I never thought I’d dislike Canterlot as much as I do. It was always that city high up in the sky for me, back down in rinky-dink Dappleton. Always seemed better. The sort of place a guy could really do something meaningful with his life.
And I am doing something meaningful, which is probably the worst thing—doesn’t help that it’s something I like, either. You ask anypony what the most honored positions in Canterlot are, and if they’re not someplace where they can suck up to anypony else, the next thing down from “Princess” is going to be “Royal Guard”.
I wish I was a janitor. As cool as the Guard is, if I was a janitor, I could leave anytime. Who would argue? Who would notice? I could just slip out and move off someplace. Maybe to the Crystal Empire—that assignment had actually been fun. Or maybe I’d just move back home.
Or anywhere.
I could move anywhere where ponies don’t spit on you when you’re out of uniform just because you bumped into them. A place where nightlife is more than just charity auctions in the upper rings or sleazy dives down below. I could talk to ponies again. I could actually have a matronsdamned moment of real happiness again. Pride? Who needs that when you can be happy?
But if I stop now, I’m Absent Without Leave. And what’s next? Courts-martial. Black-marked records. Disgrace. I just have to keep saying it. Absent Without Leave. Absent Without Leave. With no leave, I can’t leave. No leave, can’t leave. No leaving. No leave. No—
“Flash, leave,” a deep voice growls at me.
“Wha?” I blurt out.
It’s my commanding officer, Glory Lead. One of those white-coated types—practically bred for the job. He’s giving me a hard stare from under his helmet.
Damnit. I was almost to the locker room.
“Flash, we’ve already gone through this twice. The first few times, I let you slide because I thought you were just being patriotic. After a month, I gave you the benefit of the doubt and thought you didn’t understand the rules fully even once I’d explained them to you.” He’s walking towards me pretty threateningly, head low. Every sharp crack of his hooves on the tile sends a shiver up my spine. I find myself backing up through the little narrow hall. “Now, I’m telling you, Sentry: leave.”
“B-but sir, I—”
“No? Let’s make it an order, then. Get out.” He swings a wild hoof at the door I’d just come in through. “This is not your shift. We do not have overtime.”
I’m sweating bullets. How can I get him to see my side of this? “Sir, I just—”
“Are you angling for a psych eval?” he asks, fire in his voice. “Is that what this is, son? Can’t handle the Guard, so you want medical leave?”
I stop dead.
What? “What?” Is that… an option? Could I fake some—
“Ah ah ah, I know that look!” He’s smirking. “I know for a fact I just put the idea in your head. No way I’m going to let it happen now.”
Matronsdamnit!
“Kid, look.” Glory lays off of the stance he’d been taking before, head back at my level. “I get it, I think. I see this sort of thing in a lot of the stallions who move here to be guards. You still aren’t settled in, am I right?”
I shrug and say, “That’s a way to put it, I guess.” A really oversimplified way to put it, but sure.
“So when I send you off, what are you going to do? What do you do around Canterlot apart from working?” There’s this soft look in his eyes.
Other initiates rag on me for having a CO that actually acts like he cares sometimes, but hay, he’s the closest thing I’ve got to an anchor. So I hate saying, “That’s the million bit question.”
Glory sighs. “You’ve got to get yourself a life, Sentry. Canterlot’s a great place if you know what you’re looking for. Have you been to the Grand Daylight open-air marketplace? Aging Falls? Canterlot Square, even?”
Yes, yes, and yes, but at this point, I really just want to leave. “No, I guess I haven’t.”
He smirks a bit harder. “Well, there’s a start, then! Go on and get out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” I turn and head to the door.
“And Flash?” I turn my head back around. “We run into this issue again, and I may even cut your hours until I can be sure you have a social life.”
I push through the door and out into the atrium, trying not to gulp too loudly.
I dislike my apartment just slightly less than I dislike the rest of Canterlot, but hay, Glory had something of a point: I might as well give the city another few shots, ‘cause I’m definitely going to be here for a while.
And I didn’t hate the Grand Daylight, the first time I came to it. Sure, somepony at a stall I passed cheated me into buying three Celestia figurines with all of the bits I had on me, but I used to pull the same sort of thing on tourists at my grandpa’s antique shop all the time back home.
