A Weird Life

The 'cock-a-doodle-do' sound of a rooster's crow is heavily romanticized in modern media. The idea that, somehow, waking by a rooster's crow is more picturesque and calming than the cold, mechanical beeps of an alarm clock is a filthy, dirty lie. Those that have been around the birds know that, in fact, the sound a rooster makes is a high-pitched, oddly garbled, broken mess of a noise that permeates the air with a God-forsaken fervor. It is not something one wants to hear, much less so at a reasonable time in the morning as a 'living alarm clock'. A rooster crow before the break of dawn is enough to test the limits of even the most chipper of morning people.

So in spite of all these facts, a rooster crowing was the preferred method used to wake said rooster's owners, who dwelt within the nearby (What do you call a barn and a house that are connected? Aw' fuck it.) house, before the sun had even risen. Much to the personal hell of the newest resident of the farm, on which the house sat, as the rooster happily crowed the morning away.

“Fuck roosters,” mumbled the resident human to no one with a deep, haggard, clearly male voice. The source of the voice shuffled and stirred under the blankets as he lied curled in bed before slowly settling to go back to sleep. Or that was the plan, at least.

Not a minute later, out from the closed door of the male's room came the unmistakable sound of the farm's second-in-command, and the human's unofficial 'handler', walking the hall toward his room. The door swung into the room revealing an orange-coated mare wearing a Stetson with her blonde mane and tail done up in a ponytail of all things standing just outside the threshold of the room. Applejack paused for a moment there, the light from the hall concealing her front in shadow. Applejack sighed in slight annoyance before walking into the room as she spoke.

“Up an' at 'em, Scott. We got us a heap chores that need doin' today,” she stated rather dryly in spite of her southern accent, reaching the side of his bed as she finished.

“What else is new?” asked Scott while making no signs that he was about to move.

“Ha ha.” Applejack rolled her eyes. “Come on now. Time ta' get up.” She drove this point home with a couple slow, firm prods with a forehoof indiscriminately against the pile of blanket and human curled up before her.

“I'm up! I'm up,” Scott said quickly while sitting up with large bags under his blood-shot eyes and a bad case of bed hair¬¬ which was impressive with his short, fade style haircut. The blanket sliding off his chest and bunching around his waist.

Applejack cocked an eyebrow, “Rough night?” she asked.

“Didn't sleep well,” he said as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Nightmares?”

“Nah, just didn't.” He re-adjusted his boxers before pulling his legs out from under the blankets and setting his feet on the cold wood floor. Sitting on the side of the bed with both arms resting on his knees, his forehead rested in the palm of a hand while the fingers idly scratched his scalp.

Applejack quietly took note of all this as she stood there, not fully convinced he was telling the truth. “He hasn't looked this bad since the first few weeks he wound up here,” She thought, a slight grimace playing at her features.

That'd been a helluva day. It had started out like any other for the Apples: got up, did their morning routine, ate breakfast, Applebloom left for school. Pretty much immediately, Applebloom was back inside carrying on about some 'weird thing' outside. When the two older siblings, Big Macintosh and Applejack, went to check it out, they were greeted to the oddest sight either of them had ever seen since the short reign of Discord. There, lying on a bed sheet and under some blankets, was Scott, surrounded by tools, knick-knacks, and other worldly objects the siblings couldn't even begin to guess the uses of.

That was about that moment that Scott decide to wake up and promptly start to freak out. The Apples had figured the 'Thing' was intelligent when he spoke. Language that colorful and creative was a sure sign of intelligence, if a bit questionable. Applejack had, to her credit, nearly got Scott to calm down. However —because Fate likes to get hammered and is a mean drunk —this just happened to have been the one day of the every-other-week that the pegasus Rainbow 'forethought' Dash got up early to use the Apples’ farm as a flight training ground. The ensuing melee that Rainbow Dash kicked off with a flying tackle ended with Applejack hog tying Scott, but not before Scott got in a few good licks. The Apple siblings fared pretty well, but Rainbow Dash had been left with a few bruises, a busted nose, a sprained wing, and a black eye.

Rainbow Dash, for her trouble, learned that adrenaline, training, and 'holy shit I'm going to die!' is a powerful combination for humans.

Thanks in no small part to Big Mac, much of the blame for the fight was leveled at Dash. Much in the same way that if you and your friends found a grey alien at his crashed ship, who would you be the most upset with after a fight with it? The alien or the friend who decided that a flying kick to its face was the best course of action?

