Fallen Apples and Broken Chords

Chapters

Chapter 1: Octavia
Chapter 2: Applejack
Chapter 3: Applejack
Chapter 4: Octavia

Chapter 1: Octavia

The train hissed as it pulled into Ponyville, though Octavia could care less about her arrival. She stared out of the window at the charming countryside, at dirt roads stretching on into nothing over hilltops and into wide fields brimming with wheat, corn, and all manner of produce. Only when ponies began to cross her window out on the platform did she finally move from her seat, tucking the letter away in her saddlebags.

She had read it on the train ride a dozen times, letting those scathing words sink deep into her psyche, fueling the brimming anger she’d held in restraint ever since storming out of the symphony’s studio back in Canterlot. That anger sat at a low boil, off-setting the chill autumn air sufficiently. She still opted in for a heavy scarf, but it felt stuffy and oppressive in light of the anger bubbling in her chest.

She scanned the platform a few times, looking at unfamiliar faces and ponies she didn’t know. The comings and goings of the small town seemed to be an event of sorts, and gaggles of ponies holding banners and welcome signs for loved ones congregated. She saw teary-eyed lovers greeting one another with a hug and a kiss, families embracing wayward daughters and sons happily, and groups of friends hoof-bumping in greeting. And yet, for her, nopony waited.

“Well, I suppose I can’t blame her. She did say she would be busy…” Octavia heaved a sigh into the fabric of her scarf, watching the thick white cloud of her breath dissipate before her face. Morosely, she made her way to the baggage train to fetch her modest luggage. Hoisting one rolling cart and a hefty duffle bag, she left the train station and made her way into Ponyville proper. The chill streets were rendered all the more cold by the imposing shadow cast by the newest castle, an adornment to the gritty farm community that Octavia personally found garish and out-of-place. Still, the mid-evening sun glimmered off of the highest reaches of the castle’s branch-like protrusions, and the shadow seemed less cold in contrast to the gorgeous glimmering lights.

Wind raked at her flanks as she made her way down the main drag of Ponyville’s marketplace, passing stores and cafes in equal measure. She had to pause and blink at a store boasting quills and sofas, wondering what parallel could possibly be drawn between the two, before continuing on. The wind gusted and pulled at her, but Octavia was an earth pony. She could handle a little cold, even if it was a touch more extreme than the temperate Canterlot autumns.

“Let’s see…” Octavia passed from the main portion of the town and into a more residential neighborhood, and she began cross-referencing addresses with the one she had in her mind. “Aah, here it is.” 505 Hoofington Lane. She opened the gate surrounding the moderate front lawn, smiling warmly at the name and cutie mark emblazoned on the mailbox. ‘Lyra Heartstrings.’

Mounting the front porch, Octavia knocked on the front door, wondering if Lyra was home just yet or if she’d have to let herself in. She shivered for a minute or so before resolving to the latter, finding the key for the front door under a flower pot containing a withered lily. She shouldered into the quaint home, sighing as warmth and the smell of lavender wrapped around her.

“And here I figured you’d have forgotten.” Octavia felt the bubbling anger in her breast ebb a little, and the soothing scent washed away some of her malice. “Home sweet home.” Depositing her luggage by the door, Octavia resolved to exploring her lodgings. It was a quaint, small home with a well-appointed den, music room, kitchen, two bedrooms with their own attached bathrooms, and a cluttered office. Octavia recalled their days in music school, and how that chaotic mess was actually comfortably organized for her eccentric, mint-colored friend. After hauling her luggage into the guest room, Octavia set about to making herself something to eat.

It was halfway through her preparations that the front door opened, and a cheery voice spread a smile across her lips that Octavia had almost sworn she’d never allow cross her lips again.

“Hellooooooo, Octavia Philharmonica!” A bundle of mint-colored unicorn bustled into the kitchen, throwing two forelegs around her neck and drawing the poor grey mare into a warm, loving hug. Despite the anger and sadness pulling her mouth into a permanent frown, Octavia smiled and returned the hug just as exuberantly.

“It’s good to see you again, Lyra.” Octavia sighed, nuzzling into her one true friend’s neck lovingly. ’Oh how badly I’ve missed you,’ Octavia thought, recalling all the memories of their time in music school, of all the troubles and shenanigans they had shared rooming together. She pulled back to smile warmly into Lyra’s glimmering, golden eyes. ’It’s a wonder she hasn’t found somepony special to settle down with. I can’t imagine she’d have any difficulty.’

“I almost couldn’t believe it when you sent me that letter.” Lyra’s boisterous attitude shifted immediately, sobering the greeting immediately. Octavia’s face matched her friend’s as Lyra laid a hoof on her withers, concern and sympathy dripping from every word. It almost made Octavia blanch, but she knew Lyra’s meant the best. In a way, it was frighteningly comfortable. “That’s outrageous. I’d be talking with the director if I were you.”

“You forget,” Octavia sighed, feeling the scowl return momentarily. “It was the director who asked me to leave.”

“Oh. Right.” Lyra deadpanned with a flat grimace, but shook the look on her face off, to be replaced with an optimistic smile. “But you’re here now! Two whole months, just the two of us! You can’t tell me you aren’t excited.”

“Oh, I am! Please don’t think I’m not!” Octavia blushed and waved frantically, panic setting in that she had upset her friend. “I just… The symphony was my life, Lyra… You can imagine how betrayed I feel.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” Lyra sighed before drawing Octavia into another hug, this one much more heartfelt than the exuberant greeting they had shared a minute prior. “I’m sorry they did that to you, Octavia. You don’t deserve to be treated in such a fashion. I promise, by the end of these two months you’re going to forget all of your worries.”

“Thank you, Lyra-“

“And what better to forget with than copious amounts of alcohol!” Lyra cut her off, breaking away from the hug to bounce over to what was unmistakably a liquor cabinet. Normally, Octavia would have dissuaded the use of alcohol to forget her problems, but the prospect of that comfortable numbness allayed her fears.

