Draw

Chapters

XIV: Temperance (Applejack x Rarity)
Eight Of Swords: Restriction (The Mane Six)
King Of Wands
Nine Of Pentacles: Comfort (Sheriff Silverstar)
Nine Of Wands: Resilience (Twilight Sparkle)
Knave Of Swords
Six Of Swords: Travel (Twilight Sparkle)
Ace Of Pentacles: Foundations (Fluttershy x Big Mac)
Four Of Swords: Recuperation (Fluttershy, Rarity)
Nine Of Swords: Cruelty (Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle)
Three Of Wands: Opportunity (Discord)

XIV: Temperance (Applejack x Rarity)

XIV: Temperance

"Careful control of volatile factors resulting in a succesful conclusion. A harmonious partnership, peace restored after a troubled time. Self-control and adaptability. The power of imagination being such that wishes can be fulfilled.
Reversed: Quarrels, competing interests, unfortunate combinations of events and people. Corruption and domestic strife.

It was an understatement to say that working together was not something Applejack and Rarity did well.

So when they did, it was understandable that most other ponies took some...precautions. Mostly involving a very, very secure room located several miles outside the prospective blast radius. Arguments between Applejack and Rainbow Dash were explosive, but arguments between Rarity and Applejack were nothing short of volcanic.

Twilight Sparkle was not most other ponies. She was, surprisingly, Twilight Sparkle, and she feared no argument (at least not with anything smaller than a dragon). She was also relatively new to Ponyville, and thus did not recognise the signs of an incoming AJ versus Rarity grudge match- locked doors, closed windows, and Pinkie Pie installing an underground bunker in Sugarcube Corner. She did not notice that dust danced on the deserted streets of Ponyville, cavorting in graceful maelstroms produced by the fell wind that had fallen upon the town. She even ignored the fact that open/closed sign on Rarity's boutique had been replaced by some conscientious pony with one saying 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.' All she knew was that Spike had sneezed on her scarf, and she wanted a new one that was prettier, and preferably not quite as on fire.

However, when she opened the door and saw Applejack wrestling furiously with a sewing machine, she was not so foolish as to ignore a vague and dreadful sense of panic.

“I still can't see why ya'll didn't just corral Fluttershy into helpin' ya out. She's got the freaky sewing knowledge and all,” Applejack grumbled. There were beads of sweat forming on the pony's forehead, and her tail looked frazzled.

“Fluttershy and I have certain stylistic disagreements,” Rarity sniffed, using magically animated scissors to cut through a swathe of cloth.

“What y'all mean is she's better at it than you,” Applejack grinned through gritted teeth.

“What I 'all mean' is there's only so much French couture one pony can withstand,” the unicorn shot back, lifting the fabric and scanning it critically with an expert eye.

Twilight thought, very seriously, about escaping. It seemed the wisest course. But it wouldn't really be very nice of her, and besides, it left the issue of today's letter. 'Dear Princess Celestia, today I learned that when your friends are helping each other out, the best thing to do is hit the deck before something bad happens.' She didn't think it would wash. A quick egress, then, was out of the question; she would just have to brave the storm.

“Hi, girls. Did I come at a bad time?” she asked. Rarity dropped her fabric and Applejack almost lost control of the sewing machine. Apparently, they hadn't heard her come in.

“Oh, darling, of course not! There are no bad times among friends, you know, none at all! In fact, I can't think of a better time!” Rarity replied, running over to her and fixing her with a manic grin. It didn't take the penny long to drop.

“Does this mean I'm being...um...'corralled'?” Twilight asked uncertainly.

“Why, no, of course not, don't be ridiculous, I couldn't, although, I suppose, if you wouldn't mind-”

“She means yes,” Applejack deadpanned. “Pull up a sewing machine and git started, Twi.”

“I didn't know you could sew, Applejack,” she confessed, doing as instructed.

“Ah can't. But ah can use one of these here machines plenty well enough. It's jest straight lines, right? Like ploughin', 'cept more finicky,” Applejack explained. “Plus, Rarity made me this here picture to work from. It's got altogether too many numbers fer my likin', but it works just fine.”

The diagram was passed over, and Twilight found herself agreeing. The dimensions of everything were listed, including things they had no control over, and all down to five or six decimal points. Rarity's attention to detail had clearly not diminished.

“So, why did she ask you, anyway? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn't think you'd be Rarity's first choice for this kind of thing,” Twilight asked sheepishly. In the background, there was a minor light show and about forty pieces of cloth circling Rarity. This, she dutifully ignored.

“Neither did I. But, what with her and Fluttershy's 'stylistic disagreements', ah guess I was the only one left. Rainbow and Pinkie ain't exactly cut out fer this kind o' work. And y'all are so busy studyin' that it'd feel bad to disturb ya. So, I guess I was the proverbial bottom of th' barrel,” Applejack laughed, not at all bitterly.

“That's ridiculous, darling, and you know it!” Rarity called from somewhere within the tornado of half-compiled clothing. “You're such a terrific worker, you know, a little lax on the detail but certainly expedient. And you're so good at reminding me not to lose focus and begin a new masterpiece.”

“Yeah. Twenty dresses by tonight and this loco unicorn wants to start tryin' out upside-down cross-back blanket stitches or some such nonsense. There's inspired, and then there's jest asking fer it,” Applejack muttered darkly.

“Oh, but it'll be just terrific, wait and see! With you two at my side, I could make forty dresses!” Rarity cackled, the storm of silk abating for a moment so four resulting dresses could be placed on hangers. Twilight groaned. Something told her she was in for a long day.

As they began to finish up, Rarity looked over their work critically, pacing as she did. Each individual seam was appraised by an expert eye, one that scoured for aesthetic perfection in everything it saw.

“This seam, here. Applejack, it's so very poor! How could you let this one slip through?” Rarity cried, pointing out an obviously loose thread on an otherwise perfect dress.

“It's only one seam, Rarity. It'll hold together fine enough,” the earth pony replied, not without a hint of exasperation.

“Hold together?” Rarity's voice turned shrilly as she spoke, and her flaring nostrils spoke of equal parts fear and outrage. “This dress is meant to be a masterpiece, a statement of pure perfection for the purchaser! It is an outward expression of their inner beauty! Even the smallest flaw cannot be permitted!”

“Well, excuse me fer bein' practical. Ah shoulda known you'd make a big deal over nothing 'fore the day was through,” Applejack replied, visibly bristling.

“And I should have realised that you're altogether too coarse to understand the rigours of the profession!” Rarity screeched back. “This dress will have to be done again, from scratch!”

“Well, y'all can do it yerself, since you're the only one prissy enough to do it right!”

“I shall! Hmph!”

Bewildered that the argument about to reach critical point, Twilight settled for checking the dress herself to see how bad it really was. With a sinking heart, she began to recognise the fabric.

“Uh...Girls? I made this one,” she said, and felt the air in the shop grow uncomfortably close and tense. There was an ugly, predatory silence, like the silence of a dragon as it decides whether to eat you raw or smoked.

“You made this? But, darling...I thought you could sew!” Rarity gasped at last.

“No. Whatever made you think that? I was using magic most of the way through to help correct my mistakes,” Twilight explained gently. “That one was the first one I tried, before I realised that sewing's hard.”

There was another silence, although this one was of a definably more embarrassed character.

“Applejack, you have my greatest apologies. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions,” Rarity said at last, pawing the ground bashfully with her hoof.

“And ah shouldn't have been so quick to pick a fight,” Applejack grinned, extending a hoof. “Friends?”

There was a pause, in which Twilight was honestly a little scared Rarity would say no.

“You didn't spit on your hoof this time, did you...?” Rarity asked at last. Applejack simply broke out laughing. Hesitantly, Rarity shook.

“The dress will still have to be done again, of course, but as it's only one dress I shall attend to it myself. I've certainly caused enough discord already today,” she said after a while. Twilight found herself blushing in embarassment. In a way, the whole argument had been her fault.

Applejack seemed unperturbed. “Sure. Remember now, y'all gotta give me some help next Applebuck season for this.”

