Sweet Apple Acres, Ponyville Demesne
Granny Smith, in one of those fey moods old earth ponies get, had insisted on one thing after seeing Friendship Rainbow Castle rise from the center of Ponyville.
"We're building a back porch on this here house! The last durn thing I want to be staring at all day in mah rocking chair is some fancy-smancy Canterlot castle that sparkles all day and and all night! I'd rather be lookin' at carrots than highfaultin' Her-Heiney-ness!"
The Apple mare is the most stubborn thing in Equestria, and they only get more so when well aged. That a delivery showed up the day after Applejack gave in was only a sign that Granny, like most old things in the world, worked in mysterious ways. Wood. And plenty of it.
From your kinfolk for hosting the reunion this year- we thought after all the barns y'all go through, this would be the best way to say it! We all chipped in, so don't you say nothin' bout bits or we're sending Braeburn on the next train to holler till you say "auntie!"
Thanks for a reunion we'll never forget!
Apples, Oranges, Seeds and the Cousins
Three days later, Big Mac had himself a nice horse-apple wood porch put up on the back wall of the Apple's barn-home, and a contented Granny rocking under a red-shingled roof. As it turned out, it was also right nice for when guests came over.
Four months after Tirek's banishment
One week, two days before the Golden Oak Friendship Festival
"Why as I live and breathe, I never did think I'd have Royal Bluegrass stayin' at mah house! And his band!"
"Over a century and goin' on sweet sixteen, Granny.", Applejack thought to herself. Not that Royal wasn't a decent earth pony, even with the fancy name. For a big-name singin' type, he put his hooves in the sink and washed dishes next to the star-struck old mare just fine, swabbing away the odd splash of soapy water that landed on his glasses with an old dishrag.
From the few bits of quiet talk, the older stallion was handling Granny like she was HIS granny.
"Call me Roy, Missus Smith."
Like warm butter on a pie crust, that voice. Mmm.
The gentle ringing of guitars drifted through the kitchen window, a stray sharp lick mixed with the percussion of Apple Bloom's chatter.
"And mah friend Scootaloo- she's REALLY good with drums! She can play so loud it'll shake Rainbow Dash off a tree branch!"
The bay-coated unicorn paused in strumming to stem the tide of questions on hoofpicks, what kind of musical cutie marks he'd seen, and how tough it'd be for an earth pony to play a twelve-string guitar (well, there'd been more but the little filly tended to blur together when she got excited). A Riverpool accent spun out a story.
"Now, my colt- Dhaivat-"
"Why's he called Dye Vat? Is he good at coloring?"
"Dhaivata. It's a word for a musical note that the cows in Moo Delhi use, and it also means "horse", and the "third eye" that we unicorns often call our horn chakra, where our magic focuses. When he was a little younger than you, his uncle Star Ringer tried to give him a drum lesson. Played them so loud, the poor foal ran out screaming!"
"Did...does he like music?"
"Loves it. But I better not let him hear Scootaloo or he'd run all the way to the Shetlands!"
Big Mac was enjoying the late afternoon sun. The conversation he was getting from the other unicorn on the porch pretty much scraped through his ears, though it was pretty deep.
"I am against nature. I don't dig nature at all. Think it's really un-natural."
"Eenope."
"I think the truly natural things are dreams, which nature can't touch with decay."
"Eeyup."
The green-tinged rolling stone cutie-mark on the unicorn's flank bobbed along with random gouts of rough philosophy. The sun glowed on, unmoved by anything save Celestia until a cloud moved in to cover the view.
Big Mac twitched a bit as he realized the side of the cloud was covered in musical notation, and for once, it wasn't the weather ponies mussin' up the sunset early with a cloud-blanket for the orchards.
The cloud moved closer with a dove-whistle of wingpower, provided by the curly-maned pegasus shoving his cumulus whiteboard down to ground level. A collective, if friendly groan echoed in four-part grousing harmony as the band on the porch braced for the opening salvo. At least it'd been two hours since last time!
"Hey! Hey! I think I finally got the progression right. It'll be fan-tastic!" A pair of sunglasses and a mop of mane frizz that would put Rarity into a fit of despair scattered a bass lead into the ether. "Oops! Never mind, I'll just play it. Hoof me up the Rhubarb Red, would you?" A scruffy blond leg from below lazily pushed the neck of a enchantric within swiping range, where it was dutifully yoinked.
"Thanks, Muddy."
"Okay. E minor at the end of the seventh,fifteenth, and twenty-third should fix it. On "lot", "cloud", and "when". G, D, G, E minor instead of E. Can we thrash it out before it gets dark?"
Applejack was inclined to let the river run and not get in the way of her company.
"Well, long as it ain't too long. A pony can't sleep if she's got five roosters crowin till dawn, can she? Roy? You and Granny done with the dishes?"