The crowds probably bothered me, more than anything else; looking at it now, I’m feeling very small. Colorful stalls blend into colorful ponies as far forward as I can see, a bright, noisy ocean lightly shaded by those fluttering things—curtains? Silky tarps?—hanging high up above.
I’m surprised that I can manage to hear my stomach over it all.
Wading cautiously into the nearest little stream of ponies—though that doesn’t save me from being jostled and shoved at for all I’m worth—I make for a really nice scent I’m smelling. Rising miraculously over the hot, sweaty odor of the ponies around me, it’s a crisp, sweet scent; it comforts me, how much it reminds me of the market back home. It’s got to be some kind of fruit pie, and imported, no doubt. No blue-blooded Canterlotian I’ve ever met would stand for anything so dirty as a local orchard.
There’s a big, bright red awning standing out above the heads of the ponies in front of me. When I get close enough, I can see that it’s definitely where the smell’s been coming from; laid out on the stall are heaps of baked apples, apple crisps, apple pies, apple tarts, apple muffins, apple brown betty, apple-everything-I-could-ever-want-to-eat.
I push past the rest of the crowd in front of me, grab five bits out of my coin pouch, drop them on the table, and say, “Anything.” The blonde, orange mare behind the stall’s counter just grins and hands me a big slice of apple cake, then three of my bits back.
The cake’s a thing of beauty. It’s thick and heavy, with apples baked throughout the upper half that peek out in all their rich, browned glory. On top of that, the thing’s coated and dripping with caramel or syrup or something that smells so matronsdamned wonderful that I’ve only got a second to look at it before I’m shoving it all down my throat. It hits my stomach, and it’s all I can do to keep standing up straight.
“That good, huh?” comes the bemused voice of the mare.
I look back up to her and the big, red stallion next to her I’d managed to miss. The mare’s hat seems familiar… I feel my eyes bulge out a bit. “You’re one of the Elements! I’ve seen you around on some of my assignments.”
“Applejack,” she says with a smile.
We shake hooves. “Flash Sentry,” I say. “Honor to meet you.”
Applejack squints at me for a moment, but then I see some recognition in her eyes. “Ah, right! Yer that guard fella, ain’t’cha?” A mischievous smile replaces her friendly one, and I gulp. “The one little Twi’s taken a shine to.”
“Wha—huh?” I all but sputter. “No way! Princess Twilight?” I look to the big stallion, but he’s got no more help to offer than a stoic look. “You’re pulling my leg. All we did was smack into each other a couple of times.”
The mare’s smile gets bigger. “Ain’t that generally how it works?” My cheeks are heating up, but I can see her expression dial back down to friendly. “But nah, y’all might remember my Element bein’ Honesty. Take it from me: she’s got a crush on ya, and no mistake, but that ain’t sayin’ a whole lot.” She waves a hoof. “Time ‘n time again ah’ve seen that filly get all weak in the knees over stallions who don’t make a big thing about it if—or when, more like—she does somethin’ silly. Ah expect she’s gonna outgrow that soon enough, though, what with how nice everypony’s been on account ‘a those pretty new wings.”
It’s the weirdest thing, hearing her talk about royalty like this, but I try not to show that’s how I feel; I lift my jaw up before I think she’s noticed, and quickly say, “That’s a relief, I guess.” Applejack raises an eyebrow at me. There’s a couple seconds of relative silence before what I just said hits me. “No!” shoots out of my mouth. “Sorry, I meant I’ve got things pretty rough right now without a princess having her eye on me, nice as I’m sure she is. Captain Armor’s told some horror stories that have been going around the Guard for years now.”
Applejack busts out laughing. “Say no more! Ah’ve heard those same stories, straight from the horses’ mouths.” She wipes a tear from her smiling eyes. “What’s got ya down, though? As long as ya don’t mind my askin’, ‘a course. Royal guard’s gotta be a tough job, right?”
I rub a hoof along my neck. “That isn’t it. I love doing the job, actually; I always knew I’d be cut out for it, and I was right.” I try and say that as matter-of-factly as possible, but a bit of pride always sneaks its way in. “No, it’s not what I’m doing that gets to me.”
I guess I must have motioned around or something—or else Applejack’s a mind-reader—because she says, “Is it Canterlot, then?”
I stare for a second. “Y-yeah. How’d you know?”