“Oh, that's right! Of course I'll help, darling, of course. And you, Twilight! I owe you for your help today as well,” Rarity said, glowing at the chance to practice her oft-praised generosity. “Perhaps a little fashion advice? I have a corset that's just so you, dear-”

Quickly, Twilight stopped her before things got into dangerous territory. “N-no, that won't be necessary. But, well, actually...”

There was a certain nervousness in the air when she left the shop, the dresses complete and fond farewells still ringing in her ears. Night had started to fall on Ponyville, but everypony was out on the streets, making up for the time they had spent hiding. It was looking to be a chilly walk home, but her new scarf (pink and lilac stripes, very soft but made out of some weird material Applejack had insisted Rarity use- a demand to which Rarity had strangely agreed to without argument) was at least keeping her neck warm. She was surprised, though, when she saw Spike running towards her.

“What's the matter, Spike? Has something happened?” she asked.

“Oh, Twilight, I was so worried about you! I heard you went to Rarity's house and that Applejack was there, and everypony said you were gonna get hurt!” Spike wailed, then sniffed. His cold hadn't abated, and the cold night air wasn't helping things.

“Well, they were both there. But why would I get hurt?” she wondered aloud.

She was interrupted by Spike drawing in a great lungful of air, and an ominous 'huh- huh-'. She tried, but wasn't quite quick enough, to avoid the 'hachoo!' and the jet of fire that accompanied it. The little dragon was knocked over by the force of his own sneeze, landing nose down in the cobbled street. Luckily, the flame wasn't nearly so strong the sneeze, so Twilight was relatively unharmed. Her scarf, on the other hand...

“Completely unscathed. A fire-retardant scarf, huh? Nice call, Applejack,” she grinned, as Spike looked up at her mournfully. “Come on, Spike. We ought to get home, out of the cold. We can use those sneezes to heat up the hot water bottles.”

“No sympathy for a dragon in distress,” he muttered, slowly getting up. Twilight sighed, and with a deft magical twist, wrapped her new scarf around his neck, and told him not to damage it.

After all, she thought, it may only have been a scarf, but it was also proof that even the most unlikely of ponies could work together and do the impossible. Not only that, but they could make scarves, too.

Eight Of Swords: Restriction (The Mane Six)

Eight Of Swords: Restriction

Keyword: Restriction. A run of bad luck, feelings of being trapped and powerless. Patient effort is needed to get out of this difficult situation. Help is available if you can forget pride and ask for it. Restrictions will gradually fade.
Reversed: Frustration, which you take out on others. Being your own worst enemy, placing restrictions on yourself.

There are times in life when you feel trapped, completely and utterly- times when, no matter how far or fast you run, the long arm of fate will drag you bodily back to the problem and rub your face in it until either it goes away or your face erodes. Ponykind, in their great wisdom, have manufactured a way to instil this feeling into another pony at will.

They call it the art of the double-dare. And it is an evil, soul-sucking, pride-destroying technique that hangs like a black shroud over every sleepover, ever.

“Come on, Rainbow Dash. You can do it. You're not...chicken, are ya?” Applejack grinned slyly.

“I'd rather be a chicken than an earth pony. At least I could still fly,” she bit back, but without real venom. It was Twilight she was really annoyed at. Why'd she have to dredge up that old 'anypony can walk on clouds' spell, anyway, and who'd volunteered her house for the sleepover?

“But you're not a chicken, silly. You're a pegasus. Peg-a-sus. Remember?” Pinkie Pie said blithely, toying with the bottle that they'd been spinning. She'd gotten out of her dare on a technicality, mainly because Dash had dared her to jump out of the window and she'd looked like she was actually going to do it. This prompted a ten minute wrestling match to keep her from plunging earthwards, which eventually culminated in Fluttershy telling them all, very firmly, to sit down. Wisely, they all had.

“Don't do it, Rainbow Dash! It's not worth it. Nothing could be worth it!” Rarity advised, somewhat melodramatically. She was right, though. It was only pride, after all, and she could do without-

“Aw, man,” Dash muttered to herself, finally picking up the implements of her own doom. She could not live without pride. No way.

“Gosh, Rainbow Dash. You're so brave. I hope you survive,” Fluttershy added less-than-helpfully. Rainbow Dash gulped. The pressure was starting to get to her.

“Yeah. I don't want to tick 'bury dead friend' off my sleepover checklist. I'm pretty sure it's not even in the book,” Twilight said critically. “Hey, are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to drop it.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head quickly. Between trembling lips, she held a bag of nachos.

“Now there goes a brave pony! C'mon, gals, let's all cheer her on so she doesn't weasel out,” AJ hollered, and the rest of the ponies agreed.

With the rest of the girls following her footsteps, there was simply no way out. She was well and truly trapped. Never before had the art of the double dare seemed so fearful to her. Inwardly, she vowed vengeance. Against Applejack, mostly.
Although, ironically, she kind of accepted that it was all her fault. Decorating really wasn't her strong suit, was it, and why didn't she just pick a different theme for her house, maybe one that wasn't so deliciously pun-based?

But there was nothing for it. So, with the trot of the newly condemned, she made her way through the house and out of the door, to where her final demise awaited her.

“I always wondered why you had a rainbow pouring out of your wall, Rainbow Dash. Now it all makes sense!” Pinkie Pie called. She groaned in response, and shook open the bag of nachos.

“Twilight, do the honours if'n you'd be so kind,” Applejack said grandly, and with a small twinge of magic, the nacho bag was wrested from Rainbow Dash's grip. Soon, the nachos had been brought forth, flying like magical corn-based birds in the grip of Twilight's arcane might. One, the largest, rose slowly, and then soared skywards- before plunging into the pool of rainbow. Then, it returned, and hovered in front of Dash's mouth, as she mournfully prepared herself to 'taste the rainbow'.

Slowly and carefully, she took the smallest bite she possibly could. And then the world exploded in a shower of colour and light and she didn't even know it was possible for taste buds to scream and how could the colours still be there if everything had gone black and what was wrong with her stomach-

She awoke to find the rest of the gang looking over her with evident concern. Six colours floated hazily as spots in front of her eyes, so she imagined a seventh to go with it and all was well. Her jaw had set like an iron vice, holding the rest of the nacho like a tiny rainbow sail above her mouth. Her wings ached under her. She could hear the others speaking, but their voices seemed to float, to boom and whisper randomly so she couldn't quite make it out.

Then she blinked, and Pinkie Pie's face was hovering inches above her, too close, unbearably close, so she could see her eyelashes and the individual curls in that frizzy mane of hers and oh gosh it was getting closer and the rainbow spots wouldn't stop appearing in front of her eyes and everything was just going wrong.

Oblivious to Rainbow Dash's palpitations, Pinkie Pie carefully took the nacho out of her friend's teeth, before crunching it down herself. For just a split-second, every hair in her mane stood straight in shock, then immediately curled back into its regular arrangement.

“Wow, Pinkie Pie...I can't believe you did that,” Fluttershy said in awe.

“It's not that bad, once you get used to it,” Pinkie half-sang. “I think rainbows are an acquired taste.”

“Shouldn't we make sure Dash is okay? She looks...shocked,” Twilight said cautiously. Something stirred in the pegasus as she saw a thinly glimmering chance to regain her dignity.

“O-of course!” she shouted, jumping to her feet a lot faster than was wise. “I mean, wouldn't you be shocked after a close encounter with the Pinkie kind?”

“But, you keeled over before Pinkie even came near ya,” AJ pointed out.

“I-I was just being dramatic! Y'know, put on a show for you guys, that sorta thing! The nachos were nothing! I just didn't expect Pinkie to just come looming down and...”

“And what?” Pinkie asked with perfect innocence, whilst carefully eyeing the remaining nachos, as if they might escape.

“And...just, and, Pinkie. Just and,” Dash sighed, giving up. At least she had the pleasure of devising one hundred and one dares to get back at Applejack- and it was her turn to spin the bottle next.