In the aftermath, Princess Twilight Sparkle and the other Element Bearers were brought to the farm where, after a lengthy talk with Scott as well as each other, it was decided Scott would stay on the farm and away from the town's prying eyes. The ponies figured with both Big Mac and Applejack watching over him, they would be able to handle Scott if he got violent. Twilight in the meantime would search for a way to send him back. A couple weeks later, Applejack set him to work, both to try and improve his mood as well as make him pull his weight around the farm.

That had been three months ago.

“Well, come on then. Ya wash up an' get sum good food in ya, ya'll feel lots better.” Applejack put forth her best wide-eyed and bushy-tailed morning demeanour, knowing full well that a good mood is infectious.

Not begin a morning person in any stretch of the imagination Scott groaned when he looked at Applejack, beaming at him full of energy with a large smile plastered on her face.

“Oh, come on now, don't be like that,” Applejack said, taking his attitude in stride.

Scott wordlessly grabbed a pair of socks and khaki cargo pants off the floor before quickly slipping them all on. He grabbed a faded blue tee shirt and slung it over his shoulder as he followed the pony into the hall. “What's for breakfast?” he asked, half-asleep while setting the belt that had been left in the pants' waist loops overnight. Applejack turned her head to reply over her shoulder, but Scott interrupted just as she opened her mouth.

“If you say anything with apples, I swear to God, I will beat you to death where you stand,” Scott said in a mocking, hate filled voice. Like it would've been more at home for a villain monologue instead of for something so trivial.

“Well, Ah guess ya better get ta swinging those spindly arms of yers, because we're havin’ apple pancakes an' apple juice.” replied applejack. Noticing his small smile, hers followed suit.

“Apple pancakes and juice? Together? You fiends,” Scott said using his normal voice.

Applejack chuckled, turning back forward. “Well if’n ya don't like it, don't eat it.” She turned in to the washroom, Scott a couple steps behind.

“How 'bout I eat you, motherfucker?” was Scott's retort that stayed in his head.

That's where it stayed for two reasons: one, he was already tired of talking this early in the morning; two— “Good mornin', Scott,” said a little yellow filly as he entered the washroom. —Apple Bloom might be nearby. If you're wondering why 'grossly inappropriate' wasn't one of the reasons, that's because it was part of the reasons in favor list.

After a slip of the tongue around Apple Bloom Scott had agreed to curtail the sexual references, innuendo, dick jokes, and foul language at the request of Applejack, Big Mac, and Granny Smith. It wasn't nearly that civil though. There had been yelling, threats, and references to things stuck in uncomfortable places directed at Scott. Applejack and Big Mac weren't happy either.

Apple Bloom smiled at Scott while standing on a stepping stool, her forehooves on the sink counter's edge. Scott couldn't help returning a good natured smirk to the little pony. “Sup' Bloomer.” Scott ruffled the filly's rose-colored mane, mindful of the large pink bow done up on the back of her head. Apple Bloom giggled at the nickname Scott had given her.

Of everyone that Scott had met in this new world, Apple Bloom liked him the most. That really wasn't all that surprising, though: he was a six-foot-tall being from another universe that had a bunch futuristic gizmos and doodads. What twelve-year-old wouldn't be clamoring for his attention and time.

Stupid ones, probably.

Applejack smiled at the scene as she left the washroom. Her reason for entering in the first place wasn't there. “He must be downstairs already,” she thought as made her way down the stairs. Reaching the foyer at bottom of the stairs, Applejack made for the left door frame to the kitchen.

The kitchen was, though large, a simple affair. A green wood table and chairs sat in the center, big enough to seat all the Apples plus a few more. Counter tops lined the walls to the left with a magically powered range, with an island sitting parallel to the counter's ends. A few shelves on the walls held various foodstuffs. All of it adorned with carvings and images of the family's namesake.

Seated at the table was the goal of Applejack's short quest: Her older brother Big Macintosh, just starting on his breakfast. And what a meal it was: Four pancakes, three eggs, an apple cobbler, toast, large glass of apple juice, and an apple. A pony his size needed quite a bit to keep running.

“Big Mac.” Big Mac turned up to face his sister. “Ah think Scott had a rough go of things last night so Ah was gonna pair 'em with ya fer today, if that was okay with ya.”

“Eeyep.” Big Mac, having sharing all that he was going to say on the subject, went back to eating.