“Just one drink for now, I don’t want to spend my first day in Ponyville completely drunk and indecent.”

“Drunk first!” Lyra quipped, passing a hoof of dark whiskey Octavia’s way. “Indecency later.”

“Cheers.” Octavia wasn’t one for dark liquors, but then again, she hadn’t figured herself one to buck holes through grand pianos either. She tossed the entire glass back, relishing the burn in her throat, one to match the anger in her chest. Lyra threw back her own drink, the two of them emerging from the scalding ordeal with blushes and a grin.

“Alright, first order of business. There’s enough light out, and it’s not cold enough yet to pass on a walk. I’m gonna show you around Ponyville. Aah,” She raised a hoof to cut Octavia off. “Just the basics. Groceries, cafes, the new library, stuff like that. Alright?”

“Fine.” Octavia groaned. She had resolved herself to staying indoors on her first day in Ponyville, but Lyra had a point. She’d want to know where everything was in case she needed something while her friend was out and about. “Can we at least eat first?”

“Of course. Whattaya making?”

“Neightalian…” Octavia trudged into the kitchen, a war raging inside of her mind. On one hoof, there was the outrage at her temporary exodus from the symphony. On the other, joy at seeing her fillyhood friend again. Between the two, the new town and mild annoyances straddled the line, making her head swim with the contrast between contented happiness and burning malice.

It was going to be a long two months.

“Alright, so, you know where everything is now.” Lyra pulled up short in the town square, the lingering scents of that day’s market still clinging to the cobblestone. There were even a few wayward carts closing up shop. This was bound to be one of the last markets of the season, with the approaching winter. She prayed there might be at least one more, as Ponyville’s markets had become that of legend. “Can you find your way back home?” Lyra derailed her thoughts, dragging Octavia back into reality.

“I think so. You’re about a half mile down that road, right?” She gestured to the main thoroughfare that cut the town square. She had been through here on her way into town an hour earlier. Now, the late-evening sun had sunk even lower, casting the whole town into the shadow of the castle. A bite nipped at her coat, but the whiskey had dulled her enough that it was only a minor cold.

“That’s right. Do you want to go back, or…” Lyra’s lips spread into a grin, her eyes dancing with light. Octavia knew that look, and narrowed her amethyst eyes accordingly.

“Or…?”

“Or do you want to visit my absolute favorite place in Ponyville?”

Octavia’s eyes remained narrowed at the mint unicorn, watching her bounce on her hooves with excitement. The bite of whiskey earlier had awakened a sort of hunger in Octavia that was best sated with a warm bed and much more of the amber liquid warming her gut. She sorely wanted to return to Lyra’s home and drown her sorrows. But Lyra’s eyes practically lit the whole square with excitement, and she had to have been quivering from something other than the cold.

’What’s the harm? Lyra, despite her excitable tendencies, is a relatively tame mare. It’s probably the observatory, or maybe a music store. And there’s no saying it might just be a bit of scenery or something of the sort. I wouldn’t put it past her… Oh, what the hay.’

“That sounds okay.” Octavia tenuously muttered, rolling her eyes as she got the typical reaction from her friend. Lyra bounded on the spot, throwing a hoof over Octavia’s back and urging her down a nearby street. She squealed with delight, her voice gone into some register that Octavia was sure had been reserved for the most airy of soprano singers. “Calm down and talk normally, Lyra.” She pleaded, half out of concern for her hearing, half because she was actually interested in where Lyra was leading her.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Lyra blushed and slowed her pace, thankfully removing her hoof from across Octavia’s back. “Ahem. You see, Ponyville always used to be a one-horse town. We had liquor shipments and of course the Apple farm provided cider when it was in season, but we never had a need for a pub or tavern. Between all the hoedowns and weekend shindigs held in one barn or another, ponies didn’t really need a localized place to come drink. But once that happened,” She gestured towards the ever-present castle looming over the town. “We drew more ponies, and the town’s population grew by half as much over again. The influx of interested ponies who weren’t quite as in-touch with the community as others had a need. So, they founded my absolute favorite place in all of Equestria.” Lyra led them around a street corner, and Octavia had to pause.

“I present to you, the most humble watering hole this side of Trottingham. ‘The Hay Bale.’”

Neon flickered at her, two signs blazing their message out into the chill evening air. One was the name of the place, cast in the same color as its namesake, ‘The,’ ‘Hay,’ and ‘Bale’ winked on one after the other, then blinked off, and came back with all three words at once. Beneath it, a steady blue-and-pink glow of ‘Open’ welcomed ponies from all over into its warm embrace. The sturdy building held the same farm town charm that its neighbors did, but in darker and more welcoming tones. Wood planks bled a melancholy tune out into the night, a whisper of sultry lounge music brushing across her ears like the tantalizing touch of a lover interested in a night between the sheets.

The scent of pipe smoke, good beer, and greasy hay fries permeated the air, mingling into the sort of scent that would have resulted in zoning violations back in Canterlot. Here, it was as welcome as the mare standing at her side. As if in a trance, Octavia walked forward, looking up at the neon-wreathed mecca in some sort of open-mouthed, eager wonder. It was so crass. So country. So… Ponyville that she felt the prim posturing of Canterlot was even more pretentious in light of this building’s simple existence. She was only partially aware of Lyra at her side, following her into the pub’s embrace.

If the outside promised glorious, smoky freedom, the inside delivered tenfold. Immediately, Octavia felt warmth wash over her hide, chasing away the last tendrils of chill that hadn’t been dulled by the hoof of whiskey she’d had earlier. The promise of that same liquid called out to her in the form of a backlit bar boasting bottles of all varieties, crystal-clear vodka from Stalliongrad, ancient Gin from Trottingham, enchanted whiskey from Canterlot, thick cognac from the Crystal Empire… All of it shuttled from bar to glass to imbiber by a smiling unicorn mare wearing a classy doublet and a sultry look that’d charm the last bit from the tightest coin purse.