The bottle, of course, landed on Fluttershy. Who, when dared to do a triple loop-de-loop whilst wearing AJ's hat, didn't take it well at all...

King Of Wands

King Of Wands

A/N: The Court cards in Tarot generally refer to characters. There are 16 of them. 3/4s of those refer to male characters. You can see the problem. So, court cards wil just be their own little plot arc, disconnected with the meaning of the cards. Sorry about that, folks.

In the depths of the night, when everypony was sleeping quietly and a sea of clouds drifted over the calm face of the mareless moon, Applejack was awoken by the deep, bass echo of something crashing in the farmyard.

Sweet Apple Acres wasn't a place where crashes happened. Few things they owned made crash-worthy noises. Apples didn't make a crash. Trees didn't make a crash. Apple carts didn't make a crash, provided Applebloom could be kept at least ten feet away from them at all times. And as her little sister was currently snoring loud enough for all Equestria, the chances of her upsetting an apple cart were slim to none.

In short, they had a thief.

A cold tingle running the length of her spine, Applejack went to rouse Big Macintosh, only to find him already awake and alert, an uncharacteristically stern expression on his face. His mane was a ridiculous web of gnarls and tangles, as was hers, most likely, but there were other things to worry about. In silence, they looked at each other and agreed: there was a thief on their farm, although not for long if they had anything to say about it.

From the house they crept, and into the cool night air. Big Mac quietly secured the door, the locks slipping soundless into place. There was no way he was letting a thief anywhere near Applebloom, or Applebloom near a thief, for that matter. Applejack followed, her lariat clenched between her teeth, ready for her to use at a moment's notice. She was surprised to find that she was trembling.

In truth, she was more angry than scared. The orchard, with its wide, rolling hills and its palette of myriad reds, greens and browns, was the sanctuary that she and her family and her family's family had helped build. To have it desecrated, invaded by some no-good apple thief, was more than she could stand. But if Big Mac was angry, it didn't show; his features were carefully blank, blunted by the night.

The night itself was a picture of blackness. No stars studded the night sky, and the moon still hid shyly beyond the clouds. The darkness was almost tangible, tar-like and sticky, coating everything in a thick veil. Each sound seemed magnified a hundredfold, mere whispers turning into hurricane hows, and the shuffling of hooves across the dusty farmyard into the roar of the ocean. Big Mac tossed his head next to her, a signal; she was to be ready with her lariat. Then, slowly, cautiously, he began to creep through the yard, inspecting every hay bale, pitchfork and bucket. His progress was agonisingly slow, but there was a certain inevitability about his motions. No matter what was there, he would walk towards it unflinchingly, and never falter a single step.

After a minute, Applejack became aware of something. The sound of Big Mac's steps didn't quite match the motion. It was very, very close, but the noise of hooves persisted just half a second after every step. Her blood froze in her veins. The thief was out there, moving, and knew they were there, too.

Her brother seemed unaware of the development, and if she raised her voice to warn him, the thief would be sure to flee. But what if the thief wasn't sneaking away? What if the thief were sneaking towards them, to eliminate the witnesses? For a moment, she wrestled with the dilemma, but in the end it was hardly a choice. It wasn't worth risking their safety to catch one little thief. She took a deep breath, ready to shout to her brother.

But before she set up the cry, she noticed something- a patch of black that was just a bit blacker than the rest, one that was moving stealthily towards the exit. Almost imperceptible, it was so close to her that it was laughable. Carefully, oh so carefully, she readied her lariat. A second to aim, and then-
With a deft flick, she set the rope soaring, the leather whistling ominously at it shot through the air. Jerking sharply as it fell, she pulled the rope taut, and felt it- glorious tension as the rope bound itself around flesh.

“...!”

Whoever or whatever it was, it began to struggle ferociously against the rope. Of all the moves to have made, this was possibly the most foolish, because the motion attracted the attention of Big Mac. Discarding his glacial speed, he set up a gallop through the blackness, hooves thundering across the dusty yard. The struggles increased as the felon grew frantic, and Applejack dug her hooves into the mud to keep from being pulled off her feet. And then, with a surreal suddeness, the struggles stopped, and a tiny pinprick of white light appeared in the gloom. Quickly it built, becoming a cone of coronal brilliance, illuminating a cloak, a mantle, drawn tightly around a ponylike form, and then there was a soft, gentle whoosh-

And Applejack's lariat closed tightly around empty space.

All but growling in frustration, she threw her hat to the ground with a jerk of her head. Wisely, she refused the urge to stomp on it.

“Dang-nabbit! Looks like our rustler was a unicorn!” she spat bitterly.

“Eyup,” Big Mac replied. “Now, AJ, don't you worry none. You done mighty fine work tonight.”

“Ah guess. I almost had 'em! Now we gots to wait for sun up and figure out what they took,” she said sadly, her head bowed. The weight of failure pressed heavily upon her.

“Eyup. Just because we got us a thief doesn't mean we need to lose out on shuteye. We're sure to have a big day tomorrow,” Big Mac said calmly, beginning to walk back to the house. For a moment, she could feel his warmth through air the colour of india ink. But the moment passed, and she followed him morosely to the house, certain that she'd never get to sleep.

“Gosh darn it! I plumb can't find what they took! What kind of rotten, no-good apple thief comes to a farm and then doesn't steal any apples?” she huffed, scanning the trees.

“Maybe, if he's a rotten, no-good apple thief, he took all the rotten, no-good apples? Ah'll go check the trees on the worst soil,” Applebloom suggested innocently, then took off. In the light of day, the farm looked no different than it normally did; there was no evidence of the events the night before.

“AJ, lookee here,” Bic Mac said, strolling over. “I think I done found what they took.”

“Really? Lessee what the damage comes out to,” she said, and gritted her teeth.

He led her (a little too leisurely, she thought) to their very best stand of trees. The soil was springy and full of life, and the air was some of the freshest for miles around. As she looked through the stand, she couldn't see anything different- the same apples with their subtle blends of greens and reds, the same trunks with their sturdy, rugged wood. And then, she saw it.

“What in tarnation...?” she asked the sky and soil, her jaw hanging open.

One of the trees on the edge of the strand had been stripped. Not just of apples, but of leaves and of branches. All that was left was a naked trunk of gnarled wood, oddly vulnerable to the elements without the flourishing greenery to protect it. It would almost certainly die, if it hadn't already. There was a great loneliness about it, a sadness she couldn't define.

“Bro? Who could've done this?” she asked. He didn't answer. Instead, he took something carefully out of his saddlebag.

“Whoever owns the other half of this,” he said, his voice muffled by the carved wooden mask he held in his teeth. It had a contorted grin, too wide and too thin. She looked at it with cold disgust.

“I don't know who did this, or what they're plannin', but somepony's gonna pay for this!” she snarled.

In a sky dyed cerulean blue, the sun shone down with neither sympathy nor pity. A chill wind blew through the trees as Applejack took the mask from her brother, and walked slowly away.

Nine Of Pentacles: Comfort (Sheriff Silverstar)

Nine Of Pentacles: Comfort

Keyword: Comfort. Enjoyment of the comfort that money can buy. Prosperity, good sense and financial shrewdness. This card relates to a good administration of resources and shows that relaxation is now possible after hard work. The purchase of new furniture and a connection with gardens.
Reversed: Heavy debts, or a succesful life that rests on the misfortunes of others. Danger of theft.

Sheltered from the scathing wind by thick bluffs of dust-rounded rock on the east side, built from planks of scraggy cedars, checker barked junipers and dwarf pines that grew in the very heights of the river basin to the south, Appleloosa was a town that was not cowed by the fierce and majestic desert in which it had been built. Later, after years or even decades, those small buildings would be slowly and gradually replaced by new ones, hewn from the springy wood of fallen apple trees. Then, with careful management, the cedar trees would become their source of firewood, to warm them when no clouds trapped the heat from the desert sun. Beyond that, no one knew what the future held: just getting to that point would be more than enough.

Sheriff Silverstar looked upon it all, and was pleased.

