Apple of my Eye

“Hey, wake up.”

Three dulled pokes in my side rouse me from my “sleep,” and I crack my eyes open to immediately shut them again. Celestia hates me, surely. Why else would she make the sunrise burn so badly?

“Hey, come on!”

I grumble, shooing away onslaught of jabs with my hoof. They only intensify.

“Come on, I’ve got better things to do than usher the homeless out of my benches.”

That brings me back. I roll over, forgetting how short a bench really was, and fall on my back. Air rushes from my lungs, and I try desperately to bring it back, but to no avail. I look up breathlessly at the owner of the store, a cream colored stallion, lanky, oddly enough since he owns a cafe. His dark blue hair—died, obviously died—was greased back, and his tail has its own coat of grease. He’s wearing a white suit-top collar, though his bowtie is still undone and hangs loosely around his neck. The small blue excuse for a mustache frames his scowl perfectly, and his cold amber eyes just look me over as they await a response.

I raise my hoof, sucking in air through my dry throat in an effort to buy some time. He seems unimpressed. “I heard this cafe,” I finally manage to muster out, “was very good, so I was anxious to buy some food.”

He looks me over carefully. His eyes soften, and the small almost mustache looks uncomfortable framing a prideful smile.

“You certainly heard right,” he says proudly. “As a matter of fact, I’m just opening, so you’ll have the freshest food of the day! Come, come, sit down!”

Just as I got to my hooves, he grabs my leg, ushering me to a nearby table. I stare at the fungi design, regretting my choice of words. He sets a golden-colored vase in the center, three blue flowers inside it, and silverware in front me complete with napkin and menu. He smiles and trots off, presumably to fire up the grill, or whatever he has back there.

I grab the menu and open it, nearly falling from my seat, a stack of hay (is this what he does with the leftovers: furniture?), as I glance over the prices. Five bits for a sandwich!? Ridiculous.

“Okay, sir, how may I help you, today?”

I look at the menu lying on the table and back at the waiter. His bow tie is now tied, a devilish red that contrasts nearly everything else about his ensemble, and bright white cuffs now adorn each of his hooves. He has a pen in his mouth resting on a pad of paper, looking at me expectantly. I sigh and withdraw the three bits I had in my bag.

“What can I get with this?”

He just looks at me as if I told a joke he refuses to acknowledge. He cocks an eyebrow, but it slowly lowers when he realizes I’m not joking.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” he tries, readying the pen once more.

My dejected look to the menu answers his question for me.

“Get out,” he says simply. “My cafe is simply too refined for such common trash as yourself.”

“Excuse me?” I rise from my seat, hooves resting on the table.

“If you cannot afford my generous prices, then you and I have nothing to discuss.”

“Generous!? You are severely delusional if you—”

He merely grunts in my direction and turns to his store. “If you do not leave right now, I’ll be forced take more severe action.”

I open my mouth to say something else, but the door slams shut and I’m forced back to my seat. Who the hay does he think he is? He owns a tiny cafe in a small, podunk little village for Celestia’s sake!

I grumble and retrieve my bag, pocketing my bits as I continue my search for food. The sun’s rising, already clearing the horizon, so most of the businesses would be open. Question remains, however, if they’ll be as helpful as Peppy le Snob was. If this is the general undertone of the town, I’d rather hoof it to the next, but the closest one is Canterlot, and to the moon with that option!

“See, Apple Bloom, runnin’ the cart ain’t nothing!”

The rustic accent catches my attention. Farmers, without a doubt, so they should know the value of a bit, right? Couldn’t hurt to try, at least. Their setup is only a small cart holding a couple buckets of apples, and the mare running it seems friendly enough. She’s graciously smiling at all passerby’s, the few out this early, anyway. As I walk over, she catches my eye and steps back so I can behold the full view of the fruits of her labor.

Red, shining, glistening in the morning dew. My stomach hurts just thinking about sinking my teeth into one of those ripe, delicious—

“See something ya like?”