Over the floor hung a smoky haze perpetrated by dimly-glowing pipes among the patronage, and the acrid smell cut into her nose and blurred her mind completely. Octavia inhaled deeply, catching the smell of beer and food underneath the cloying cloud of second-hoof smoke. It wrapped around her as intimately as any lover could, warming her more thoroughly than the fire set to the embers of those tobacco leaves.

The bar was larger than it appeared at first glance, crimson-colored booths lining three of the walls, but yielding to a low, curtain-wreathed stage opposite the door. The only illumination came from those blazing stage lights, the flames and embers of the myriad pipes, and the bar. In all reality, that’s all Octavia could have wanted. The stage was currently populated by a small piano and four-piece accompaniment sitting forlornly. A microphone stand stood waiting for its partner, looking not unlike a sultry date left leaning against the wall while she watched everypony else enjoy themselves. Yet behind that stoic stand stood the promise of music. And music, if nothing else, was Octavia’s greatest desire.

“I’ll snag us a booth.” Lyra muttered, quiet enough her words were almost lost on the dull drone of conversation and clinking glass.

“Drinks.” Octavia responded, tearing her eyes from the stage to settle on the bar. “I need a drinks.”

“Don’t you mean ‘drink?’”

“Whatever.” Lyra slunk off with a smirk, but Octavia was intent on the bar. As she approached, the bartender smiled at her, that flash of pearly whites doing exactly what Octavia had thought it would. She could almost feel her purse loosening, ready to yield its fortune of bits in exchange for alcohol. “Two Hay Island Iced Teas. And, hey,” she stopped the mare with a hoof on the mahogany bar top. “Who’s due to play tonight?”

“Oh, it’s Honeysuckle.” The bartender grinned, nodding towards the currently-empty stage. “She’ll be on in a minute. You from out-of-town? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Canterlot.” Octavia deadpanned, mulling that name over in her head. Had she heard it before? Nothing came readily to mind as she turned to look back at the stage. She spoke over her withers at the bartender, half-distracted. “I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“Well, welcome to Ponyville and The Hay Bale. First round’s on the house. As a welcome.”

“Thank you.” Octavia smiled genuinely at the mare, who turned to making their drinks. Two glasses were filled with triple sec, vodka, rum, tequila, and gin. She finished it off with a lemon garnish and a splash of cola for flavor. Octavia took a tenuous sip of her drink, found it to be exactly as delicious as she thought it’d be, and left the mare with another smile.

“You didn’t forget.” Lyra teased as Octavia passed her drink off. They clinked their glasses together and toasted, the smooth liquor chased down with pipe smoke and the sound of a bottle breaking somewhere. “Aah, my favorite… Flair certainly knows her liquor.”

“Hmm. Say, who’s Honeysuckle?” Octavia asked, looking once more to the stage. Unless she was mistaken, someone was moving behind the curtain, the subtle sound of hooves on wood carrying over the murmur of conversation.

“Oh, she’s singing tonight? Oh Octavia.” Lyra leaned over, grinning wickedly. “You are in for a treat.”

“Why? Is she good?” Octavia frowned at Lyra, who seemed to be hiding a secret behind her smile and drink.

“You’ll see~” Lyra purred cryptically, taking another sip. Octavia glared at her, but settled in for another sip of her own, content to wait. Thankfully, it was a brief one. Four ponies mounted the stage, dressed in a myriad of suits and classy lounge dresses. Octavia looked each of them over as they took their respective instruments from their stands. They were two stallions and two mares, each dressed to the nines. Octavia found it odd for such a small town to have a well-dressed accompaniment. The two stallions appeared to be twins, and took up the trombone and trumpet respectively. The unicorn mare sat at the piano, while the other, a pegasus, sat behind a modest drum set consisting of a snare, hi-hat, and kick drum.

“Which one of them is Honeysuckle?” Octavia leaned over to Lyra, whispering softly.

“Shh. You’ll see.”

“I don’t- oh.”

Beauty incarnate mounted the stage, walking into the limelight as if it were her Celestia-given right. Octavia’s words died on her tongue as the mare approached the microphone. She was a raven-maned earth pony, with a coat the color of burnt orange. Her shapely form filled out the little black cocktail dress to capacity, swelling around her flanks and hugging her barrel as closely as anything could. Her green eyes flashed with something, some emotion or feeling, that lanced off of the stage and straight into Octavia’s chest. Her apple-red lipstick curled upwards, a sly smirk of understanding, contentment. This mare knew she belonged up there, in front of everypony else, and that confidence lent her an air that Octavia found as intoxicating as the descending haze of alcoholic numbness.

She didn’t even realize it as the accompaniment struck up a tune, the trilling roll of the piano bringing to life the humble quartet. A few bars of instrumental passed, immediately identifying The Hay Bale as a swing joint. Octavia had hardly taken time to adjust when Honeysuckle stepped up to the microphone. One inhalation later, Octavia was blown away.

“Another day, another night, got me thinkin'. What is it with him? He's naturally moving slow. I see him at the corner bar, am I dreamin'? Surrounded by friends, it's got to end, I need to know. Am I just a night of lust and lost temptation? Is someone like me his destiny? He'll never know. I gotta find a way to show my expectations. He ends it where it begins but I won't let go.”

Like a soothing balm, Honeysuckle’s voice pulsed into the room, moving into a hoof-tapping, jaunty swing tune that made Octavia’s head move in time to the music. That core of bubbling hate and anger that had festered in her breast since her departure from Canterlot died instantly, quenched by the sultry tone of this gorgeous mare’s hypnotizing voice. Her emerald eyes were closed on stage, pouring her heart and soul into the chorus.