Not that he showed it. His smiles and his frowns were hidden behind his fine, coarse moustache, his sharp eyes concealed by the brim of his hat. Even if it hadn't been so, the lines of his face were cautiously neutral and inscrutable. Although the folk of Appleloosa were by a long spit the most honest and trustworthy he'd met, he was still Justice in these parts. And he knew well that Justice always kept a straight face. Which was why he was practising so very, very hard.

“Sheriff Silverstar! Ah got one! A letter!” Braeburn shouted, rushing into the sheriff's office. “And it was on time!”

In lieu of a reply, Silverstar gave a cursory twitch of his moustache.

“Ah'm plumb excited, Sheriff, and tain't no lie, neither! A good, reliable mail service puts a town on the map, y'see, and ah reckon-”

“A-huh. Simmer down, Braeburn. I ain't seen you so riled since the Mild West dances took off, and thet's no lie,” Silverstar admonished, but with a paternal pleasure in his otherwise squeaky voice. His voice was, perhaps, his greatest failing as a sheriff. “Wal, since y'all are makin' such a ruckus about it, y'ought to at least tell me what's in the letter.”

“Aw, shucks, Sheriff. It ain't anything too big. Just a letter from my cuz, Applejack. You met her back a ways, when the buffalo attacked,” returned Braeburn, dipping his hat. The sheriff twitched his moustache again. He recollected that mare well enough.

“Wal, shore I knowed it was from one o' your kin. You'd be no Apple if'n yer family weren't fixin' to meddle in your life,” Silverstar said crisply. “But it sure beats the other way round, if you get my hunch. The desert's no place to git lonesome.”

He stood slowly, easing himself off the wooden chair, arranging his vest and bandanna. “Wal, come on. Y'all can keep me company on my rounds t'day. Sheriffs get lonesome, too.”

Dragging a bemused Braeburn behind him, the sheriff stepped out of the office. His hoofsteps reverberated pleasing on the sturdy floorboards of his porch, and once more he thanked the stars above that the little town of Appleloosa was still standing tall. There was the sound of wheels scraping to a halt from the station, and instantly Braeburn started talking.

“Look, Sheriff- somepony's gittin' off the train! I gots to go and-”

“-scare the willies outta them poor city ponies? Yer enthusiasm is cute, Braeburn, but y'oughta learn to pipe down a little sometime,” the sheriff grinned under his moustache.

“But what if they don't see all the wonderful things Appleloosa has to offer?” Braeburn returned, visibly concerned.

“Wal, ah'm not sure about you, but I reckon the wonders of Appleloosa are self-evident to any observant pony. And if'n they're too busy to see 'em, well, a good riddance is what I say. M'not too fond o' strangers anyhow,” he shrugged, and turned left onto main street.

“But, Sheriff! I just gots to show them the horse drawn horse drawn carriages 'fore they miss 'em-”

“You do, Braeburn, and I'll deputise you on the spot!” Silverstar barked.

“But, Sheriff! I'm not cut out to be no deputy. My heart's not in tusslin'.”

“Shucks, Braeburn. Y'all don't need to tussle to be a sheriff. All you needs to be a sheriff is a sense of right 'n wrong, an' maybe listen to it once in a while,” Silverstar returned, voice returning to calm neutrality. “'n every town needs a good sheriff. I know that from hard ex'perience.”

That was no lie. He still remembered the failed frontier town of Mustang, where he'd once lived. For a year or two, it'd been a swell place, everypony banding together to stave off the harsh advance of the sand. But then the lawlessness had set in, hard and fierce, and the wandering broncos with the sharp, cold eyes started coming around, fast to buck and quick as lightning when they did. The place lasted a full six months before all the decent folk left, and fell into decay. It still stood as a ghost town, a monument to the baser instincts of ponykind. And all for want of a good sheriff. Well, he wasn't going to let it happen to Appleloosa for as long as he lived, even longer if he could manage it.

“Sheriff, y'all are awful quiet. Did ah say something wrong?” Braeburn asked, frowning.

“Naw. Ah was just recollectin' the past. Pay it no heed, son. Jest listen here,” the sheriff said slowly. “Look around y'self, Braeburn. This here town's a marvelous place, but fer all its wonders it's jest like a foal. It needs protectin', and it needs fine stallions like you and me to do it.”

“Wal, shore. No way I'd ever let anypony ruin Appleloosa!” Braeburn replied passionately, taking his hat off.

“It's good fer a pony's heart to hear you say that, Braeburn. It's a hard life fer those thet come here, but truth be told it's the only place I've ever felt comf'table. There's something to be said fer that,” the sheriff said, and gazed upwards at the desert sun from under the brim of his hat. There was no cloud to protect them from that fierce heat, no squall to shield them. But life still thrived under that glaring blaze. And whilst life remained in Appleloosa, he would be there to protect it.

Nine Of Wands: Resilience (Twilight Sparkle)

Nine Of Wands: Resilience

Keyword: Resilience. Self-confidence, stability and strength. In times of stress the appearance of this reassuring, promising that you have all you need to maintain your position and eventually prosper. Patience is a virtue. Remain vigilant.
Reversed: Obstinancy, a refusal to compromise in any way, an unbending will, fixed and erroneous attitudes.

There are times in life when even the most resourceful pony has to admit that the odds are well and truly against her. Now, in Twilight's opinion, was one of those times.

The problem was that Applejack's birthday was approaching, and preparations for a surprise party were in full swing. However, there were a number of stumbling blocks. Firstly, a birthday in the Apple family was as good as a reunion, so they had to cater to as many of the Apples as showed up, and they had to invite them all, even the ones they hoped wouldn't show up, like Apple Crunch, who was by far the scariest pony any of them had ever seen. At the last family reunion, Rainbow Dash had taken one look at him and pronounced him a murderer. Disbelieving, Twilight had asked other members of the Apple family and was told he wasn't a murderer, he was a habitual murderer, and that just because he'd done terrible, terrible things that nopony should even contemplate, it didn't make him any less family.

Much more threatening than Apple Crunch, however, was the cake. Because Pinkie Pie was in charge of party preparations, Rarity was in charge of décor and asking Applejack to bake her own birthday cake was just a little bit bold, Twilight had been 'assigned' (read: frog-marched to the kitchen and all but manacled to the stove) their baker. Her first thought was to ask why Rainbow Dash or Fluttershy couldn't do it, but the answers were blindingly obvious. Fluttershy would be afraid of ovens and Rainbow Dash would get bored and let the cake burn, so she was it.

“We don't exactly know how old she is, so just keep adding candles until you smell the ceiling burning,” Rainbow Dash said casually before exiting from the window. That set the tone, really.

The problem with cake was that it didn't seem to be subject to the laws of physics, nature or even magic. It was only subject to the law of cake, and once you put it in the oven it did pretty much whatever it wanted, no matter how implausible. Her first attempt had failed to rise in a truly spectacular manner, and was promptly confiscated by the Equestrian Astrological society to see if there was, in fact, a small black hole in the centre that was pulling the rest of the cake into it.

It didn't help that her instructions on cake-making came directly from Pinkie Pie. The earth pony had provided a cheat sheet of ten instructions, with the assurance that they would result in a perfect cake. As could be expected, three of the instructions seemed to have been written upside down and the rest simply read 'Add more tambourine!' with varying numbers of exclamation points.

Five attempts in, and Twilight was toying with the idea of drowning herself in the cake mixture. Her latest cake was not turning out well, although on the upside she was fairly sure she had discovered a colour that did not exist in nature, hidden in the icing. She was tempted to scour her library and see if she couldn't find some serviceable baking instructions- maybe a tome or two of forbidden cake lore dredged from the hoary mists of time.

However, as she tossed down her apron and grabbed her keys, she heard an almost Lovecraftian squelch. Slowly and carefully, she turned around to watch with horrified curiosity as Pinkie Pie's head emerged slowly from the mixing bowl.

“Did you add more tambourine?” Pinkie whispered softly, eyes furtive.

Twilight nodded mutely, careful to keep an appeasing smile on her face. Despite Pinkie Pie's entry through the mixing bowl, there was not a single drop of batter on her.