The orange mare steps forward, offering me a quizzical look and a reserved smile. Only now do I realize my eyes are glazed over, and I am, in fact, standing in a small puddle of what I can only hope to be my drool.

Horseapples! “Uh, yes,” I turn back to the cart, “how much for an apple?”

“Well,” she looks them over, snatching one from the top. “This Ah’d reckon to be about three bits.”

Three bits? Yes! “Yes!” I exclaim, earning the ears of the surrounding salesponies. “Oh, uhm, I mean, yes, please.”

Hurriedly, I dig in my satchel, snatching the coins from within. I turn back to the pony. Her eyes match mine for a split second, and the next I'm left staring at the brightening sky as pain shoots through my spine. This is happening entirely too often today. Three small fillies tumble in front of, as well as my bits! No, I need those! They land perfectly in one of their manes, the white unicorn’s, to be exact.

Before I can react, however, they jump to their hooves, exchange a few rushed words, and take off once more to wherever they were going. I can only sit and stare helplessly as my bits are taken away to Celestia knows where.

“Sorry about yer bits, there, er…”

I sit in silence and watch. Those three fillies summarize my luck, apparently.

“Rrright. Anyways, look, if it would help, ya can have one of my apples for free. Consider it compensation fer my sister an’ her friends.” The mare walks around and presents an apple. It wasn’t nearly as ripe, or as hardy as the one worth three bits, but my growling stomach was the only answer she needed. She drops it in front of my hoof without another word.

“Th-thank you.” I manage a weak smile and snatch the fruit before me, sinking my teeth into the flesh without another word. When I finished, the orange mare returned, looking off into the crowd, but speaking to me.

“Say, you’re new in town, ain’t ya?”

“Yes.” I rise to my hooves, finally meeting the eyes of giving farm pony. Deep emeralds stare back, covered lightly by golden bangs and a dark brown stetson. Three white freckles dot either cheek, and her smile gives a warm understanding. I cough into my hoof, rubbing my mane in anticipation. “Thanks for the apple, it was really nice. I promise, when I can, I’ll be back with bits and be a proper customer.”

“Sure would appreciate that,” the orange pony tips her hat in recognition, “Say, I never quite caught yer name.”

“Oh, it’s, uh… Green Oak?” I smile what I can only was genuine friendliness. Her narrowed eyes prove me wrong. “Uhm… yours?”

“Name’s Applejack, pardner!” Applejack claims confidently, removing any hint of awkwardness.

“It’s been a pleasure, Applejack,” I respond happily. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“See ya ‘round!”

She waves me away before dealing with an oncoming customer. She’s nice. Hopefully I can repay her properly, but that’s a problem for another time. Top priority: find a job. With as prominent a market square as this “Ponyville” seems to have, there might be farms around.

Ponyville is very different in the daytime. The ponies of this town must love it to death. Walking down the street alone seems to deserve a smile from any and all passerbies. Wonder if they’d still smile knowing I’m broke and basically just stole from one of their farmers. I mean, she offered me the app— No, she just dropped it in front of my hooves without another word. She didn’t demand anything, she didn’t ask for any bits, she just gave me breakfast, and all I did was walk away. Didn’t even ask her if she needed help. She must hate me.

I find myself taking an interest in a pebble trodden deep into the dirt path by years of shoppers. Shoppers? Lifting my head confirms my suspicions; I have not yet left the market square. In fact, I’ve only made it a couple steps from the apple vendor, Applejack. Do I dare look back? Is she looking at me? Oh Celestia, is she judging me? Is she waiting for something? Has she noticed I stopped moving? I gotta risk it. Just a glance, just a glance, just a…

I turn my head with a nervous smile. I lock eyes with the orange mare for less than a millisecond before she turns forward, welcoming another customer. She-she was looking at me, and I blew it!

A sigh escaped my lips, audible or not I can’t say since the number of shoppers have picked up considerably, trapping me in the middle of it all. Come on hooves, get moving. If I act like I know where to go, I might be able to escape with what little dignity I have between my legs. Luckily, my hooves react, moving me forward, away from the orange mare, away from her lingering gaze, away from the apples.

