DMX and Applejack, the Annotated Series!

A very familiar train stopped at a very familiar platform, accompanied by a very familiar pathetic puff of steam before coming to the very familiar stop it had once before and let off a very VERY familiar young filly. In all honesty, had the Cutie Mark Crusaders been there, it would’ve basically be the same as ever, but despite this, it was similar enough. Still, Babs Seed couldn’t exactly expect much of a welcoming party given her rather sudden arrival.

Given pretty much everything else was the same, she assumed that the way to her cousin’s house was the same way as usual. And so Babs hiked up a big sports bag, which seemed awful heavier than it was before, and she set off to Sweet Apple Acres.

“So what’s this contraption you’re buildin’ again?” Applejack asked DMX, as she handed him a spanner.

“Yo, nigga, it’s my bike.” DMX was face-first deep working with the fine details of a motorbike, tightening any and all parts. Funny enough, being knee deep in hay in the barn didn’t seem to impede his surprising progress.

“I get it, but what's it supposed to do?”

“Shit, anyone who’s a Ruff Ryda gotta have a bike. The hell you think the kids are gonna think when I go around without it?”

“Well, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle seem to think pretty highly of ya, so I reckon this here’s a bit of foolishness.”

“I know the kids love me, I do this all for the kids, but kids these days are a bunch of lazy cats who ain’t knowin' their ass from their elbows. I show up on this ride, and they’re gonna wanna build one themselves and be productive and shit.”

Applejack tapped her chin for a moment before speaking. “That’s some fine thinking there, but I got two things that might put a dent in your plan. One: From what I know about Apple Bloom, she’s usually off with her friends playing around trying to get her cutie mark, so she’s doing pretty well on her own.”

“Yeah?” DMX stood up and appreciated his masterpiece.

“And two” Applejack pointed right at the aforementioned masterpiece. “Does it have to be made out of dogs?”

DMX looked at the bizarre amalgamation of nuts, bolts, and pitbulls before nodding. “Yeah, because you put a pitbull in a ring against a horse and my dog’s gon’ come out on top, so dogpower’s better than horsepower.”

Failing to find a fault in his infallible logic, Applejack sighed and resigned to accepting this sentiment. This was additionally good, as the two were interrupted by a little red haired ruffian.

“Sup, youse guys know where everypony’s at?”

Applejack turned to see one of her more frequently appearing relatives, Babs Seed, standing in the middle of the barn doors.

“Well howdy there, cos!” Applejack trotted up to her cousin and gave her a pat on the back. “What brings you on down to our neck of the woods?”

“My folks back home says I gots ta leave for a bit because there’s this real heavy stuff going down. Some bald guy who I guess is a chef because he keeps on talking about cooking and his sidekick who calls everyone a ‘bitch’ have been literally paving the streets with crack. Speaking of, youse gots a brush I can use to clean my hooves? I think I’m getting a secondhoof high.”

“Sure, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” Applejack said as she began to scratch at her head under her hat. “And you know you and your kin are always welcome, but what’s this crack you’re talking about? Did an earthquake happen?”

Babs scraped her hooves against the hay laden ground in anticipation. “Well ain’t that a thing, you don’t know what crack is yet? Hold up a sec, I think I gots some picture of me next to a crack-angel.” Babs set her bag down and opened it up, and immediately a huge hill of vaguely blue crystals erupted into a mountainous shape inside the bag.

“Ah what the hay! Darnit, somebody’s turned me into a mule!” Babs shook her head and gestured at the huge pile of methamphetamine.

“Anyways, this is crack.”

Immediately DMX flared his nostrils and practically floated on over to the bag by the power of his scent alone. Standing right next to it, he took in a big whiff of cat-piss vapors and began to get really excited. “Ah shit, I hear you cats talking about crack, but then you bring out this good shit? Shit, dog, you been holding out on me.” He then clapped a hand with one of Bab’s hooves and shook it. “You a’ight, nigga, you heard?”

“Uh,” Babs said, trying to back away. “Yo, Applejack, who's this freakazoid supposed to be?”

“Oh, pardon. This is DMX. While we're on it, you know what this stuff is?”

“Damn right, you feel me? Man, this is some real good ice. Fill a nigga’s pipe up with this shit and he’ll be in heaven and fuck for hours. I mean, I’d have to taste it myself but I’m trying to clean up my act for the kids, you hear? But shit, I mean, this has gotta be some of the best damn speed I’ve ever seen, that I don’t gotta taste it, I’m getting high off my fucking eyes!”

“Fill a pipe?” Applejack said, mostly to herself.

“Yeah dog. Listen, I gotta back the fuck outta here because I feel myself slipping down already and I can’t let that happen. So I’ll see you in the house, you dig?”

“Alright, seeya inside.” DMX then hurried off to the the humble Apple family abode.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna leave my stuff here. You know, I wouldn’t wanna bring this junk inside the house. Nice talking with ya.” Babs then followed after DMX, mostly to unofficially interrogate the strange person for just what in the hay he was. Thus, this left Applejack. Alone. In the barn. With a big bag of meth.

“Fill a pipe, hmm?” Applejack mused to herself. Alone. With a big bag of meth.