“Show meeeeeeeeeeee,” Pinkie Pie hissed.

Twilight pointed towards her her previous attempts. Pinkie sniffed deeply, like a bloodhound scenting its mark.

“Needs even more tambourine,” the earth pony said, before jumping from the mixing bowl, leaving the contents entirely undisturbed. She picked up a wooden spoon and began hitting the failed cakes at random. As opposed to adding more tambourine.

“Embrace the cake, Twilight. The cake is life. The cake is the wooooorrrrld!” Pinkie rasped.

Twilight was then faced with a brief struggle between her rational mind and her very visceral fear of whatever Pinkie was going to do next. Eventually, she settled for trying to make herself look as small as possible in the hopes Pinkie might not notice her.

“Carry on,” Pinkie said after a while, and walked out of the room into what Twilight was fairly sure was a chimney. Twilight made a mental note to lay off the magic, if only to allow the laws of physics time enough to curl up in the foetal position and cry. Then she decided it would probably be a good idea to pour the cake batter away and make a fresh batch. Yes, that would probably be best.

However, Twilight Sparkle knew one thing. Regardless of Pinkie's instructions, the randomness of cake or even the destruction of the world itself, she would keep trying until she got it right. Even if it took her until Applejack's birthday or beyond. And she would take Pinkie's advice, and add more tambourine. Because that was what friendship was all about: believing in your friends no matter how the odds were stacked. That, and making sure Apple Crunch had no excuse to run around murdering people. That was pretty important, too.

But it still felt that there had to be more plausible methods in the great art of cake making. Like there was some sort of trick she wasn't getting. As she took up her spoon once more and assembled her ingredients, she wondered idly if applying a quick lightning spell would cook the cake quicker...

A/N: I make no apologies for the over-the-top lunacy of Pinkie. None whatsoever.

Knave Of Swords

Knave Of Swords

There are quite a lot of things you don't want pointed at you. Horns, knives and hooves all make the top ten, but number one has got to be a loaded Applejack with her fuse at an all-time low.

“Now y'all listen here, Twi. Ah'm not accusin' y'all of butchering mah tree, but y'all have to admit, it's suspicious. Who else around here can teleport? Most of us all don't hold no truck with that sort o' hocus pocus,” Applejack snarled, the brim of her hat down low over her eyes.

A second ticked by as Twilight mentally translated this. She wondered if it was rude to fetch a book to help her, but eventually she got the gist.

“Applejack,” she began, face and eyes open, “Why exactly would I want to butcher your tr-”

“His name was Oakley!” Applejack yelled, and Twilight realised that something very bad had happened. Or was about to.

“-Oakley? I mean, what would I use the wood for? I mean, I have a door. And I don't have a log fire, because, well, the library is sort of in a tree.”

“How would ah know? All I know is that somepony was skulkin' round Sweet Apple Acres last night, and they teleported away just as I got ahold of 'em. Ah only know one unicorn who can teleport, and you're it!”

Twilight frowned. As much as she hated to admit it, Applejack had a point. The evidence- all one pieces of it- seemed to point straight at her. She felt the onset of panic. What if she got put in prison? It wasn't like the movies, where they'd give her twenty four hours to clear her name and find the real criminal. No, it'd just be wham, bam, thank you m'am, get in the jail cell and rot for the rest of your life if you'd be so kind. And she didn't even have a checklist for going to prison! She began, very quietly, to panic. Spike, having cautiously blended into the background and out of the argument, looked at her knowingly.

“Just so you know,” he whispered, “No, you're not too pretty to go to jail.”

Twilight's horn flickered, and somewhere upstairs a quill scribbled 'kick Spike' into her checklist.

“Applejack, I haven't done a thing. I have no reason to. But I'm always ready to help a friend in need. We'll look for this tree killer together!” she tried. Applejack lowered an eyebrow and peered at her appraisingly.

“Well, one of your friends has a problem. Isn't that convenient? Now you've got something to write to Princess Celestia about. I noticed nothing had happened for a while,” Spike chipped in, and Applejack's glare deepened. Upstairs, Twilight's enchanted quill added the word 'hard'.

“Y'all sure you didn't kill Oakley?” Applejack asked suspiciously, voice rising at the tail end.

“I'd remember it if I did,” she deadpanned. Applejack kept glaring for a moment, then huffed a sigh.
“Ah guess I knew already that y'all didn't do it, sugar cube. I just wanted to make sure. Ah mean, if it were you, you'd have a purty good reason,” she admitted, taking a step towards Twilight. “But ah could really use your help.”

Twilight smiled. Applejack smiled back. Spike didn't. Spike moved about a foot backwards, because he was smart. He'd already learned the ropes of the town, so to speak, and he'd noticed that Twilight was standing in front of an open window. Whenever Twilight stood in front of an open window, there was a twenty percent chance Rainbow Dash would go through it at five bajillion miles an hour. Twenty percent was the only percentage Rainbow Dash knew. To her, twenty percent was as good as a hundred. Spike was expecting a crash.

What he wasn't expecting was for her to come through the roof.

Sometimes, Twilight honestly thought her cutie mark looked the way it did because she spent most of her time seeing stars flutter around her head. It didn't help that Rainbow Dash's rump was on top of it.

“Rainbow Dash! Y'all have to stop doin' that...” Applejack muttered. “How y'all managed to pay for repairs all the time is beyond me...”

“I'm sorry, girls. Some bird brain trimmed my left wing when I was sleeping, and now I keep veering off to one side. When I find the one who did it, I'm gonna show 'em my famous Flying Tombstoner!” Dash groaned, standing up.

“Some ponies use windows to go to and from people's houses,” Twilight complained. “I mean, doors.”

“Y'all think whoever clipped Rainbow Dash's wings is the one who killed Oakley?” Applejack asked.

“Applejack, that's crazy. It's a coincidence,” Twilight said, but it sounded silly even as she did.

“When have y'all ever known anythang around here to be a coincidence? Say, Dash, y'all think it was a unicorn that did it?”

Rainbow Dash took a moment to remember. “Nope. I was sleeping at home. They would've had to walk on clouds.”

“Well, ah know one unicorn with a spell to let her walk on clouds,” Applejack muttered, and sent another dark look at Twilight. The unicorn groaned.

“Hey, you guys? It's blatantly someone trying to frame Twilight. I mean, come on. Law of narrative interest,” Spike said. The ponies looked at him, and decided that the safest option was to ignore him.

“Well, we'd better get goin' if we're gonna catch this crook. Rainbow Dash, you in?” Applejack asked.

“You bet. I'll race ya!” the pegasus replied, and, in a rare move, left the house through the door. Applejack followed at a gallop.

“Hey! Aren't you gonna do anything about the hole in the roof?” Spike called as Twilight made to follow them. She stopped, and thought. She had one last thing to do before she left.

She kicked Spike. Hard.

A/N: Eww. For some reason, I just do not like this chapter. Oh well.

Six Of Swords: Travel (Twilight Sparkle)

Six Of Swords: Travel
Keyword: Travel. Movement away from danger. Discretion being the better part of valour! Travel in company, being with others in the same circumstances. Immediate problems will be solved. A positive direction to go in.
Reversed: Delays and petty problems, partial success and an inability to see where you are going.

A/N: Before we begin: be warned. This is the obligatory darkfic chapter, and it was written and formated specifically to screw with your head as much as possible. It is also possibly the worst chapter I'll ever do for this collection, simply because I don't really like darkfics, and this expresses that more than adequately.

It was a mistake.

Don't listen don't listen

She hadn't meant it. No, that was a lie. She had meant it, with every proton of every atom. But she hadn't meant it like that.

Azure spiral, round and round, one wrong move and the sky falls down

She steals her sleep in snatches, and wakes in time to hear herself scream. She is so much more now, and so much less.

Brown broken earth, blue broken wing, green silent forest with her red blood spilling

Why hadn't she known? Why hadn't anyone told her that this was what she was?