Applejack gives the sort of sigh my mother used to give whenever our dog had just gone after the mailmare again. “Truth be told, ah hate comin’ to this city. Two galas, at least ten trips to the castle, and—because a couple ‘a my friends are in love with the place—more casual visits than ah’ve ever dared ta’ count.” She looks out at the crowd, and I see her eyes rest on some of the better-dressed ponies. “Apart from Celestia, bless her kindly self, rare’s the time ah’ve had a pony lift a hoof to make me feel not half a slice of welcome.”
“Nail on the head,” I say. “I’m from a small town, at least compared to this, and I didn’t take anybody I knew with me when I moved. I think I could list one pony in the whole place I’d call a friend, but even then I only know him from work. Almost everypony else just hasn’t been the least bit nice.”
That neighborly smile of hers hasn’t changed, but I swear Applejack somehow looks ten times happier. “Small towns are the best places in the world to be, and small town ponies are the best friends in the world to have, as far as ah’m concerned.” She wraps a hoof around the big stallion next to her, and I’m amazed to find I’d forgotten he was there. It just now hits me that he hasn’t said a word this whole time. “So long as me and Big Mac are here, ah’d be honored to have that short list ‘a yers be just a tad longer.”
There’s probably bits of apple stuck in my teeth, but I can’t help myself from smiling back at her. “I’d like that.”
Evening of the next day sees me heading to the restaurant we agreed to meet at for a friendly supper. The whole way there, I’m just thinking how lucky I am. Set aside who she is; Applejack’s the nicest pony I’ve talked to in years, and her brother, in his own way, is at least entirely inoffensive. I’ve all but got a spring in my step after meeting them.
And what are the chances? They and the Elements are just in town for the weekend to meet with Celestia, and they were only filling in for a relative—Apple Something—at that stall for a couple of hours. If anything else had gone differently, I could have easily come out of the Grand Daylight with a full stomach and a social life just as empty as always. But now? Dinner! With ponies!
I’ve heard pretty good things about this restaurant, too. ‘The Orchard’s Bounty’. I’m sensing a theme with these Apples, but hay if it’s not one I’m on board with. The place itself comes into view as I turn the corner. It’s a one-story building, but big, with red walls and a white roof. It’s almost like a really warped barn, but the ivy growing along it and the curlicued metal sconces—complete with magic, blue-flamed torches—go a good way towards making it seem classy.
I can see a great red stallion outside the entrance as I get closer. No sign of a little orange mare with him, though. “Hi again, Big Mac,” I say as I come up to him.
“Evenin’,” he says back, face almost… I want to call it ‘stony’, but it’s not mean at all. Passive. Just as passive as I’ve yet seen. He’s turning now, heading into the restaurant.
“Aren’t we going to wait for Applejack?” I ask, following him inside anyway.
Big Mac shakes his head. “Went home early. Telegram. Sis causin’ trouble.”
“O-oh.” Not sure I how I feel about that. I was looking forward to seeing Applejack again… Big Mac’s nice and all, but he doesn’t seem like much of a talker.
We come up to the maître d’, a slick-maned, spindly fellow in a full, pressed suit. He looks up at me and Big Mac, and his snout crinkles up like he’s disgusted or something. A thought strikes me, and cursory glance at the customers and staff in the room behind him tells me that I might be underdressed in my nothing. “Good evening, sirs.” Only subtle venom. Could be worse. “Do you have a reservation?”
Big Mac, as if to prove me right about my impression of him, doesn’t say a word. The maître d’ looks between us for a few moments, before I say, “Apple, party of three. One won’t be coming.”
The maître d’ gives me just about the quickest, laziest bow I’ve ever seen. No passion at all in his voice this time, he says, “Very good, sir. We have several tables available; please follow me.”
We do. The restaurant is far more impressive from the inside than from outside. The floor is a rich, dark-reddish wood, thickly veneered. Big tables with stools of that same wood, fancy white tablecloths and blue-flamed candles on top. Best of everything, though, is a tree they’ve got jutting out of the floor in the center of the room and reaching up to the dark blue ceiling. It’s a fruit tree—like, a general fruit tree, with apples, oranges, pears, plums, and more dangling down out of leaves that look just as varied. I don’t even know if something like that is possible to do by hoof, but my gut tells me it’s another case of unicorns being able to make the coolest stuff.