Scott entered the kitchen, his shirt now on. He dragged his feet and moved with a slouch. His left arm was wrapped around Apple Bloom's barrel, holding her at his side, her legs dangling in the air. Apple Bloom's mouth was running in a never-ending torrent of mindless chatter about crusader business, school, a bird, nuclear mechanics, God only knew. The point is, no one was listening to a damn thing coming out that little noise engine to be able to tell you what she said, least of all Scott.

Without uttering a word, Scott shuffled over to the food. Picked up a plate of eggs. Shuffled back to the table. Set down the plate of eggs. Set Apple Bloom down in a chair in front of the plate. Scott noticed Applebloom was looking at him, still talking away. Scott reached down with a single hand and, with the tips of his fingers, slowly turned the noise box's head to face the food, where she promptly started shovelling it in her mouth. Apple Bloom hadn't stopped talking till the first scoop of food hit her mouth. The moment she stopped talking, he let himself smile.

The sun was beginning to barely peek over the horizon as Scott, who had donned his shoes, and the three pony siblings exited the barn to begin the work day. Applejack led the group out about a dozen or so feet before she turned to address the group.

“AB you're goin' with me ta help load the market cart. An' Big Mac, Scott, y'all'll be pickin' the west fields.” Applejack pointed with a forehoof in the various directions as she divided out the work for the day.

Big Mac and Applejack switched back and forth between who worked the farm, or the market. Applejack had worked the market yesterday, so it should have been her working the fields with Scott. He didn't have anything against the mare, it was just that AJ worked a faster pace than her brother did, also Applejack wasn't as strong as Big Mac. This meant Scott wound up doing more work in a shorter time span. That, combined with the fatigue brought on by last night's lack of sleep, meant he really didn't have the energy to work at AJ's pace. Scott was pleased, if a bit surprised, but made no outward show of it.

With nary a word, the two groups split. Females heading for the barn, males heading for a line of two wheeled carts hooked end-to-end, loaded with baskets that had been left out the previous day. Scott checked the carts to make sure they had what they needed, while Big Mac strapped into the lead cart.

As Big Mac strapped in, he fiddled with the harness a bit; one of the belts had twisted, pinching the tar out of the big pony. Satisfied after he managed to get the belt flipped, the work pony had just started to lift a hoof to begin pulling when he felt a sudden weight added to the carts. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Big Mac discovered the source of the mass increase. There, on the front edge of the cart with a shoe on each of the cart's dual tongues, sat Scott. Scott raised an eyebrow.

“I ride here, or I ride you,” said Scott.

To the outsider, what preceded that statement just looked like a bored out-of-his-mind human and a big crimson colored pony looking at each other. Internally, however, it was a war. A war of wills. Two sides, both willing to fight, to bleed, to die, and to kill, for what they believed— nay! What they knew, to be right. The very fabric of space and time shuddered and quaked, before the epic struggle between an immovable object and an unstoppable force. For what felt like an eternity, the battle raged silently, neither side giving quarter. Till, in a massive shift in power, Macintosh made his master-stroke. Big Macintosh lifted an eyebrow and snorted.

Oh, snap! Shit just got real.

“You suck,” said Scott with a huff while stepping off the cart.

Big Mac just smiled and chuckled in a way that screamed, 'That's right, motherfucker', as the hominid and the equine, walking side by side, started to make their way to the west fields.

Applejack had stopped to watch the whole scene play out when she had heard Scott's comment. She watched her brother and the alien walk off, a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Nah. It'll be fine.” She was trying to wave it off, though not really sounding convinced.

“What'll be fine?” asked Apple Bloom, tilting her head in a look of confusion.

“Huh? Oh, nothin'—” Applejack continued for the barn. “—go get sum apples out of the cellar. If we got any first pick apples left, be sure ta grab those. Shouldn't be too many o’ those left if there are.”

“Sure thing, sis.” Apple Bloom said, before breaking off for the cellar. Her little legs galloping at a fevered pace in that way all foals did that looked adorable.

Applejack didn't notice though, still unable to quell that feeling. It wasn't that she wasn't glad that Big Mac and Scott seemed to get along so well. It was just that every so often, at a rate you wouldn't call common nor would you call uncommon, the two got bored and proceed to act like nine-year-olds. This all usually involved drinking. Mac had once shown Scott a slingshot Mac had made out of rubber medical hoses and used when he was a teenager; in the span of an afternoon, they launched one hundred thirty-eight water balloons, seventy-two rotten apples, three pies, and an orange into the town.