Orange the sundown, purple the bruise, and pink for the innocence you stood to lose

A chance accident. Rainbow Dash was flying and then something, maybe a ligament, snapped. She spiralled out of control, a whirling spiral of colour, before crash landing in the nearby forest.

Louder. Harder. More. Louder. Harder. More!

They found her an hour later. Fluttershy fainted, and she screamed. The same scream she heard every night.

You'll do anything, will you? How sure of that are you? Keep going. Harder. More. You have magic, don't you? What are you waiting for?

The wind had howled. The water had stilled. The earth moved. And she screamed through it all, one wordless curse against everything.

Magic. Magic. Magic. Magic. MAGic. MAGIC.

Then, the world changed. The leaves tore from the trees, the weeds were plucked from the earth. Light filled everything, and shadows twisted like vines under the glare.

Twilight. Where the sun meets the moon. Where darkness meets light. Where this world meets the next. You never knew it, did you? That this was your destiny. Whilst you were practising your silly little spells, you never imagined that this was what you were.
Crescendo.

And then, slowly, Rainbow Dash got up. She spat drops of red, tried to flap a broken wing. Fixed her with a broken smile, and said,

“Why, Twilight? I was happy.”

Run, you fool. Run. Don't you know what you've done? Don't you know what you were fashioned to do? This is not the time. Run.

She stands on the cliff, and the wind pushes at her back as if to topple her. The earth crumbles below her hooves. She would have done anything. In the end, she did. Now she needs answers. How did she do what she did? What did she sell to do it, and who to? The questions haunt her. The power haunts her. The gate separating life from death. So much good that could be done, and so much evil too. Good and evil, light and darkness. Where they met, she would go.
Equestria was far away. But not as far as Twilight had gone.

A/N: Confused? Great. If you didn't like it, also great, because you really weren't supposed to. People say that my writing is confusing at the best of times- this is what happens when I'm actively trying to mess with you. Believe it or not, I have done worse. This is my dick move for the collection. Don't worry- I don't plan to repeat it.

Ace Of Pentacles: Foundations (Fluttershy x Big Mac)

Ace of Pentacles: Foundations
Keyword: Foundations. This card shows the beginning of prosperity. It provides a firm foundation [boy, this book really is pitching that foundation idea, huh?] on which to build. Security, stability and financial improvements. Possibly a windfall or monetary gain through gambling.
Reversed: Green, insecurity and financial worries. Unsound investments and stupid speculation.

Sweet Apple Acres was a perfectly nice place, full of golden hay bales and strong trees with their vivid autumnal red-and-green-and-gold patchwork, and it was one of the only places in Ponyville that Fluttershy could truly relax. Of course, it wasn't completely safe, because of all those scary farm tools with their blades and their prongs, and there was still the danger of being hit on the head by a falling apple or upsetting one of the leaf piles only to find a dragon hiding under it or of her shadow spontaneously becoming a sentient being and throttling her from behind, but overall, it was one of the safer places in Ponyville to be.

Still, it just wasn't the same without Applejack there. The honest toil the orange pony put in were what made the orchard feel, well, solid; it had been worked on, built from the ground up, constantly and consistently nurtured. On days when she couldn't see Applejack hauling carts of apples up and down the Acres, Fluttershy always felt sad, as though something were missing.

Fluttershy squeaked, and huddled a little closer to the floor of the barn.

“Don't y'all worry none, Miss Fluttershy. AJ's prob'ly on her way back rights now,” Big Mac told her in a soothing voice, chewing calmly on a piece of straw. Fluttershy squeaked again.

She didn't really know Big Macintosh too well, if she told the truth. Possibly because he was, well, big. Big enough to applebuck even the mightiest apple trees without breaking a sweat. Big enough to plough for hours on end at Winter Wrap-Up without a single complaint. Big enough that he didn't worry about the upcoming storm, or that his sister was out in it.

“Will she be okay?” Fluttershy asked, before lightning cracked to the ground outside in a furious arc of ultrahot light, a peal of thunder following in its wake one, two, two-and-a-half seconds later, so loud the ground seemed to tremble with the sound. The wind moaned its sympathies.

“Eyup. No storm ah've seen yet's been big enough to confound my sis,” Big Mac went on laconically. His red coat stood out in the gloom of the closed barn. “A'though, she does take on a mite more than she can chew sometimes.”

Fluttershy briefly considered hiding under one of the stacks of hay lying around. She was aware that hay would not protect her from instantaneous electric death via lightning strike, but every little helps. Big Mac turned to look at her with one lazy eye.

“If'n it's right with you, ah'm goin' out fer a spell. I figure you'll be fine so long as y'all leave the door shut after ah go,” he said, in the same even tones.

Fluttershy looked at him quite hard then, and tried to decide whether he was crazy, and if so how much. Another lash of lightning flickered to the ground and she decided, right there and then, that he was worth a full 3.5 Pinkies on the crazy scale for wanting to go out in that.

“Keep y'self safe now, hear?” Big Mac said as calmly as ever, before opening the barn door to a black world. Rain poured down in a thick curtain, splashing into overflowing puddles on the over saturated farmland. The tang of lightning was in the air, a palpable taste on the tongue. Big Mac took a look to the left, then to the right. Then he shrugged, and trotted into the night.

Fluttershy waited, and whilst she waited, she worried. She worried about the barn roof caving in under the weight of the pounding rain, of the ground outside turning to slick, grasping mud like in the Everfree Forest. She worried about Applejack, a lone dot of orange in the vastness of the storm.

But, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to worry about Big Mac. The fear that he might be struck by lightning, or crushed by a tree, or swallowed by the mud- all of them just seemed a little ridiculous.

“Oh, dear. I must be heartless. If he were a bunny, I'd be out there looking for him,” she told herself, but picturing Big Mackintosh as a bunny was a greater strain than her imagination could handle.

The timbers of the roof creaked ominously, sending her scurrying under the hay piles again. It was like an automatic reaction. Like her legs just moved themselves. It scared her, a little, which really didn't help the pure, unadulterated terror she was going through.

thump

Fluttershy tried to repress a squeak as her heart mimicked the noise, thump-thump-thump-thump-thump, beating away furiously in her chest, as if it'd been caught slacking on the job. There was probably something she should be doing, something that a brave and resourceful pony would've done.

thump

The squeak burst from her throat, and she started to shake. Stupid storms. Stupid bags of chicken feed, running out on the wrong day. She couldn't bring herself to think the chickens were stupid.

boom

The barn door burst open, Big Mac's massive silhouette filling the frame. Quietly and without hurry, he trotted in and closed the doors after him. His flanks were streaked with black mud, his coat bunched in thick, hanging ropes like weeping willow branches, dripping water with every step.

“Miss?” he asked the barn in a strangely muffled tone. “If'n y'all still here, ah could use your help. Ah founds AJ.”

Slowly and carefully, Fluttershy came out of her hiding place. Sure enough, Applejack was draped limply across Big Mac's back, her hat clenched between his teeth.

“What happened?” she asked as he set his sister down gently on a hay pile. “Is she okay?”

“I was hopin' y'all could tell me that,” he rumbled. “AJ says you're a fine doctor for the critters.”

"Howdy there, Fluddershy," Applejack piped up with a spiralling crack in her voice, "Ah dun caught a branch with mah head."

Sure enough, a large, purple-spotted bruise was emerging. Fluttershy swallowed back her fear of blood and let her natural instincts take over.

"Oh, my...We need to lay her down and get a cold compress on her," Fluttershy whispered.

"Thank y'kindly for yer help there, miss-" Big Mac began as he lowered his sister onto one of the large straw piles Fluttershy had been hiding under.

"I meant now," Fluttershy said sharply, her matronly side well into swing already. "Please, don't chit-chat when friends are in danger. You should lie down and dry off too. It just wouldn't do to have you catch pneumonia."

Big Mac bowed respectfully, and did as she said. He watched with interest as Fluttershy tore a strip of heavy, coarse cloth from the bags of chicken-feed that had gotten her into this mess and then walked out of the door into the storm. She remained there until the strip (and her) were well and truly soaked, before wringing out the strip and applying it to Applejack's forehead.