Big Mac and I are seated pretty close to the tree, in range, apparently, of its scent: a crazy whirl of sweet and citrus that all but makes my head spin. My stomach takes off rumbling, and I’m thankful to have a menu already in front of me to look through.
I make my choice quickly, and look up to see Big Mac hasn’t even opened his. “Been here before?” I ask over the chatter from surrounding tables.
“Eeyup,” he says. “Supplier.” He looks on at me, unblinking, for a few moments. Well then.
“Is it… Is it always so popular?” I try.
Big Mac looks slowly around at the ample peppering of guests. He looks back to me and shrugs.
I sigh. Before I can attempt some other icebreaker, a waitress appears beside our table—cute, with a blue coat and a brown mane done up in pigtails, dressed in a classic black shirt and white apron. “May I take your orders?” she asks with a refreshing smile, teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
The mare looks first to Big Mac. At this point, I’m half expecting him to just point at the menu, but he looks to her and says, “Ah’ll have three raisin- and rice-stuffed baked apples; two orders of the non-carnivore Mulligatawny soup, heavy on the apple; two roasted apple and arugula salads with pomegranate–chipotle vinaigrette; and for dessert, one order of Peach Melba.” The waitress seems, somehow, entirely unfazed, smiling as Big Mac hands her his menu. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am.”
She turns to me, and it takes me a second to get my bearings back. “Um, j-just the orange-roasted tofu and asparagus for me, thanks.” I desperately hope Big Mac doesn’t think we’re splitting the bill on this.
The waitress takes my menu, smiles again, and says, “I’ll have those out for you as soon as possible, sirs.” She begins walking off, but I realize I’ve forgotten something.
“Oh, and an aged cider, please!” I say.
“Oh, and an aged cider, ma’am!” says Big Mac.
The waitress bows and scurries off, and Big Mac and I look back at one another. I can’t help but chuckle. From the deep, throaty rumbling coming from across the table, it’s sounding like he can’t help it either.
A few moments later sees him looking me full in the face. Somehow, it feels like it’s the first time he’s given me any real amount of attention. “Sorry as can be, Mr. Sentry. Ah’m used to AJ, or Granny, or anypony else doin’ all the talkin’, is the thing.”
…‘Mr. Sentry’? First time I think I’ve ever been called that. “Big Mac, there’s nothing you have to apologize for.” Looking at him, I think I can see the big guy sweating a little—he certainly doesn’t seem comfortable, at any rate. I wonder if that’s how I look, at all. “If it helps, you’re not the only one here who hasn’t had much in the way of casual conversation recently.”
“Ah gathered as much,” he says, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Ah was no small bit ‘a sorry to hear how rough a time you’ve been havin’ up here. Only been a few days away for me and ah’m already pinin’ for home.”
“Ponyville, huh?” I say. “I’ve heard nice things. Beautiful in the fall. Great produce.”
“Best place ah’ve ever been to, even if I haven’t been many places,” he says. There’s a twinkling in his eyes; I can see that I’ve started something. “Nicest folk, tastiest food, best group songs—”
“Craziest disasters?” I interject with a smirk.
“That too,” Big Mac says. “Those can be pretty darn fun.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
The big stallion’s lips are curled into a tiny, honest-looking smile as he says, “Ah’ll admit it can be a mite frightenin’, whenever a wild storm, or angry Tartarusbeast, or even just times when one of the girls loses her marbles ‘n does somethin’ without thinkin’ it through happens to crop up. Once they happen, though, ya get to see the whole town come together to stop it, or to clean up after it. Inspirin’ is the only thing ah could call it. Does the heart good.”
When he puts it that way, I guess I almost want to be there for it. “Is it worth it, though?”
Big Mac puts a hoof to his chin. A few moments later, he says, “Ah reckon that’s not a proper question. The craziness is just another part ‘a life by now—ah feel like it’d be borin’, livin’ anyplace else. Ah don’t think ah’d even want to try.”
I get a word in here and there about growing up in Dappleton, but the next half hour is mostly Big Mac talking my ear off about Ponyville, Sweet Apple Acres, and his friends and family. With every word, the place sounds more and more ideal.
My meal’s nothing short of excellent. Tofu and asparagus on a bed of couscous, all with a tangy sauce of orange and basil. There’s hints of vinegar and fennel, and some vaguely Eastern tastes I can’t put my hoof on. In a word: complex. In another word: delicious.