The ponies make room for me, obviously looking to avoid the outcast. They still smile. Why do they still smile as if they didn’t just see what happened? They’re taunting me. They know, they know and they judge. I force a smile, but my eyes still refuse to raise above the hooves.

Finally left the market square after what felt like an eternity. Less ponies here now. The ones that are are just passing by to get to the market. At least they aren’t looking at me anymore. I raise my head, looking around for any sort of landmark. Trees and houses frame the street, each having its own look, its own story. Each saying the same thing.

The ponies love this town. Small boxes of flowers adorn every window, bountiful gardens are tended to, and even the path I’m walking on looks clean, for dirt, anyway. It’s all a little eerie, honestly. Whatever, small aspects aren’t important right now. I suppose I should find out what exactly is around here. Where would I find a map of town? Library. Definitely library.

My next stop is the library, and it’s a great tree. Seriously? A tree. Yeah. From the looks of it, it’s a kind of baobab tree that was hollowed out. What would a baobab tree be doing here? From the looks of it,, Ponyville gets heavy snowfall every year, and that would most definitely kill any kind of baobab trees. Unless magic has some sort of play in this, but I doubt it. Keeping this thing alive would strain any unicorn to their full extent.

I knock on the door. That’s wood for sure, but a different kind. I wonder if… I knock on the wall beside the door. That is not wood. Well, it might be, but is certainly not any kind of carved out tree. This thing was built rather than grown. What a shame.

“Can I help you?”

Oh, I have been feeling this tree for so long I didn’t notice the door had been opened. “Oh, sorry. Yes, actually, I was wondering if you had anyyyeeeEE!” I words freeze in my throat. She lives in the library? She, Princess Twilight Sparkle, lives in the library of Ponyville.

“Any…?” The purple alicorn waves a hoof in front of my face and cocks an eyebrow. “Erm, are you oka—”

“MAP!”

She looks at me. No, she’s glaring at me. I just cut her off. I walked up to her door, I froze in front of her, and I just screamed in her face. My life is officially over.

“S-sorry,” is all I can manage to say as I turn dejectedly away. Why am I so stupid? Why can I not talk to any pony! Well, she is a princess. It’s really no use going on at this point, I should just leave. When I’ve gone down the stairs and a few steps from the door, she manages to speak up.

“Are you asking for a map of Ponyville?” a spark lights in the top of of her eyes, “Are you new here, by chance?”

“Yes… yes I am.” I turn and bow to the princess. “My name is Green Oak, your Majesty.” She looks taken aback. Buck, I didn’t get it right. I messed up! Again!

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” My raised eyebrow provokes her further. “Just Twilight is fine. I’m not one for formalities, hence my home.” She motions to the pseudo-tree.

“Oh, right.” I rub the back of my mane. “Actually, speaking of your home, what kind of tree is it? It sounds synthetic, and I don’t think a tree like this could even survive a winter here.”

She chuckles to her wall. “Right you are, actually. You must really know your trees.”

“It’s my cutie mark,” I say happily, turning to show her the cartoonish tree resting on my flank. The only difference between what I just did and 20 years in the dungeon would be a sign reading Five bits a night.

“Oh, a true dendrologist. I’ve dabbled in the subject myself.”

“And yet you probably know more than I do,” I joke, earning a small laugh from the princess. Score one to social aptitude!

“Well, come in, and I’ll see if I have anything that can help you.”

She retreats deeper into the library, holding the door to invite me in. The library is completely full of books. Normally that wouldn’t come as anything special, but there is no shelf space. It’s even leaking onto a nearby desk. Scrolls, quills, various other calligraphy tools litter the tables, and books even line the staircase where she ventures further, leaving me alone.

Leafing through the books, I’ve found a book on wooded plants. Dendrology and You. At least I can brush up on here; maybe this wasn’t so bad. Wait. Is that a Daring Do book? I believe it is. Daring Do and the Quest of the Sapphire Stones. Stepping back, the sign above does say “Nonfiction,” yet the books sit proudly on the shelf. Sliding the book back, I step away. Apparently this library uses some advanced technique of organization not suitable for my idiotic brain. I’ll have to figure it out later.

