back to the present matter with relieving effectiveness, though the princess's face was less than thrilled.
"The dentist... gave her sedatives. Multiple, sedatives. Sheeeee's going to be a little 'out of it' for a couple hours..." the weariness was audible in Twilight's voice, "That's Big Macintosh, Rarity, not my brother." This information elated her friend even further.
"Oh Maaaaaacintosh~ What a meety place to pleasure—!"
"—Kahem! Yyyyes!" Twilight cut in before Rarity's beleaguered faculties ventured further, "Pinkie Pie and I need to go find the others, but we were hoping you could meet us at the local malt shop? The dentist said getting food and liquids in her system will help flush out the tranquilizers. If you... wouldn't mind escorting Rarity that is?" The titter in her voice was anything but hidden.
"Oh! I'll help ya!" Braeburn burst into the conversation from his 'snooze'. Big Macintosh felt a wave of relief flow over him. If anyone could get Rarity from one s—"I c'n find AJ in a flash! Ya mean th'malt shop down on Hayseed?"
The traitor.
"That's the one!" Twilight replied cheerily, immediately hoisting Rarity over to hang from Big Macintosh's shoulder like a partly detached drapery. He was obliged to wrap a foreleg around her to keep gravity from dragging the unicorn to the floor, "Thanks again Big Mac! See you at the malt shop!" Pinkie followed along, waving in a blur.
"I'm gonna make the milkshaaaaakes! Byyyyyyeeeeee!"—Clack.
His mouth was still hanging open with the opinion he never got to provide on the matter; he hadn't even fully registered them escaping to the doorway, and just like that they had abandoned him. Slowly, he closed his mouth and felt around to make sure his book and its dismembered foldout were still in their safe-keeping spot, releasing Rarity just long enough to do so, and catching her just before she toppled.
It really was a shame he had to do that to the foldout. He didn't dare think of the content, though, other than concocting ways he might delicately reclaim the paper from its crumpled state. And methods of cornering Pinkie Pie in hopes of swearing her to silence.
"This'll be lovely Big Macintosh! I haven't gotten to walk with you in such a long time~" Rarity had wakened a little further and was batting her eyes again, but it was so slow it looked like she was still dropping in and out of consciousness. When Macintosh started guiding them toward the front door, she was seized with a need to reaffirm her loyalty, "I will follow you to the ends of Equesssssssstria!"
"Thank ya kindly, Miss Rarity, but right at th'moment, out the door'll do jus' fine."
"How boring. IN THE NAME OF CELESTIA! WE VENTURE OUT THE FRONT DOOR! What's outside the front door anyway? Is there another monster we have to fight? I never feel prepared for these things. All these dreadful villains just... popping out of the ground like... prim... posies!" With every "P" Rarity bobbed herself to emphasize it. The shire sighed as he pressed through the doorway to lead her out. This would be a long walk.
"Eeeyup."