Just about halfway through my dish, I look up to find that Big Mac’s finished off two of his roasted apples, one of his soups, and both of his salads. I’d ask where he puts it all, but the guy’s got to be twice my size. Instead, I ask something that’s nagged at me a whole lot worse. “So, Applejack said you two were just in town for the weekend. That still true for you?”
He looks about to just say ‘Eeyup’, but stops—probably caught my meaning. A borderline frown on his face, he says, “Ah’m sorry, Flash. Ah need to be gettin’ back to the farm in the morning. Ah’d stay longer if ah could. It really has been fun.”
I do my best to keep myself from sighing. “It has, yeah. I can only hope it’s gonna be as easy trying to make friends with some locals.”
Big Mac gives me a surprisingly hopeful smile. “Ah’m sure you’ll have nothin’ to worry about, Flash.”
The utter sincerity packed into his words actually manages to help, so I find myself smiling back. “Thanks, Big Mac. For all of this,” I say, starting to dig back into my food. “You know, I’m gonna have to pay you and Applejack a visit sometime. Always wanted to visit the home of the Elements.”
The most happy-looking I’ve yet seen him, Big Mac says, “Ah’m lookin’ forward to it.”
We finish eating in just about the most comfortable silence I’ve ever had. Yes, my meal’s nothing short of excellent, but the company’s even better.
A few days back, I just wanted to throw myself into work, but here I am in the locker room actually wishing I was away on vacation or something. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be with friends. Addictive stuff.
I take my armor out from my locker, grab a bench, and set to working myself into it. I’m awkwardly scrunched halfway through the process when I hear footsteps on the tile off to my side.
“Sentry, you’re not working today,” comes the voice of Glory Lead.
“S-sir?” I’m panicking. What’s he talking about? I’m sure early Monday’s one of my shifts. He’s not going to chew my head off, is he?
I feel a yanking, and I’m free from my armor again. Glory puts it back in my locker. His expression is a neutral one, but I hear a hint of something like pride as he says, “You’ve been reassigned.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Sir? Where to?”
“Ponyville.” My heart’s beating so fast. What do I do? Dance? Hug the guy? I manage to restrain myself to grinning from ear to ear. “A mare meeting with Celestia yesterday morning made mention that, as a princess, Twilight Sparkle is in need of a contingent of royal guards. Your name came up specifically.”
“Applejack,” I blurt out. It takes a lot of willpower to keep from rushing off to my apartment immediately. I mean… just, like, matronsdamnit, yes!
“The very same,” says Glory. I can see a smile creeping out. “Went out and made yourself a friend, did you? It wasn’t a Canterlotian like I’d been hoping for, but I suppose I can settle for an Element of Harmony.”
I remember then that it was my good old commanding officer that galvanized me into this whole situation. “Sir, I can’t thank you enough for kicking me out of here the other day.”
Glory laughs. “You don’t have to put it like that, son. But you’re welcome.” He looks over to a clock on the wall. “Best get a move on. Next train’s in an hour, and I get the sense you’re wanting to leave sooner rather than later.”
I stand at attention, saluting. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Glory does the same, but with all the gravitas of a veteran. “Dismissed. Good luck, Sentry.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, making my way as quickly as I’m able to the exit.
One benefit of not being particularly attached to a city is the tendency to unpack so little once you’re there. Makes moving out again a breeze; I’m standing on the Canterlot train station platform with my luggage not forty-five minutes later, according to the great clock inlaid above it all on the building behind me. I’m sure I didn’t stop grinning the whole way here.
There’s ponies waiting all around me, and I can see still more through the many window-walls of the station building; all the chattering and movement is giving me this wonderful sense of anticipation. To make a great situation flawless, who should I happen to see walking over to me out of the crowd? “Howdy,” says Big Mac.
“Hey,” I say back. He eyes my luggage in a way that seems almost appreciative. “I guess you knew about this, huh?”
Big Mac just nods.
The train pulls in a short while later, spitting steam and giving me a distinctive, intangible feeling of goals and progress. Wordlessly, Big Mac grabs some of my luggage and helps me load it all on. Finished with that, we board and find ourselves a pair of empty seats. In the time before the train departs, I think to myself that I’m really growing to enjoy silence.
As I’m carried off towards my future, I happen to look out the window at the receding image of Canterlot. One thought sticks in my head: the city gets more beautiful for every inch of distance.