”I know you don't love me, but still I burn for you. I know you don't love me, this flame won't die, it's true. My soul bared completely, don't seem enough for you. I know you don't love me, but the message can't get through.”

Octavia was swept away. The bar dissolved, the haze of smoke separating her from the stage wafted away on a gentle breeze. Octavia stood in front of the stage, and Honeysuckle stood over her. Those brilliant green eyes fixed on her, freezing Octavia on place. The only motion made was the gentle swaying of the singer’s hips to the music, and her apple-red lips as they sculpted the masterpiece of music inundating her mind.

”Any mare can see that I'm worth the talkin'. Love can be bittersweet when the girl hears "no". Opportunity knocks but your doors don't open. But I feel a fire inside that's about to blow. So sweep me off my feet and show me somethin' different. You know all the tricks, come get your kicks, you know I'm game. You gotta understand a girl needs more than romance. How many chances lost 'til you just runaway?”

The second verse poured out as sweet as the first, picking up in pace and energy. Honeysuckle belted the words so purely, so sweetly, she might as well have been singing with honey instead of words. Sweet and creamy, the song poured into Octavia’s ears, gorging her brain on one thing and one thing only:

Sweet, sweet seduction.

Honeysuckle stayed for all of seven songs, singing jaunty swing tunes and crooning, melancholy melodies in equal measure. Octavia sat in stunned silence the entire time, unaware of the second drink making its way to her table, and the third, all the way up to the fifth. She was thoroughly sauced by the end, though nopony could tell it looking at her. She sat in stunned silence, watching the stage empty. Honeysuckle’s swaying hips were like a metronome to her, bobbing off stage and into the shadows with a flick of her raven tail on the black cocktail dress, like shadows in a dark alley promising either mystery or danger.

Either one, Octavia was on board. The accompaniment exited, leaving the stage empty and the spell broken. Lyra grinned at her like a filly with a secret, and Octavia returned the look with dumbfounded shock.

“I told you.”

“Oh my stars.”

“Right?”

“She was-“

“The best one I’ve ever seen.” Lyra waved a hoof, still grinning wickedly. “She performs every other weekend.”

“I need it.” Octavia whispered, looking down at the melting ice in her most recent drink.

“Huh?” Lyra arched an eyebrow at her.

“I need it.” Octavia repeated, looking up at Lyra, her eyes ablaze. It was the spark inside of her, the same one that filled her whenever her cello was in her hooves, the same blaze of inspiration that filled her chest whenever she took the stage. It burned away everything, consuming Octavia with a feeling of contentment. Of simple, wondrous joy.

“You need… what?”

Octavia slammed the last of her drink, setting the glass down firm enough to make Lyra’s jump. Her blazing eyes met the mint mare’s, and she spoke the next words in a hiss.

“I need her.”

“Alright, then… Good night, Octavia.” Lyra yawned widely, making her way up the stairs slowly. Octavia followed her, maintaining the same stoic silence she had perpetrated on the way home. Thankfully, her normally-chatty friend remained as quiet, the two of them walking down the brisk, dark streets of Ponyville in silence. The entire way, Octavia’s mind was obsessed, thinking about Honeysuckle. Her voice, her body, her brilliant eyes… Everything about her was perfect. Gorgeous. Her voice was a soothing balm that swept away Octavia’s bubbling anger, and replaced it with a different sort of boiling desire.

Not to beat the daylights out of the symphony director, but of something else entirely. Something deep-seated and primal.

Something that made Octavia more aroused than she had ever felt before.

“You gonna be okay?” Lyra’s gentle question drew her out of her reverie, the two of them standing at the threshold of their own rooms.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Octavia shook her head, managing a brave smile. “I just drank too much is all… I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“That’s good. ‘Night, Tavi.”

“Good night, Lyra.” Octavia slipped inside of her room, smiling at her friend until the door closed between them. She stripped her saddlebags and scarf off, turning to the bed and flopping onto it heavily. The thick comforter absorbed her, feeling as warm and inviting as a lovely mare’s embrace. Her eyes slid shut, but behind them danced visions that kept the stupid smile on her face long after bidding her friend farewell.

’Oh Honeysuckle...’

‘Hmm, Octavia…’ Her mind departed on a flight of fancy, of raven hair and a tight black cocktail dress. Those green eyes smoldered with desire, and Octavia felt the same feeling well in her chest. Those full lips that could croon the most sultry tunes curled upwards in a smile, even as they grew closer to her own. Octavia answered in kind, closing her eyes as she leaned into the kiss with an eager moan.

Honeysuckle’s voice was the same as when she sang, that low alto that cooed so pleasantly it washed away everything else. She groaned into the kiss, a gentle thing that slowly but surely grew more and more needy. Octavia broke away long enough to huff one hot, insistent breath between them before returning to the kiss.

Octavia drew her lip between her teeth, inhaling slowly through her nose as her hooves began to trail over her chest and stomach.

Honeysuckle surged forth, her tongue entering the fray at long last. Octavia melted into the kiss, surrendering to the undulating appendage that tasted like good liquor and smoke. Her brow knit together, inhaling deeply through her nose to try and assuage the fire in her gut. Honeysuckle wasn’t having any of it, as her tongue wrestled with Octavia’s until the fire grew out-of-control, signaled by the dripping wetness tracing its way down her thighs.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as Octavia’s hoof dove between her legs and into the epicenter of her issue. Her marehood was damp already, the soft fleshy sound of her wet labia greeting the edge of her hoof delightfully. Her mouth hung open now, her tongue aching to lay across somepony’s coat. No, not anypony’s coat…

Honeysuckle’s.

The insistent panting of the mare between her legs couldn’t be denied. Octavia lifted her hips, grinding her slit against the sultry singer’s. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on their coats, filling the air with the musky scent of lust and love. Honeysuckle gasped against the sudden motion but responded in kind, surging forth until both their dripping gashes slid against one another. As Octavia began riding the mare between her thighs, shocks of pleasure radiated through her, causing her to throw her head back. Her black mane whipped through the air, her entire body stretched out.