In the meantime, what else does this library have to offer? Outside of the shelves, on a stand of its own, sits a book with no name. It’s open, revealing a spectacular set of blank pages. It looks halfway through, though. Surely there are entries before this. No one’s around. One peak shouldn’t hurt.

“I found a map,” came a voice from upstairs. Darn, too early. I let the previous pages fall limply as the book returns to its blank slate.

“Thanks.” The map is a scroll, and dated to boot. The tall tower in the center, labeled simply “Ponyville,” has a small network of little buildings, none labelled, surrounding the base. To the Southern point, taking easily half the map and extending onto the unknown, was an orchard. It looks like a ten minute walk, tops! “This,” I point to the farm, “Is this an orchard?”

She looks over my shoulder. “Oh yes, that’s Sweet Apple Acres! Equestria’s top apple producer.”

“‘Top apple producer’… Do you think they’re hiring?”

The brings a hoof to her chin in obviously fake contemplation. “I don’t know, but I bet they could use a pony with your knowledge, anyway.” She offers a reassuring smile. Sweet Celestia, this pony wants to be friends with every pony ever.

“Thanks. Is this map still accurate?”

“Relatively. Just head out the door and to the right; you should see their sign in no time.”

“Thank you so much.” I place the map in her open hoof and head out the door, making a sharp right and trotting quickly down the street.

In no time at all I’m greeted by a large arch. The name of the farm isn't there, though. All that hangs is a sign with a picture of an apple. The small white fence is nice, though, and the hedges framing the archway give a down-to-earth feel, I suppose. The apples that dot the hedges are a little off putting, though. Taking pride in one’s work is important, but apples in a hedge?

There’s a stallion pulling a cart loaded with apples all the color of his coat, bright red, into a barn just nearby. Better now than never, I suppose. When I reach the doors, he’s unloading the bushels onto the hay floor beneath. No doubt getting ready to drag another cart load through soon.

I knock, piquing his interest as he lifts his head to me, his calm eyes pressing my words forth. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

He’s forgotten the cart, now leaning on it to allow me the chance to speak.

“I was curious. Are you, by any chance, hiring? I was told this was the best choice given my talent.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

I swallow the rock in my throat and step into the barn. What was that word Twilight used: dendrology? If not, close enough. “I’m a dendrologist; I study trees and other wooded plants. This was the only orchard I know of, so I was thinking that I could… help?”

The cocked brow furrows. He approaches me calmly, circling my figure. My attempt at raising my posture only ends in a fit of nervous coughing. He smirks to himself, blinking a few times before answering. “Nnnope.”

Nope? “Surely you can think of some way I could be helpful? I-I could help with the trees, I could help with the farming. I’ve been on a farm before, so I know the whole routine.”

He turns back to the bushels, continuing to unload them from the cart. “Nnnope.”

“What do you mean ‘nnnope’?”

“Nnnope.”

I was about to talk, but another voice cuts me off. It came from outside. “Who ya talkin’ to, Big Mac?”

That voice, it sounds so familiar. It’s that apple pony. What’s her name? Apple… jack. Yeah, Applejack. She comes in and sees her brother and I in the barn. She turns from her brother to me, her eyes narrowing instantly.

“Ho-aah no. Nope, nu-uh.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nope, yer not here. This ain’t gonna happen again.”

Her brother snorts as he takes the emptied cart out, closing the door behind him with an audible smack. Applejack doesn’t seem to notice as she approaches.

“Look, Green. I know why yer here.”

“You do? Great, then you can—”

She cuts me off with a wave of her hoof. “I’ve seen this before. Look, I know I helped ya’ll out this morning, but that don’t mean you can live here.”

“What? No, no—”

“Ah ah! Shh. I ain’t runnin’ a squatter’s home, ya hear? My family ‘re all hard workin’ ponies. We don’t do handouts.”

“That’s not my intention! Yes, I want to thank you for your generosity, but I don’t want none of that. I actually wanted to join ya’ll on the farm.”