"Ah though y'all were afraid of storms," he rumbled.

"Oh, yes. I am. But I'm more afraid of Applejack being hurt. I prioritise," Fluttershy whispered, and shook out her coat. "Aren't you dry yet, Mr. Big Mac?"

"Eyup," Big Mac nodded, although it was less that he was dry and more that he seemed to have forgotten he was ever wet. "But it's just Big Mac, if'n it's all the same to you."

As another peal of thunder crashed down and restored her fears (with a vengeance), she couldn't help but admire Big Mac. He was the pony all earth ponies were at their heart; the type that could overcome any obstacle and overcome any wound, and then just recover as though nothing had happened. There was something of the land, vast and unbothered by its craters, about him.

Eventually, as with all things, the storm broke. Applejack's concussion lasted only long enough for Rainbow Dash to get some embarrassing sound bites from her (which she repeated as she hovered above AJ's head, ad infinitum, until Applejack conveniently forget to warn her of an overhead branch and got some tasty concussion confessions of her own), and Sweet Apple Acres was left relatively unscathed, save for a few ruffled trees. As always, the land went on. But Fluttershy found that, the next time she touched down in the fields with their autumn gowns and their heavy, ripe apples dangling from the trees, it was not just a dot of orange on horizon she sought, but a slow, meandering blur of red.

A/N: Hope some disgustingly saccharine Fluttermac makes up for last chapter.

Four Of Swords: Recuperation (Fluttershy, Rarity)

Four Of Swords: Recuperation

Keyword: Recuperation. A need to retreat from the troubles of life. The opportunity to rest and put your thoughts in order. A peaceful interlude during which strategies can be worked out. Visits to hospital, but not necessarily a personal illness.
Reversed: Illness, exile or confinement. Gloomy thoughts and depressive attitudes. Nervous exhaustion forcing rest.

There are, of course, three r's that every foal in Ponyville is brought up to know. They are rest, relaxation, and Rarity, and woe betide any pony stupid enough to keep them apart. Rarity only rarely lets her hair down (metaphorically of course; having your hair down is the fashion, and if she could just get Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie to sit in the same place for more than five consecutive seconds, she'd teach them the error of their ways). Fluttershy knows it is an honour and a privilege to share in Rarity's winding down at the Spa, even if she doesn't quite know what's going through her head sometimes.

"Fluttershy, darling," Rarity asks as nonchalantly as physics will allow a pony of her character to be. "Who do you like?"

"I like bunnies," she replies breathlessly, as a pair of skilled hooves do something to her back that, that in any other place, would be physical assault.

"No, I mean romantically," Rarity clarifies, as a burly stallion walks into the room with two sliced cucumbers and a pot of mud.
After almost half a minute of embarrassed stuttering, Fluttershy squeaks and leaves it at that. By the time she's managed it, Rarity has already been transfigured into a horrifying mud-vegetable-pony hybrid by the newly-hired attendant, who glowers over them.

"No talking," he says, with a thick Stalliongrad accent. "Time for rest."

Later, Rarity insists on going to the newly-refurbished hot springs, 'for a soft and velvety hide, don't you know.' Honestly, Fluttershy isn't so sure; it smells awfully of eggs, and the mist is so thick she can hardly see her hoof in front of her face. If she can't see her hoof, what about other scary things that might be lurking fifteen inches from the tip of her nose?

But eventually, she calms down, and starts to enjoy it; it's like having a soothing, hot bath, only with as much room as you could ever want. With the very tips of her mane drifting across the water, she finally relaxes a little.

Until, suddenly, Rarity.

"I only asked," the unicorn went on, somewhere beyond the veil of fog, "Because I was thinking of the current dynamics of our group."

Fluttershy takes a moment to wonder what in Equestria she's talking about, before remembering the conversation from earlier; she's been tenderised, trimmed, primped and creamed since then in the course of their spa visit.

"You see, I find that lately my work has been disturbed by certain ponies, and I was think-ing, that if I were to encourage those ponies to perhaps entertain one another a little more-"

Fluttershy feels a sense of dread that grows with every word and every implication, until it's just a black, roaring herald of doom screaming in her ear to get out, get out now, and she's so distracted by it that she forgets to listen to whatever insane plan Rarity is brewing until it's almost too late.

"-so, they'd be just perfect for one another, and I would get my orders done on time and we could spend more delightful afternoons at the spa together! Wouldn't that just the most fabulous thing?"

"U-um, I'm a little d-dizzy from the heat...who are we talking about, again?" Fluttershy asks, realising that she isn't lying. She's been in the water too long; her mane is spreading over the surface of the water like bright, pink seaweed, waving gently...

"Applejack and Rainbow Dash, dear. Whopony else would I be talking about?"

On the surface of the water, as if in the centre of a crystal ball, Fluttershy sees the waving image of a blue and orange tornado, pitching horseshoes and playing volleyball and doing rope tricks all along the streets of Ponyville, bringing destruction to whatever they touched. She shook it away, and began to wonder how quietly she could leave the spa, and if Rarity would be mad if she did.

"M-meep," she says, because it's as good as anything else she could've said.

"Of course, I just had to ask your opinion, since Rainbow Dash is your childhood friend, after all, and well, how do I put this, if you had designs on her, and there's no need to be embarrassed, we're all very forward thinking ponies here, but if you did, I wouldn't want to trample them just for the sake of a little rest," Rarity carries on, in the tone of voice that suggested she would trample any and all objections for the sake of a little rest.

Fluttershy makes a non-commital squeak, and remembers (quite vividly) Twilight Sparkle saying that everypony in Ponyville was at least a little bit insane. The question is how insane. Potentially, very. So, she doesn't tell Rarity that her idea is awful and would lead to such vast disturbances that Appleloosa would freeze over before she got any rest. She also does not tell Rarity that Pinkie Pie is currently crushing desperately on her pegasus friend, and without Rainbow Dash to distract her, chances were that a new wave of pranks would follow in the form of itching powder, water balloons and five-o-clock wake up calls performed entirely on the bagpipes

"I say, Fluttershy, darling, are you shaking? There are ripples on the water," Rarity asks, megalomania leaving her voice. True enough, she is.

After hauling her from the hot springs, a hoof on her forehead to check her temperature, Rarity smiles and tells her that she gets the message in regards to her little 'romantic intervention' idea. Fluttershy continues to shiver.

Everypony knows not to get between rest, relaxation and Rarity. After all, without afternoons in the spa with Fluttershy, Rarity would enact every disastrous 'intervention' that came into her head.

The next day, as usual, Fluttershy relaxes in her own fashion. By wrestling a bear.

Nine Of Swords: Cruelty (Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle)

Nine Of Swords: Cruelty

Keyword: Cruelty. Anxiety and sleepless nights, spite and slander which undermine confidence. Suffering that is for eventual good such as putting up with painful treatments in order to get better. Female health problems and, possibly, self-punishment and guilt.
Reversed: A refusal to accept help or even feel that improvements are possible. However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

There were times in life when Rainbow Dash had to swallow her pride and admit (very, very privately) that somepony had impressed her. Now, as she stood framed in the door of Twilight's library, was one of those times.

Twilight had not noticed that her friend had dropped by, because Twilight was working. Hard. On two tables, five quills danced across sheets of parchment leaving glistening trails of india ink in their wake. When the bottles were empty, the drawers opened, lids unscrewed and streams of murky black twisted like chinese dragons through the air and into the wells that needed it, all lit by the same unearthly red glow. With a flick of her tail, Twilight marshalled her reference books, five of them following her in mid-air like a flight of paper swallows. Then she stopped to kick a giant green raccoon that had been giving her lip all morning.

She was only hallucinating a little bit.