Honeysuckle picked up the pace, grinding their flared marehoods together wetly. Whenever she dipped her hips downwards, Octavia could feel the fine hairs of her coat dragging against her swollen clitoris, sending a jagged bolt of pure, irrevocable pleasure shooting into her core. She came back with a similar motion, making Honeysuckle shudder and cry out in that low, gravelly voice.

“Uuhnn…” Octavia let the low moan out as her hoof ground against her own slippery pussy, catching her clitoris against the round edge and manipulating it until her legs quivered.

’Just sit back and let me…’ Honeysuckle’s low voice caressed Octavia’s ear, urging her onto her back. Shamelessly, Octavia’s legs spread open, inviting the sultry mare to do as she pleased. Her full lips pressed into Octavia’s neck, taking their sweet time in getting to the final destination. She preceded some of her kisses with a low groan or a tiny lick, just enough to keep the blaze in her core raging unchecked. She writhed beneath the tender ministrations, praying to the stars above that she got to return the favor and delve between the burnt-orange thighs to discover what could make the sultry singer cry out in that pure, seductive voice.

Instead, she was forced to cry out herself, as Honeysuckle finally made her way down to where Octavia was seeping.’

“Ahn!” One sharp exhalation escaped her, despite her best efforts to keep it in. She knew Lyra to be a light sleeper, and the last thing she wanted was to be walked in on. So she muffled her cries with the one hoof that wasn’t busy, stuffing the hard surface into her mouth so she didn’t wake her housemate with the lusty cries of a fantasy indulged. It was a double-edged sword, as her tongue set to licking her hoof eagerly, just like a certain mare was licking her in the fantasy of her drunken mind...

’Haanm, ahn, mnn…’ Honeysuckle moaned and panted against Octavia’s crotch, her tongue alive against her dripping slit. Octavia writhed and cried, her hooves buried in that magnificent head of raven hair. She pulled Honeysuckle onto her pussy eagerly, praying the pleasure continued to ramp up to that irrevocable, final ending. Panting and twitching underneath the expert ministrations of the sultry lounge singer, Octavia approached her orgasmic high.

“HMMN!” Octavia let out a throaty grunt into her hoof, the other one picking up into a fever pitch, filling the air with the wet sound.

’HONEYSUCKLE!’ She cried out, her eyes clenched shut and every muscle flexed. It happened in an instant, driven over the edge of orgasm by the singer’s devious tongue. Wetness exploded from her crotch as pleasure robbed her of every thought, leaving Octavia a whimpering pile of flesh.

Her orgasm shuddered into her chest, driving Octavia into a shuddering, hoof-scrabbling orgasm. She dribbled onto the comforter pathetically, her jaw aching as she bit down on her hoof to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs. Long moments passed as she shuddered and shook, until she collapsed into the sheets a few moments later. The tinge of sex filled the air, but Octavia couldn’t help but bask in the magnificent afterglow. She lay like that for several long minutes, the alcohol and fantasy leaving her feeling warm and happy, despite having just came on top of her good friend’s guest bed.

After a few minutes of basking in the delightful post-orgasmic bliss, she pulled the comforter down and curled up underneath it. The long day caught up to her at last, and she was shuttled into her dreams on a wave of musky mare-scent, alcohol, and the promise that she would have that mare.

Chapter 2: Applejack

The mid-day sun beat down on Applejack’s flanks, helping chase away the chill that lingered in the shadows beneath her beloved apple trees. It was late-autumn, and they were finishing the last of their harvest. These times of the year were always a sober affair; watching the leaves turn brown, storing away the last of their apples, and settling in for the long winter filled with nothing but mild housekeeping tasks and long, chilly nights in front of the fire with a hard glass of cider.

That, and the times she might spend with her friends, but those seemed to fall by the wayside more often than not as of late. This time of year, with the running of the leaves around the corner and winter on its heels, was a somber time for the Apple family. Their livelihood, not to mention their schedules, revolved solely around the trees Applejack now walked beneath. It paid their way with food and amenities, helped with Granny Smith’s medical costs, and kept them safe and warm. Seeing those trees shed their leaves in preparation for winter struck a chord in Applejack, rending the normally-exuberant young farmpony morose and quiet.

“AJ.” The deep voice drew her out of her reverie with a slight start. Applejack hadn’t even realized Big Macintosh between the trees, and had almost passed him on her solemn walk. She shook her head and offered the red pony a brave smile.

“Heya Big Mac. What’s up?”

“That’s mah question.” Macintosh rumbled, stepping forward with a serious look on his face. Normally, he kept a stoic expression. She’d seen him lose that expression only a hooffull of times in her entire life, so seeing the serious frown on his lips now was worrying.

“Whaddya mean? Ah’m fine.” Applejack waved him off with a soft chuckle, but the frown persisted. “Alright, ya caught me.” She flagged. ’Something about Honesty…’ “Ah’m just sad that we’re done fer the season is all.”

“Mmhmm.” Big Macintosh hummed, betraying a bit of snark she hadn’t come to expect from him. She grimaced at her bigger brother, plopping onto her haunches to look at him more seriously.

“What? That’s the truth of it. Ain’t nothin’ more to it.”

“You sure about that?” He lofted a brow at her, making Applejack’s grimace turn sour. “Yer thinkin’ about tonight.”

Those words cut straight to the heart of the matter. Granted, Applejack was still worried about the harvest being done, and what she was going to do with all the free time that winter seemed to dump onto her. Applejack took a deep breath before hanging her head.

“Damnit, Big Macintosh, y’all got a way o’ gettin’ straight to it, don’t you?”