“Oh, so that’s your angle?” Her neutral expression faded to one of annoyance. Her cheeks flared and she advanced to me.

“Angle?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a stallion like you before. All prim and high-fashion, yet once he saw me, he wanted to give it all up for a simpler life. With me.”

I could feel the heat of my own cheeks. “Oh, oh! Oh no, that’s not what I want.”

“Beg pardon?”

“That’s not what I meant. I just want to work here. You know, repay you for the kindness and maybe get back on my hooves?”

“So you do wanna work here?”

“Yes!”

“And ya ain’t lying?”

“Of course not.”

“Alright then.” She looks me over. “Ya’ll were talking about yer special talent. What might that be?”

“Oh, yes!” I display my cutie mark proudly. “I’m a dendrologist! I work with trees and wooded plants.”

“Is that right?” She turns to the closed door, looking past them to field that lay beyond, I’m sure. “Well then, we might just have a use for you after all.” A warm smile breaks her interrogating attitude. “Come with me.”

She leaves with me right behind her. “Where are we going?”

“To talk with Granny Smith.”

“Of course.” Granny Smith, who doesn’t know Granny Smith? “Mind if I ask why?”

“She’s the elder of this here farm, o’ course!” She sounds surprised a pony would even need to ask. “She has the final say on any new members to the business.”

“Ohh, okay. I got it.”

She leaves the barn, leaving the door open and motioning me forward. I comply anxiously. The sooner I can begin working, the sooner I can start earning my keep. Those two sound similar, don’t they? Again, semantics. Hey, change of scenery.

Applejack has lead me to a rustic, aged cabin that can only be described as homely. The stallion from earlier was sitting on a faded green couch, the same faded green as the coat of the elderly pony rocking in her chair, clearly out cold. That must be Granny Smith. The big red pony notices us first.

“Er, Applejack?” he begins, ushering her forth, an irritatingly nervous scowl painting his face.

Applejack strides over confidently. “Yes, Big Mac?” His name is Big Mac, how appropriate.

They begin conversing heatedly, having to escape to the recesses of the house so as not to be heard. They close the door behind them, prompting the elder to wake up.

“Wha, hoozit?” She looks around quickly as if she doesn’t know where he is. Her eyes eventually land on me and shrink. “Whooahh? And who might you be, sonny?”

“I’m Green Oak, ma’am,” I say cooly, smiling softly at the weathered pony.

“Well shucks, no need to be so nervous! If’n ya got this far, ya must be doin’ somethin’ right!”

“Right.” I turn to the closed door across the room. “I wonder what they’re discussin’.”

“Oh, just like Applejack ta run off like a rat with a piece of cheese. Applejack! We got company!”

“I know, Granny,” replied Applejack with Big Mac in tow. “We were just talkin ‘bout that, actually. This fella here wants a job at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Granny returns her gaze to me, all hint of hospitality gone. “Oh he does, does he?”

The rock in my throat is back. I can only hope it doesn’t break my speech. “Yes ma’chm.” Yep. Perfect.

She’s still looking at me like a wolf, Applejack and Big Mac with smug smiles standing right behind her. I never realized the Apple family was a gang. I cough into my hoof to clear the tension, and when I return the mare’s gaze, she’s right in front me. She moves quickly for an old pony. Normally I’d jump at that, but if I move an inch I will collapse and melt between the floorboards. He’s looking at me with one eye, the other is shut tight.

“Well why didn’t ya just say so! Come on in, Green Nokes!” Close enough. “I’ll introduce ya to the family,” she motions to Applejack, “This here’s Applejack.”

“It’s a pleasure, Green,” she responds cockily. They’re going to gut me here in this room. I know it.

“This here’s Big Macintosh,” the green mare has moved on to the burly red stallion glaring evenly at me. I am going to be their dinner. No one will ever hear the story of Green Oak again.

“And Apple Bloom is somewhere I reckon. She should be back soon. Applejack, where’s yer sister?”

“Ain’t seen her since this morning, Granny. She was off crusadin’ with her friends. Knocked this stallion right off his hooves, too.” She stifles a laugh at my expense.