Of all the ponies in Ponyville, Twilight Sparkle was by far the most accustomed to sleep deprivation. It was stock in trade for a telescope-gazing, mad science purveying magician, and she had charted the depths of her own journey into the realms of waking slumber with meticulous accuracy (if somewhat loose hoofwriting, once she got past the 48 hour mark and couldn't operate a quill properly anymore). In the first twenty four hours, it was manageable- just a hollow fatigue in the bones, perhaps a small headache. Then, the symptoms gradually worsened, until her hooves were too heavy to lift and her muscles refused to work, sitting on her bones like slabs of pork. Pork never lifted anything. Pork was, in her opinion, a waste of time and taxpayer's money, and should contribute something to society if it wished to continue existing rather than being teleported to, say, the sun. (This was an opinion usually formed somewhere around the thirty hour mark, when strange things began to happen and colours began to slur together.)

After two days without the comforting embrace of forty winks and some counted sheep, she tended to hit Nirvana, the point at which her befuddled mind rolled around into a burst of incredible clarity. Ideas crackled like thunderstorms across a tired brain, and magic came much more easily to her. The world just seemed to float into place and, for that brief period, dance at her hooftips. Only when facing down Ursa Minors did her gifts come through quite so potently.

Spike, however, did not appreciate said gifts, because although everypony was crazy in Ponyville, Spike was not a pony. As such, he had already realised just why Twilight became a physical god after forty eight hours of not hitting the hay- her body had begun to panic at the amount of damage she was doing to it. It had gotten to the point where the biggest threat to the on-and-off saviour of Equestria was herself.

"Hey, Egghead. You okay?" Dash asked. A ribbon of ink that was curling its way through the air fell to the ground with a splat. Twilight turned her head with an audible creak. Rainbow Dash's admiration for her sudden burst of energy began to decay into a sense of vague horror.

"Shush. Need more coffee," the unicorn whispered, in a tone of absolute calm. Too absolute to Rainbow's ears. That was the calm that ponies experienced just before they died, after they'd gone through panic and rage and found it wasn't helping.

"I'm gonna go ahead and take that as a no. You scared the hay out of Fluttershy, you know," Dash said critically.

"When was she here?"

"Maybe two, three hours ago?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. I thought the house was flooding. I might have gotten a little shout-y. No harm done though," the unicorn added brightly as an afterthought, before turning back to her work. The ink that had fallen to the floor tried to rise back up again, and found itself too soaked into the carpet to do so. Magic, however, did not do things by half measures, and so the carpet took to the air with the ink stains in tow. Dash watched with narrowed eyes as it floated dangerously close to a set of candles that had clearly been burning a very long time. She needed to do something.

"Hey, Twilight. Could you turn around? I have a present for you," she said sweetly.

Under normal circumstances, this would not have worked. Sweet and Rainbow Dash went together like nuclear physics and barracuda, a fact which Twilight Sparkle was patently aware of. But as she had continued working and her brain began to shut off things that were unimportant, her paranoia had taken a break at around hour thirty-six. So, Twilight turned around.

At which point, of course, Rainbow Dash took the opportunity to teach her a little about the laws of physics. Namely, what happened when you accelerated a hoof to great velocity and then cracked your egghead friend on the noggin with it.

"Phew! Glad that's over with," Spike whistled, climbing out from beneath the table as Twilight spiralled to the floor, hallucinating a circle of comedy birds flying around her head before losing consciousness. "I knew I could count on you, Rainbow Dash!"

"I wondered why you sent Fluttershy to get me, of all ponies," Dash muttered. On the floor, Twilight gurgled. The part of Rainbow Dash's brain that adored kittens and babies and thought jewellery was pretty started to appraise the unicorn for cuteness. As always, Dash ignored it, and hefted her friend onto her back. It was all well and good whacking somepony on the head, but leaving them to sleep it off on the floor was just plain mean.

"Seriously. I mean, you're the only pony who'd actually handle her. I mean, I asked Fluttershy first, because, y'know, you gotta be cruel to be kind, but she said she didn't want to get her hooves dirty. I suggested she just hit her with the desk lamp instead, but she wasn't buying it," the magic dragon continued, traipsing up the stairs in Dash's wake. "So, I thought: loyalty. Would the most loyal of friends let Twilight keep doing this to herself if it wasn't in her best interests?"

"Wow, way to pigeonhole my motivations there, little guy," Dash snarked, and dumped Twilight onto her bed. "For all you know, I might've just really, really wanted to knock that egghead out."

Spike made a non-committal shrug, as if he'd considered the possibility but had decided that the motive didn't matter so long as the result was good. In the meantime, Dash checked her friend's head. There'd be a bruise there come the morning, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. On one hoof, she'd just injured her friend. On the other hoof, it was sort've funny, in a very guilty way.

"Thanks a lot, anyways. What with her working all hours, even I haven't been able to get any sleep," Spike yawned, before shutting his mouth with a snap. He didn't like the way Dash was looking at him. If he had to pick a word to describe it, that word would be 'aiming'. "L-let's not get carried away here, Rainbow Dash!"

"Aww. But I gotta eliminate the witnesses! It'll be a perfect crime!" Dash cackled, before giving him a friendly nudge to let him know she was teasing. Spike did not look comforted in the least. Nopony ever did, for some reason. Possibly because when she nudged them, Pinkie Pie was usually crouching behind their legs so they went sprawling. She usually put down cushions for them, too, although Dash never saw where she got them from. It was a Pinkie thing.

"So, what was she working on, anyway?" Dash asked absently, scouring the shelves for any signs of a new Daring Do book.

"Dunno, but she kept muttering about the fabric of space-time," Spike shrugged, and waddled off to collect his blanket. The cute centre of Dash's brain started going off again. She sighed. Now she had to go and do something awesome to flood it with adrenaline and make it shut up. Oh well. At least she had an excuse to walk around with her chest puffed out for the rest of the day. Good deeds and all that.

Yup, by her reckoning, it was a great end to a great day. She'd done Spike (and possibly causality) a big favour, found out the status of the Daring Do books, and found a legitimate excuse to pop Twilight in the face. She was feeling pretty good about herself when she strode out of the library door.

Which was, of course, why she was not prepared when somepony leapt from the bushes and smashed her over the head with what was, apparently, the world's heaviest desk lamp. The last thing she heard before she collapsed into a concussed heap was Fluttershy's voice.

"Oh, no, Applejack! That wasn't Twilight," Fluttershy gasped in dismay. "Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Sugarcube, it's Dash we're talkin' about here. I've half a mind to hit 'er again, just to make sure she's out," came the reply, muffled by a mouthful of lamp. "B'sides, from what y'all told me, she prob'ly clocked Twi anyhow, so it ain't as if she didn't have it comin'. You wanna take her home? It ain't right to leave her to sleep it off on the hard dirt floor."

When Rainbow Dash woke up the next day, quite concussed and with her head wrapped in bandages, she couldn't quite remember what had happened. But she couldn't shake the feeling, deep down in her bones, that she couldn't get away with anything.

A/N: Okay, a little explanation: this is straight comedy, and not even good comedy. But, considering I want to avoid darkfics, and the keyword of the card is cruelty, you can imagine that I was having a bit of trouble. Eventually, I just wanted to flail my way through it and move on. Which is precisely what I did. (For the interested, this one had a different ending at one point. Applejack and Fluttershy would go into the library to check on Twilight, and thus wouldn't notice Pinkie Pie sneak into the bushes armed with a frying pan. What goes around comes around, I suppose.)

Three Of Wands: Opportunity (Discord)

Three Of Wands: Opportunity

Keyword: Opportunity. The Three of Wands is a card of luck, showing your ship will soon come in and your current worries will be resolved. You may need just a little more patience, but you can be assured that your troubles will soon be at an end.
Reversed: Pride, arrogance, and a refusal to appreciate the truth could be hampering your efforts. Stubborn independence.

Silence. Silence that stretched beyond yearning, beyond time, beyond existence. Silence that cloyed and dragged, silence that stifled and choked. Death was not the opposite of life. Death was just the gate to a silence eternal.
Noise, energy. The frenetic beat of heart's drums, the bass boom of passion and the flickering snare of fear. Cruelty and kindness in the same motion, confusion; the spiralling of perception. That was the opposite of silence. That was what Discord craved.
Slowly, fraction by the fraction, a stone scream became a smirk. He would be free.
All he needed was a chance.