“Ah ain’t got time to worry ‘bout whatever lies y’all have made. Yer mah sister, AJ, and I care for ya, jes’ like Applebloom, jes like Granny.Tell me what’s got yer tail in a twist, an’ maybe ah cin help.”

Applejack thought on his words for a while, mulling over the true matter on their hooves; about the doubt that had crept into her heart the last time she’d gone and done what she was planning on doing that very night, about her friends, about her family and the farm, and indeed her very own cutie mark.

About her soul.

“Ah’m beginnin’ to think that ah like singin’ jes as much as ah like the farm.”

Her admonition birthed a pregnant pause between the two of them, Applejack fighting tears, Big Macintosh just standing there stoically. A cold breeze blew through the brittle branches of the trees above their heads, shuffling a few dead leaves around their hooves. Applejack sniffled, her vision steadily turning more and more blurry. As the first tear leaked out and her wavering defenses began to give in, Big Macintosh stepped up to her.

“Yer a fool, Applejack.” He gave a soft chuckle, the contradicting statement and mannerism shaking her to the core. Just as she looked up, he wrapped his forelegs around her, drawing the quivering orange farmpony into a hearty embrace. “Yer a damn fool, you silly, silly pony.” He repeated, stroking one hoof through her mane.

“Wh-whaddya mean? How? What?” Confusion took place of somber sadness as Macintosh continued holding her close, lending her what warmth the sun wouldn’t.

“You already answered yer own question, AJ. Tell me again why yer sad. The first reason you gave.”

“Th… That winter’s got me down? The end of the harvest?”

“Exactly.” Macintosh pulled away, smiling at her warmly. “Y’all are worried so much ‘bout these apples and trees thet you hardly saw me when y’all were walkin’ by. Ah’m tellin you, AJ. It ain’t that yer questionin’ whichever y’all like best, be it this or the singin’… Else you wouldn’t be sad ‘bout no apples.”

The truth of his words cut into Applejack, shredding the pathetic defenses she had and speaking to her heart of hearts. Two more tears slid out of her eyes as she threw herself into another hug.

“Damn you and yer way with words.”

“Ah gotta talk t’ somepony.” Big Macintosh chuckled once more, stroking her mane again. “Ah’d go insane keepin’ quiet all the time. Now come on. Y’all got a show tonight.”

They turned in tandem back towards the farmhouse, falling into a silence, but only for a few moments. As they rounded the first stand of trees onto the well-worn path separating orchards, Big Macintosh spoke again.

“Somethin’s been botherin’ you, though. That much is clear.”

“Well, ah’d think so. You know me, Big Mac… Ah hardly ever cry.”

“Well, ah’ve been thinkin’…” He scuffed a hoof as they walked. “What, uuh… What do y’all think about takin’ a… a vacation, of sorts.”

“Vacation?” Now it was Applejack’s turn to arch an eyebrow at her brother. “Whaddya mean?”

“Ah mean,” Big Macintosh huffed. “Take a week or two ta… well… live yer other life. Stay in town with Rarity or somepony. Don’t take off the disguise. See how yer other side lives, an’ take a break from…” He waved a hoof around at the barren trees, the last of their fruit having been bucked off and stored for the season. “From all this nothin’ that goes on durin’ the winter.”

“But… what about the last market?”

“Well, ah’ll need yer help with that one, sure. But the week after that, how’s that work?” Big Mac shrugged indifferently. “Ain’t gonna help nopony havin’ you mope ‘round the house, anyways. Iffen y’all like it, you can do it again later on this winter. So, go to yer show tonight, help with market tomorrow, unwind fer a week or so, then stay in town for the next one. The Hay Bale’ll like it iffen y’all perform the whole weekend, and we could shore use the bits.” He nodded back the way they had come, back towards Ponyville. “Talk it over with yer friends, and think it through. It’s jes’ an idea.”

“Okay…” Applejack mused, lowering her gaze to the path beneath her hooves.

’A whole week, maybe even two, as HER? Can I even do that?’

Doubt and excitement waged a war inside of her, with neither side taking any major gains. As they approached the farmhouse, Applejack found herself torn. Whichever side won, it was bound to be a long night. Indeed, a long winter.

“Heya Applejack!” Sweetie Belle’s innocent voice turned her away from the vanity, a smile on her lips at the young filly standing in the door.

“Heya Sweetie Belle. Thanks fer comin’ again, it means a lot to have somepony to help with exercises.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Honestly, I was shocked when Rarity told me about it… I’m really glad you decided to let us help, though.” Her eyes danced with a sort of mischievous glee that Applejack wasn’t sure she wanted to see in a filly who had only had her cutie mark for three months. “Wouldn’t do to let everypony in town know your secret, would it, ‘Honeysuckle?’”

Her stage name sent a shiver down Applejack’s spine. The war between doubt and excitement still raged on inside her mind, but Sweetie Belle’s appearance, and the impending vocal exercise, was swinging the odds in favor of the latter. A knot of excitement grew in her chest, tightening her throat, and making her quiver slightly.

“Shall we get started?” Sweetie Belle’s tail flicked to the side, and a grin spread across her lips.

“Let’s.”

“Repeat after me, then. Ahem.” Sweetie Belle cleared her throat and sat down, closing her eyes. Sweet honey poured out of her mouth, the melodious scale reaching out to grip Applejack’s throat. “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do.”

“Do, Rey-“

“Aah,” Sweetie Belle cut her off. “Lose the twang.”

“Right. Do, Re…”

They settled into the exercise with a sort of practiced ease that the two had become comfortable with the past six months. Applejack procedurally began to lose her country accent, the lazy drawl leaving her words to be replaced with a low, smooth alto. Sweetie Belle coached her through the transition, pointing out differences and helping shift her pitch and tone until her voice had been transformed completely. Gone was the country farmpony, replaced instead with the sultry voice of a smooth, melodious lounge songstress.