The crash of an entire stack of plates being shoved into a cupboard followed.
"He's done. Go make with the strumming, sweetie!"
A brief bit of musical preening later:
Half a dozen rocking chairs seated three earth ponies, two unicorns, and a pegasus. Five of those had strings to wings (or horn, or a hoofpick or two depending) and ready to go. Muddy piped up once everyone had settled down.
"Now, Night Melody wrote this one, but we never got it right enough to play on either album. It's a little sad, a little sweet, a lot of hopeful for an old friend we used to know and lost. And I'm sorry, Granny- Roy mostly just plays on this one."
That got a three-out-of-three giggle from the mares in the audience.
"Melody? On six. *twang* A one-two-three-four-five-six..."
And the river most definitely ran, though the refrain was the knockout.
"It was late in the mornin' of November..."
Golden Harvest cringed as the back of the mailbox popped off, a fat stack of letters sending the sheet metal off into the dirt. For the third time in a row.
"Oops! I thought they'd all fit, Sorry, Golden!"
The letters, still clutched in a hoof tried to pull themselves back into the dented remnants- but the neatly-wrapped bundle had sprung it's twine and bloomed into a flower of bills, ads, and crunched correspondence. The post began to creak alarmingly to the beating of pegasus wings on the lift...
...Golden's frantic grab pulled the plug out, saved the box, and let the mailpony launch herself like a popped cork to tumble tail over nose until she managed a bobble, two stories up.
The music off the Apple's back porch hit Ditzy Doo then, and it was enchantment from the first three notes, a half-heard lyric snaking it's way in through an ear and a refrain that was calling her name. How did it know her name?
"Ditzy, Ditzy, Ditzy, Ditzy...", sang from the farmhouse porch, half-shrouded in sunset but crystal-clear in harmony.
The pegasus homed in on the tune like a grey-plumed arrow, a contrail of forgotten postage in her wake.
"Alright, that's it!"
The last sweet notes rippled out into the darkening sky and faded.
"Big Mac?", Applejack spoke into the expectant silence.
"Eeyup?"
"Hope you saved plenty of wood. You think she's gonna go through the front, or the back?"
"Likely back."
"Sounds right. OK, everpony! Lie down on the floor and keep calm." Apple Bloom clapped on an old scooter helmet at the announcement, and low-crawled for the basement. The Apple family guests stared at the ponies hugging the floor, who had clearly gone stark nutters- save for Royal Bluegrass, who found himself in the iron grasp of Granny Smith.
"She ain't kidding, boys! You just called the storm, she'd have been at the Harvest farm finishing her mail run for the day. That mare can hear her name bein' called from a mile away!"
The beating wings of the freight train sounded from the distance, accompanying itself with a cheerfully whistled tune that mostly followed the recent performance. Someone might have whinnied a bit in terror. (Was a mite high-pitched for Big Mac, but you never know.)
*BAM!*
The musicians were still in their rocking chairs when the porch roof exploded in a hail of shingles, feathers, and returned junk mail. Stallions flew in all directions, plowing random furrows into the yard as they succumbed to the unkind joys of gravity.
"Oh, hi!" the wrecking-mare chirped from a nose-down landing position. "Someone have a late..deliv-a...um...oops. Hey, do I know you guys?"
"Ditzy?", Muddy got out around a mouthful of his namesake. "Lil' Margarita?", came from a pile of mangled rocking chairs topped with a white flag of surrender. "Ditzy Doom.", gargled the philosophizing unicorn through a clod of grass.
Royal might have said something, but Granny had him in a chokehug of death at the time, and the only Night Melody to be heard was the twitching of a unicorn leg in the middle of a shadowy carrot patch, mostly in time to a cricket.
A saffron-tipped hoof managed to clear the windowsill after a few good tries, dragging Applejack's head behind it.
"How-do, Ditzy. These house-wreckers friends of yours?"
"Y'all know Ditzy.". Applejack put it out on the table, plain as day.
The band of stallions nodded, shedding bits of humus, apple-spice hummus (for Ditzy had made an one-point landing in the snack tray), and random vegetation. A cricket chirped a sad negative from the tip of Night Melody's horn and hopped off for the fields.
"Ooh! I know Ditzy, too! Wait..."
The elephant-colored Pegasus in the room looked down at her ID tag. "Yep, that's me! So, Applejack- are they your uncles? Is that one your grandpa? His face looks kinda apple-y..."
Royal Bluegrass was indeed red from the neck down, mostly from being firmly wedged between Granny Smith and Apple Bloom, who kept finding her share of the sofa shrinking.
"I think Mister Bluegrass just needs to use the little ponies' room after all that excitement. Don't ya, sugarcube?".
