Ponies with Dirty Faces

The train departed from Las Luna Penitentiary hissing like an overexerting pack-animal, its metal muscles beginning to pound the rails. The railcars swayed and creaked along behind it, most violently the two cattle trucks at the back that had been hastily coupled on to accommodate the recently released prisoners.  One car held the stallions, the other held the mares and both smelled of straw and livestock piss. About thirty members of each gender were crammed into these shoeboxes shackled limb to limb and joined by a long chain connected to a bracket in the floor. One mare in the rear car stared straight ahead not looking or paying attention to anypony. Her name was Applejack but all the inmates had taken to calling her “Captain” as if Captain Jack wasn’t getting as old as the sun any time soon. Still her brother was often called “Big” Macintosh as if he were some sort of railboss or something so I suppose it was karmic that she get a nickname as well. So this was it she soon found herself thinking. She was finally going home, to Charming City. To The Candied Apple. That had been her family bar back in the good old days when they were still a family. She and Big Mac were there of course as well as their little sister Apple Bloom who had been virtually like her daughter to her. Then there was the patriarch Granny Smith the founder of this establishment virtually as old as the city itself. Literally. She’d built the family business up when the town was established in the frontier days as an outlet for the families apple orchards. Then of course there were their parents Sturmer Pippin and Summerfree. Those bastions of childhood and relic of a golden age. Who’d always sing them to bed at night, teach them about the family business and let them play hide and seek in the alcohol cellar. If only those days could have lasted forever. But of course they didn’t the government had to go and get into a war with the Griffin Empire meaning their parents were drafted into the army. They promised they’d be home by Christmas. After all her nations populace could fly and do magic. But the griffins could also fly and their advanced technology more than made up for not being able to do magic. The earth pony landing parties had to tunnel their way to the capital while the other two races kept them occupied. Their father never made it to the capital he was killed when a tunnel he was working on caved in while their mother was killed when the griffins bombed a field hospital where she was working. After the war ended the four of them had to keep working the bar by themselves. But then some busybody fuckwits came up with the marvellous idea to make alcohol illegal. All about preserving the morality of the nation and all that malarkey. They called it The Foalstead Act. Of course the Apple’s weren’t going go down without a fight. And a fight we got. Soon the blue devils got tired of asking nice and they came with an arrest warrant. As usual Granny had started slinging abuse at them but this time the officers came with truncheons and one got rather excited. She died in hospital two days later. Meanwhile Apple Bloom was wrenched from her arms and placed in an orphanage while she and her brother, her last legal family, were carted off to prison for five years. So to sum up, a family destroyed, three ponies murdered and her being left to rot in the can for half a decade. Life sucked. But at least now she and her brother were going home. They’d pick up her sister and then they’d be a family again.

“What are you staring at” sad a condescending arrogant voice.

Applejack looked up. A unicorn con-mare with light blue femme-fatale hair and coat she’d met in the can sat a couple of blocks away. Applejack couldn’t really recall her name.

“It’s Tracy ain’t it?” she asked.

“Trixie. And what were you doing, Jack.”

“Anypony calls me by that name one more damn time…”

“Just answer my question.”

“Ah was just looking out of the window. Waitin’ to see the ol’ hometown again.”

“I’ll just leave you to do that then.”

Well, Applejack thought, she’d better do it then. For a while all she could see was the light brown and green of the prairies. Then suddenly she saw the tenement halls and factories of South Bank coming into view, the smell of chimney smoke and refuse entering through the windows like mustard gas. It got stronger as the train entered the shunting yards and finally entered the station platform. It was the afternoon rush and the station was packed with noise and bustle coming from faces Applejack couldn’t really see from inside the converted freight car. Presently the door slid open and a cop in a blue peaked hat and jacket entered. He undid the chain and fastened it to his harness while yelling “Cum’on ladies. It’s time to move.” He gave a sharp tug and the prisoners followed suite.  As both lines moved out of the wagons the ponies on the platform turned and stared at them. Save for a few whispers everyone was silent as names were called in alphabetical order and ponies went into the station masters office. Applejack managed to catch the eye of Big Mac in the next line over. He nodded curtly as a way of greeting which she returned. Even when the train gave a sharp whistle and departed everypony went about their business in silence, obviously scared of the prisoners.