Applejack had discovered long ago her penchant for the particular genre of music that populated smoky gin joints in Manehattan and Neigh Orleans long ago. It was during her exodus from the farm in a desperate attempt to find her cutie mark that she found herself in Manehattan, staying with her aunt and uncle. The whole ordeal had been rather eye-opening for Applejack. Halfway because she realized she could never fit in with all the pomp and posturing, but also because she discovered something she’d never have imagined.

One night, she had been ushered along with her aunt and uncle to an uptown bar. It was such a change of pace from their typical dinner affair with all the fancy clothes and meager portions that Applejack had been thankful just for the change of scenery. She had soon found herself seated in a corner booth, far in the corner away from a low-lit stage boasting a microphone. The only reason she was even allowed in was with a promise that she would be quiet, and not make a racket as other fillies her age were wont to do. Being a responsible young pony, Applejack swore up and down she would sit quietly and not talk too loudly. She wouldn’t complain, she wouldn’t fret, and she wouldn’t even talk unless spoken to.

Not that she could have if she wanted to. They hadn’t even gotten their drinks from the waitress before a singer mounted that stage, and changed Applejack’s life forever. Were it not for her aunt and uncle on either side of her, reminding Applejack that she would never fit into such a high-class society, that she was just a humble farmpony trying her hardest to play at being mature, she might just have received her cutie mark then and there.

Sweet honey poured into her ears, turning the smoky atmosphere into a haven of swing music and sultry lyrics. Applejack was smitten, and her aunt took notice. After the show, she had confronted the young filly.

“Did you like listening to the singer, Applejack?”

“I did,” the shy young filly admitted. “She was a really good singer.”

“Well, I might not look it, but your auntie used to be a lounge singer herself.”

“Really?” Applejack’s wide eyes turned up at her aunt, the mare that previously, Applejack had thought to be too stuck-up to even consider singing about stallions and alcohol.

“Well, how do you think I met your uncle, hmm? Poor farmpony from Dodge Junction meets sultry lounge singer, and the rest is history.” She winked at her uncle, and Applejack found a new respect for the aloof mare her aunt had been up until that moment. “I can tell, Applejack,” her aunt continued. “Your voice is young, but with time and training, you might just be able to croon with the best of us. What do you say, love?” Aunt Orange stopped short, smiling down at the young, impressionable filly that Applejack had once been.

“How’d you like to grow up to be a lounge singer?”

That was almost twelve years ago. Now, Applejack was a grown mare, and her place was on her farm with her family. But still, that night lived on in her mind, making Applejack question her decision. It never took more than a glance at her flank, or at most a reprimand from her brother or her grandmother, before she realized that her destiny was in the earth and soil. But the sultry tunes of the lounge singers still hung on to her withers, following Applejack through her growing years.

It had nearly bankrupted them several times, but Granny Smith and Aunt Orange were adamant; they never let a summer go by without sending Appleack to Manehattan for a month. That whole month, Applejack gave up her country accent, and spoke with the smooth alto that came with years of training. Her aunt sent her to some of the best voice instructors, and many times mentored the young filly herself. Eleven months of every year, Applejack was a farmer, and she loved it. But once every summer, for one whole month, she got to live her secret dream.

She got to sing.

“She sells sea shells by the sea shore.”

“She sells sea shells by the sea shore.” Applejack mirrored Sweetie Belle perfectly, smiling as her vocal cords settled into their ‘singer’ mentality, and all trace of her twangy country drawl left her voice.

“Alright, that should do it.” Sweetie Belle smiled at her. “You’re getting better at that, every week.”

“Thank you, Sweetie Belle.” Applejack smiled back, wrapping the younger mare in a warm hug. “I owe you a lot. Promise me you’ll come this time?”

“I’ll do what I can, but you know Flair won’t let me inside just yet. Honestly,” Sweetie scoffed. “I’ve got my cutie mark now. No reason she shouldn’t let me at least sit in one of the booths.”

“Well maybe if you bought a drink now and then, she’d let you.”

“Blegh. Alcohol.” The young mare blanched, shaking her head fervently. “Makes my head all fuzzy.”

“Oh darling,” Rarity’s sweet voice preceeded the alabaster mare, her low hooffalls muffled and demure as she strode into the room. “That’s the best part. Alcohol blurs everything else, and leaves only the important parts sober.”

“And what parts are those?” Sweetie Belle jousted playfully.

“Why, the parts dear ‘Honeysuckle’ here speaks to when she sings.” Rarity purred, sliding up to the two ponies with a sway in her hips and half-lidded eyes. “The parts that make a mare a mare, and a stallion a stallion.”

“Yeah, you would know those parts.” Sweetie Belle groaned, rolling her eyes as she stood. “I’ll see if I can’t get in tonight, Applejack. No promises.”

“Thanks again, Sweetie Belle.” Applejack waved the young mare goodbye as Rarity took her place. “Rarity, good to see you again.”

“One week too long, my dear.” The alabaster unicorn rolled her hoof before draping it around Applejack’s neck. “You ought to consider taking a whole weekend one of these days… Flair would certainly love it, and you’d make a decent spot of money to boot.”

“Well, that’s the thing…” Applejack sighed. “Big Macintosh told me he might not mind it if I… took a week or two to stay Honeysuckle.”

“You don’t say!” Rarity beamed, her eyes dancing gleefully. “Why, Applejack, what a fortuitous happenstance! You see,” She leaned closer, mumbling into Applejack’s ear with a cautious glance towards the door that Sweetie Belle had left through. “I’ve been meaning to take Sweetie Belle to Canterlot to speak with Princess Celestia. I think, now that she has her cutie mark, she might have a place at the same school Twilight attended.”

“You think so?” Applejack blinked. “I knew her talent was magic and singing, but do you think she has a place in the school for gifted unicorns?”

“I think she might.” Rarity nodded sagely. “And far be it from me to deny any young filly their chance to succeed. So, as it stands, I might just need somepony to… house-sit.”