The worst though, for Applejack, were the pranks. Sometimes they were benign, like when they did her tail and mane pony-tails, while she was passed out, so that they hooked together like a chain. Other times, not so much, like when Applejack discovered, after she put it on, they had put pig slop in her hat. You do not mess with Applejack's hat. She had developed, subconsciously, the means to pick up the subtle tells that copious amounts of stupid shit was inbound. And right now her gut was telling her stupid shit was indeed incoming. The cowpony had plenty of reasons to be nervous as she tended to the market cart.

“Hey, Jackie,” called Scott from outside the barn door.

“Gah!” Applejack grabbed an apple as she spun around faster than a tornado. Her hooves set in a wide stance as she stared wide-eyed at Scott, forehoof cocked back ready to rip lose an apple.

“Hey!” in a few quick strides, Scott ran off to the side of the barn door with his arms protecting his face. “The hell?!”

It took a few seconds for AJ's heart to slow down. “Damn it Scott, ya scared me half ta death,” AJ said, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Scott as he popped out from behind the door frame, his head, neck, shoulder, and arm the only things visible. “I just ran back...” Scott trailed off as he noticed the apple. “Uh, Jackie?” he asked, pointing at the apple still ready to be launched with earth pony strength.

Applejack's gaze went to the apple, where it lingered for a moment before going back to Scott, narrowing her eyes as she did. “What a’ ya doin’ back here?” She asked, suspicion evident in her voice.

Scott shrank back behind the door. His nose, eyes, and a few fingers were the only bits a him she could see. Like a sideways 'Kilroy was here' drawing, minus a hand and the bulbous nose. Scott knew from firsthand experience that the farm pony could throw those damnable apples of hers at tank-killing velocities. It bears repeating that you do not mess with Applejack's hat.

“I just ran back because I forgot earlier to say that if you see Rarity, ask her if she'd mind throwing some clothes together for me today and if that'd be cool with you.” He was far more timid with that request than he would have preferred, but apples hurt. A lot.

“Sure, that's no problem.” Applejack’s stance relaxed, no longer ready to throw the apple. “If'n Ah see her, Ah'll ask her.” Applejack polished the red fruit against her furry chest with a couple good rubs. Holding it back in front of herself, she gazed into the fruit to see her own reflection, a testament to the quality of her family’s namesake. Smiling to herself, she took a sizable bite out of the apple, sweet and crisp as always.

As she chewed though, she noticed Scott was still at the door, having returned to his original position before she had asked why he was there. Scott's brow was slightly furrowed with his jaw clenched while his hand rapped against the door frame. What struck AJ the most though was his eyes. Those gray eyes were locked on the ground just in front of her hooves, focused on something that wasn't there.

She swallowed the bite of apple. “Somethin' else ya needed?” She asked.

“Hunh?” Scott's hand stopped moving as he looked up at AJ as if he just now noticed she was there. Scott blinked. “Oh, well... no I'm good. I'll see you when I see you, Applejack.” He slowly ran his hand back and forth through his hair as he spoke in a shallow voice.

“Sure thing sugar-cube, Ah'll make sure ta ask Rarity before ah head home.” AJ's voice was calm and reassuring, with an underlining tone of sympathy.

AJ knew asking what was on Scott's mind, no matter how much she wanted to, was a lost cause. Scott would just wave it off as nothing or give some vague, non-committal statement. Applejack wasn't alone in this based on what she had gathered from her friends and even Big Mac. They all knew it probably had to do with being ripped from his world with the added stress of being confined to Sweet Apple Acres, but they all felt talking about it would do him some good. Scott clearly disagreed though.

Applejack and Big Mac also knew something that they had not told anyone else— they figured it was a private matter for Scott— and it was that Scott had nightmares. They had found out when Scott took a nap on the couch a couple months back. Applejack found him lying there in a dreadful state, his hand occasionally twitched while covered in a cold-sweat. Scott explained a little that they were just a thing he dealt with every once in a while, though they usually weren't that bad.

Scott nodded wordlessly before turning to head out to the west field. Applejack continued to look for a few moments at the spot the visitor from another world had just left. When she looked way, it was to the apple still in her hoof, the succulent fruit begging to be finished off. The corners of her mouth fell, and with a defeated sigh she tossed the apple off toward the pigs before she turned back to finish setting up the cart.