“It’s almost dark. She should be home for sup—”

“Coming through!”

All four heads turn to find a yellow filly careening through the door, sweeping under my hooves, and landing against one of Big Mac’s forelegs, coming to a dead halt, I think. I did not see it, for I am now looking at the interesting light fixtures dangling from the ceiling. The green mare was looking at me dumbfoundedly, then turned to the yellow filly.

“And that there’s Apple Bloom.”

“Pleasure to meet youuuuooOH! It’s you!” I was pointing a hoof directly at the filly, and didn’t notice until Applejack slapped it away.

“Don’t go pointin’ yer hooves where they don’t belong, Green.”

She is defensive of her family, her twang speaks louder around them. I must approach this situation very, very carefully. Firstly, I must stop breathing like a bull about to charge. “You’re that little filly from earlier today! You and your little friends knocked me over and made me lose my bits!” Secondly, I must stop shouting. She’s hidden behind her brother’s leg, and I am avoiding his gaze like the plague.

Applejack steps forward to block my gaze. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

I grab a lungful of air and breathe out slowly, recapping the events. “I went to your stand to buy an apple. When I went to retrieve your bits, Apple Bloom and two other young fillies crashed into me, knocking loose the bits I had held in my mouth.” They know what your mouth is, Green, stop pointing to your teeth! “They landed in a filly’s hair, and then they took off. Which is why I flopped to the ground right after…”

Applejack looks at me for a good minute before turning her sister. Her eyes search deep within the filly for the truth, and finds it. She release a pent up sigh and approaches me. “Alright, I believe ya.” She pulls me in closer, “But point at my younger sister like that again, and it won’t just be your bits that you lose. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” She looks to her younger sister. “Apple Bloom, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry, mister.”

“It’s alright, Apple Bloom.” Her brother’s malice turns defensive as he steps away from the filly, putting her in the spotlight.

“That’s great that ya’ll made up like that,” Applejack shatters the sorrowful silence with her cheery attitude. “Cause from now on, ya’ll’ll be spendin’ plenty of time together.”

“Say what?” Apple Bloom and I ask in simultaneous disbelief.

“Eeeyup,” enforced Big Mac, the same smile threatening his stoic demeanor.

“Ya see,” Applejack began, taking a seat on the couch. “Green, ya ain’t an Apple. I doubt you’re a good apple bucker, neither.”

“Thanks.” Always the uplifting kinds, these ponies. On the other hoof, I completely agree.

“And Apple Bloom, you’re young, too young to apple buck, and ya don’t seem interested in running the store.”

“That’s not true!” the young filly protested. “I love the store!”

“ Is that why ya left with yer friends this mornin’?”

The filly tries to protest, but falls flat against her sister’s logic.

“Now then. I’m not interested in teaching twice, so what’s going to happen is: Green, you’re going to Apple Bloom’s tutor. Every mornin’ I’m gonna teach ya something about the farm, and it’ll be up to you to make sure Apple Bloom learns about it by supper; Apple Bloom, you’re going to listen to Green and do everything he says, got it?”

“Yes, sis.” Apple Bloom looks at me out of the corner of her eye. Her glare could cut maple.

“On top of that, Green, you’ll be in charge of Apple Bloom. Apple Buck Season is approaching, and neither Big Mac nor I have the time to look after her. That will be your job. Understand?”

“How far does that extend?” The little filly can’t be too much trouble, right?

“Ya make sure she learns her lessons, goes to school, does her homework, and generally keeps out of trouble during the day.”

Right. “Alright, that sounds good.”

“Great!” Applejack claps her hooves together. “Now, it’s supper time. Apple Bloom, come help me in the kitchen. Green, we’ll discuss the technicalities tomorrow mornin’. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

I collapse onto the seat, Big Mac beside me. His questioning looks don’t matter. Granny’s resumed snoring doesn’t matter. I am off my hooves on my own accord, and the smell of baked goods fill the air. The deep rumble of my stomach is only temporary, anyway.