Masquerade

Applejack followed Pinkie through the streets of town, doing her best to keep up with the monstrous pace her friend set without breaking into a full on gallop—after all, that wouldn’t be very inconspicuous at all, and Applejack was trying hard to remain subtle about the fact that she was committing treason.

She flicked her eyes from side to side, seeing ponies casually strolling around in pairs and enjoying the warm fall evening. Her heart jumped, and she bit her lip, but sped up into a brisk canter to catch up with Pinkie.

“I’m havin’ second thoughts about this,” she muttered, eyes and speech and body tense with unease.

Pinkie lightly brushed herself against Applejack, in a comforting manner, and smiled. She didn’t say anything, but it helped all the same. Applejack smiled back, shakily.

They weaved and wavered through the streets of Ponyville, Applejack jumpy and forever on guard, and Pinkie relaxed and indomitable. They made a most queer pare, in the opinion of the passerby, but then again, they always did, and those who were familiar with them did not bat a lash. Thankfully, in Ponyville, all were familiar with them.

Pinkie went along as Pinkie always did; chirping and sometimes hollering greetings to the ponies they passed, every now and then even stopping to chat for short periods of time. Generally, her act was that of no suspicion, all the while Applejack had obvious panic attacks beside her.

Finally, Pinkie drew close to Applejack and breathed, “Relax.”

Applejack panicked all the more, not even trying to relax. This wasn’t the kind of pony she was! Sneakin’ around and committing crimes, and for what? Because Pinkie asked her to? What kind of friend did that? Pinkie had so much as blackmailed Applejack into coming with her.

No, no. Pinkie hadn’t blackmailed her—no, that wasn’t the right word there. Guilt. That’s what she did. She’d guilted Applejack into coming with her, knowing that it would work.

But why had it worked? Applejack had always been immune to petty peer pressure, and yet…

And yet the entire time during their small journey, she stayed beside Pinkie, even when she wanted to simply go home, and asked herself many times mentally why she didn’t.

It was probably because she was curious.

By the by, they ended up at the Carrots’ farm, which was, well, a rather obvious place for them to end up.

The Carrots’ farm was smaller and neater than the Apples’, and during the time that Pinkie and Applejack visited it, not in its prime, for it was a farm, and in that time, all farms were not in their prime.

They strolled up the straight path and to the front door of the house, hearing muffled voices from beyond the door. The curtains were all closed, and even the voices inside were shushed.

“Well this doesn’t look suspicious at all,” Applejack said dryly, eyeing the house with reservation.

The Carrots and the Apples were neighbors in every sense, and had been since the founding of the town, but their relationship had soured a bit during this current generation. For some reason beyond her, Applejack was loathed deeply by Carrot Top. It had been that way for as long as Applejack could remember.

When they were younger, full of the mischief that came with late foalhood, Pinkie used to always tease Applejack that Carrot secretly had a crush on her, and the two of them would sneak into the Carrot property, hiding in those bushes there, and watch Carrot Top work. Pinkie would whisper sweet nothings into Applejack’s ear in a wry tone, pretending to be Carrot Top.

“Look at the way the sun hits her glistening hindquarters, AJ,” Pinkie would always advertise something of the sort, in a dry, deadpan way. Applejack, all the while, would snicker and hold back her laughs, pretending to return the affection, and swoon. It was in this act of trespassing and mockery, that they thought they were trendy.

Days like those were few and far in between, but they were the fondest Applejack had from her foalhood.

Now, she looked around the familiar farm with a sort of pity, seeing it struggle to get by just like hers was. Mentally she brought up the picture of what it used to be, tainted by the joyful and careless sepia tone of foalhood, during which time winter seemingly didn’t exist, and the sun always shined.

The bush that Pinkie and her would always hide in was dying, she noted.

Pinkie knocked on the door, and immediately all conversation from inside stopped. A pony drew back the curtain to gaze at the two of them. By Applejack’s side, Pinkie did some fast and complicated motions with her hoof, and the pony disappeared from the window. A second later there was a click and the door swung open.

“Hey, Pinks, AJ,” Noteworthy greeted, stepping aside with a grin as the two friends ambled in.

On the inside was a large, compact group of all walks and ages of life, the largest division of which, unsurprisingly, modeled the walk and age of Pinkie and Applejack, for Ponyville was primarily a farming town.

Applejack eyed the group askance, while Pinkie pulled her to one side and fit the two of them rather snugly to sit in the masses. Seeing that the two were not threats, the gathered returned to their voluble ways, which, in a short time, became vociferous and passionate.

Applejack heard odds and ends of conversations, most of which involved politics as far as she understood, which was not far.

At her side, Pinkie had no qualms about involving herself in the discussion, and plunged in freely with much vibrancy.

In the midst of these discussions, every now and again, the name of the king was thrown around carelessly and with great antagonism, and this made the exchanges flair in both rage and volume. However, when the name of the General of His Majesty’s Military was spoken, a sort of gag went over the mouths of those within earshot, and they glanced around in alarm, as if doubting the trustworthiness of their company, and the thickness of the walls surrounding them. And that will tell you about the General of His Majesty’s Military, and the fear and reverence she stirred by the mere mention of her name.

The verdict of the room turned to rebellion after a while, and during that time, only the ones who were more inclined in leadership spoke.

Applejack listened with a disinclined curiosity, but a curiosity notwithstanding. The various talks were mere blathers, to her, spoken by those who were not educated but pretended to be nonetheless. Their plans, as it were, spoke of vague ideas and daydreams, not actual legitimate propositions of strategies. Yet the ones neighboring them nodded wisely, the way individuals often do when they want to seem comprehensive of things they were not comprehensive of.

This went on for some time, and as before, the cacophony of the room grew to become a sort of passionate pandemonium, the likes of which grated on Applejack’s nerves and forbearance.

Finally, she stood and slipped away from her place with a careful control, so not to disturb Pinkie, or draw attention to herself.