Soon, very soon since their name began with an A, the guard called “Jack and Macintosh Apple, charged with the crime of breaching the Foalstead Act. Sentence: five years.”

Both ponies called “here” and they were unshackled from the main line and ushered into the office to be discharged. The discharge officer looked an assholish sort with a dirty brown coat and brown moustache. He wrote their names, crimes and sentences on two small cards then slotted both cards into a box marked with an “A” as record of their criminal activities. He then bade them farewell with the words “The dry law may be an ass but there it is. Don’t fuck with it.”

***

The two siblings now stood on the street outside of the station. The stench of the factory fog was worse now that it wasn’t competing with the old piss-and-donkey-sweat of the railcar. The sky was darkened as well turning the slums a depressing grey. A few taxi cabs galloped here and there while working pones in flat caps and overalls trotted dutifully along the sidewalk adding to the depressing atmosphere.

“Lets just find a cab and get outta here” said Applejack.

Her brother responded with his usual “Eyup.”

They eventually hailed a cab pulled by a stallion with a thinning black mane and matted fur. “Where d’youz wanna go” he asked.

“Oldtown. The Candied Apple. D’ya know it.” Applejack replied.

“Ya, I knows it. Vaguely, from before the law” he replied and soon he was trotting through the straight streets of South Bank towards the river and Oldtown. The air got cleaner once they reached the river bridge. Probably cause this was where the historical and cultural buildings were being the original town build by Mr Charming Smiles back in the territorial days. As one of the first buildings built in the city this was the district the family pub was located. Only it wasn’t quite, as the two siblings found out when they stopped outside. The old pub had been an ordinary brick building with green window panes and a sign on a chain bracket with the establishments name on it. Now the building was a beacon of pink and mauve with the name now across the top canary yellow. The windows now covered all the walls either side of the pink door rather than being up in the top half and hidden by plant pots and a strong sugary smell radiated from inside. Speechless they paid the cabbie with their already thin discharge fund and watched as he drove away.

“Have we come to the right place?”

“Eyu…no…I’m not sure.”

Still confused they entered the bar. The polished bar was still there but the different beverages had been replaced with jars of different coloured cakes and pasties and the bare wood floor was now paved with black and white checks. Tables and seats were arranged win booths opposite the bar which was being operated by a pony with a pink coat and mane done up in a perm.

“Why good day cousins” she said in an excited voice seemingly teleporting through the counter to embrace them in a tight hug.

“Who are you and how d’yall know who we are?”

“Pinkamina Diane Pie at your service. I’m a distant cousin of yours, that’s how I came to inherit this place when you guys were…evicted. I wa”

“We weren’t evicted, they arrested us for breaching some sundamned law plain and simple. Also what have you done to this place.”

“We had to go legit silly, can’t sell cider in this environment. And I’ve always had a sweet tooth myself so what better solution than turn this place into a bakery.”

“This is a bakery. It looks like something I’d see if I put on ruby horseshoes, clicked my hooves together and said there’s no place like fuck.”

“Eyup.”

Pinkie looked shocked “Language aside, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been run this place on my own for the past year and a half. Not been so bad just been doing sales and keeping inventory. I haven’t minded, I’ve always been able to handle it for…reasons but it would be nice for some help around here. Why don’t you just go down into the cellar and take stock.”

“Really you’re giving us a job just like that.”

“Well seeing as how it’s gonna be hard for two… recently discharged ponies to find a job in the town I might as well do you a family courtesy. Also I'm not very good at it myself. Now chop chop.”

“Actually we were going to pick up our sister from the orphanage. D’you know which it is.”

“ She’ll probably still at school. I think that’s a few blocks down this or that way. See you in a bit then.”

As the two Apple siblings left the store, Applejack looked over her shoulder and called “If you’d been stewing in a can for the past five years you’d use language like that too.”