The unicorn popped off the sofa like his other end was on fire and made a dignified dash for the washroom. And cold water. Plenty of cold water. "Such a nice fella, even washes his hooves real good when he's sharing a couch with a lady.", Granny sparkled.
"And the rest of you look like Big Mac thought you were a plow and ran you over the cornfield! Go on, now. Mac'll show you where the field hoofs wash up and curry off. "
"What?", Muddy managed to get out in a mild tone before Applejack cut off the impending stampede.
"Y'all look like someone decided we needed a new field in the living room! Get yer muddy, Muddy hooves cleaned up already!" - with that, she whistled up a single note, and a white-and-brown blur nipped and nudged it's way through the band.
"Hey!" "Ow! That's my tail!" "I think it tried to eat my fetlocks!" - and the ponies found themselves herded out the door as the blur paused long enough to bark joyfully and give everyone still within her best canine grin.
"I'll just go home and get cleaned up. G'bye, Applejack!"
Ditzy found herself being towed back into the room by her tail.
"Um....I know I'm kinda messy. Did you want me to help clean up the porch first? Cause it's no pro-"
"Why don't we do that, Ditzy. Apple Bloom, you and Granny make sure our guests git settled for bed while me an' Ditzy go sweep up a bit."
The dust and splinters flew as tails brushed across the slightly buckled boards of the back porch.
"Ditzy, why'd all them fellas act so funny around you? Did any of em' scare you, that why you said you don't know none of them?"
Applejack's tail began to scrape a bit with each swipe.
"...one of them Dinky's family? You don't like em? Cause if they're trouble, you say so. They'll be out on the next train to Anywhere soon as I set my eyes on Twilight. You ain't got a worry they'll get out of my barn 'fore then."
Ditzy's next flick managed to put a broken chunk of porch into the siding, wiggling like a loose tooth.
"Can you keep a secret, Applejack?"
"I ain't Rarity, Ditzy. You don't want a story told, I'm your mare."
Wings drooped until they began to drag lines in the sawdust.
"Can't remember a thing from the day before me and Dinky came to Ponyville, and neither does she. I still don't know what went wrong!"
Ditzy closed the space between them in a few steps, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I don't...I don't even know if I'm her real mama. We....we love each other very much, but...I mean...the first thing we remember was stumbling through the Everfree together and out into the edge of Ponyville. Right into Harvest's back yard-"
One wing pointed past the carrot-topped weathervane of the Apple farm's neighbor.
"One mare, one filly, half-fur-bare and scared silly. They told us the Everfree was full of bad monsters and worse magic and we were lucky to even know our own names if we'd been in there for long! I....I don't even know if my name IS Ditzy! I mean, when they asked it's what sorta came out, and it sounds right but-WAAAAAH!"
Applejack's mane became a mix of slobber, tears and bawling mare.
"I! Don't! Know! What! Went! WRONG!", Ditzy sobbed as she banged her head against Applejack's. Bits of down stuck to the mess with each tap.
"Awww..."
She hugged the grey cloud of misery until the tear-storm ran down to a drizzle.
"Ditzy, you been in Ponyville since you was a filly. I can remember seeing you since you was little, all flyin' round like a bumble-bee with the rest of the foal-flock."
"...that's Bumble Bee."
"Whut?"
"Bumble Bee. *sniffle* Parents moved to Cloudsdale when she got her cutie mark. Came back to visit when Trixie took over the town with the Alicorn Amulet. *snerk* Met her when were were watching Twilight perform for the Saddle Arabians afterwards. She looks like me, but when I asked?"
"Oh, we could be sisters! No, I don't have any long-lost sisters or cousins, dear. Oh, hiiiii Lyra! It's been AGES! *squee* are you two MAREFRIENDS now? Tell me all the good stuff!"
"...meadow muffins."
"And now there's all these ponies andtheysaidtheyknowmebutIdon'tknowwhoMEisandnowallIcanthinkofisoneofthemDinkysdaddyormyspecialsomeponiesormygrandpaor-"
*squeak!* went Ditzy as her lungs finally ran out of air and decided to say something about the whole thing by removing her speaking privileges, in favor of a Twilight-worthy bout of hyperventilating panic.
Five minutes after that, the next chapter of destiny would walk back in through the kitchen door to find the two mares dignified and ready to take on whatever the situation desired. That is, one pegasus nose-deep in a paper feedbag trying not to faint, and one earth pony with her head stuck under the sink, desperately trying to wash the pegasus slobber out of her ears before it hardened completely. But it was with dignity.
Or so the story goes.
Author's Note
What, you say? Bumble Bee's a totally contrived fabrication of the author?
Look at the grandstands to the left and right of Twilight for your Double Derpy, ladies and gents!