The pieces of the puzzle came together, and realization dawned on Applejack like a ton of bricks dawns on a pony ten stories below a broken rope.

“Oh Rarity, if you could make that happen, I-“

“Consider it done, darling.” Rarity cut her off with a grin. “You can stay in my home for as long as you need. If you need more time after we’re done in Canterlot, we can always go visit our parents in Manehattan. That way, you’ll have the makeup and dye on-hoof, and we can work the convenient angle of you being a friend from out-of-town.”

“I… I don’t know what to say, Rarity! It sounds almost too good to be true. I- I’m not even sure if I want to take that long, though.”

“Ah. There is that.” Rarity deadpanned, turning away from Applejack to face the vanity nearby. “I personally think it’s a foregone conclusion. But you take as long as you need to think about it. The offer stands, and if you feel like taking a week or however long to stay Honeysuckle, my house is yours.”

“Thank you, Rarity. That means the world to me.” Applejack followed her friend to the vanity, that familiar excitement in her chest having loosed its grip on her throat, but it remained, burning away inside her. It warmed her so thoroughly, so wonderfully, that she never wanted to let it go. Rarity began bustling through the myriad of bottles and brushes and containers that mystified Applejack still. They had been doing this, dressing her up as Honeysuckle for six months now. She was still as confused by all the makeup that she had been the first time, but Rarity cleared her throat and brandished a small, circular disk at her.

“This is blush. Pretty self-explanatory, but it helps color your cheeks. Just a light brush, nothing too much. It washes out in the shower, so you don’t need remover.”

“Eer…” Applejack arched her eyebrow. “I thought you were just going to… you know, do it? Like you always do?”

“Aah, but if you’re going to be on your own for a whole week, you’re going to need to touch yourself up.” Rarity quipped, popping open the disk to reveal a small mirror and a tiny tray of off-red looking clay. Her magic gripped the miniscule brush and dabbed it into the tray before brushing it across Applejack’s cheeks. In the vanity’s mirror, Applejack saw a blush darken her cheeks. “See? Just a gentle touch. Now-“

She moved through the rest of the products one at a time, pausing to explain what each one did and how to put it on. She even let Applejack apply her own eyeliner and mascara, getting used to doing it with her own hooves. Being an Earth Pony came with a few handicaps to off-set the muscles and hardiness, so there were a few applications that Applejack struggled with. But she had arrived at Rarity's home early that day anyways, since they had finished their work earlier on in the day. After a quick shower to clean up, she had met Sweetie Belle in Rarity's makeup room.

It took them maybe three times as long to finish applying the myriad of products, and Applejack would still need a fair bit of help with the dye, but she began feeling more and more confident about taking an entire week to stay as her counterpart. Product by product, inch by inch, 'Applejack' began to disappear, replaced with Honeysuckle. The only thing that remained was the mane dye, and that would take a skilled unicorn to apply.

"If you could get me word as soon as possible, I can send a letter out to Trottingham for a bottle of their heavy-duty dye," Rarity pulled a pair of polyester socks onto her hooves, to protect her own alabaster coat from the magical fluid. "This one fades out of your hair in twenty-four hours, but if you give me enough warning, I can get you one that will stay active for an entire week."

"That'd be lovely, Rarity." Applejack reclined in a special chair Rarity had re-appropriated from one of her older chaise lounges, letting her mane drape over the arm that had been covered in a protective plastic sheet.

"Alright. Brace for it."

"Do it." Applejack grit her teeth, preparing for the familiar sting of the spell working its magic. Rarity upended the bottle over her scalp, dripping a thick globule of magical liquid onto her mane. Immediately, the magic began to take effect, turning her sun-kissed blonde mane into a deep, raven black. The pinprick sensation of magic working on her follicles rushed into her scalp, stinging in a way that assured her the magic was working, even if that assurance came with a sore jaw.

Rarity worked at massaging the liquid into her mane thoroughly while the spell did the rest, sinking into her follicles and sheathing her mane in its darker-than-night spell. "Done," Rarity peeled her socks off and rolled up the plastic sheet while Applejack sat up to look in the mirror.

She was a different mare. Her burnt-orange coat stayed the same, but there were plenty of ponies in Equestria who shared that particular pigment with her. Where the biggest difference separated her from her former self was in her raven mane, and the way it hung straight and neat over half of her neck. She boasted a healthy curtain bang to hide behind, concealing half of her face, while the rest of her hair hung straight to its ends.

"Now for the tricky one." Rarity grimaced. Applejack shared the look with her before repositioning so that her tail hung over the arm of the modified chaise lounge.

"Just do it." Applejack whimpered, though she didn't deny the helpful offer from Rarity in the form of a tightly-knotted bit of fabric. She chomped down on it as hard as she could, clenching her eyes shut and preparing for the worst. Rarity upended the bottle of dye, and blistering pain erupted into Applejack's hindquarters.

She screamed into the knot.

"Honeysuckle! You made it! And gosh, you're early!" Flair, the bartender and owner of The Hay Bale, greeted her at the backstage entrance. Applejack smiled warmly at the comely mare, her hips swaying as she slunk inside of the warm bar.

"My train came in a little early. We made good time crossing the Trottingham pass."

"I should imagine! I wasn't expecting you for almost another hour. No matter! Come, come, make yourself at home. I have your room ready for you."

"Thank you, Flair." Applejack nuzzled the bartender lovingly, sharing a devious smile with her before shedding her heavy black coat. Beneath, she sported a revealing black cocktail dress, much more scandalous than her usual attire. She had been known to wear a myriad of dresses to these shows, thanks entirely to Rarity's ever-growing arsenal of fabric. She had worn sequins, blouses, full dresses, and even a Gala gown that had been modified from Rarity's own personal design. But this dress was something of a departure from the ordinary. It clung to her flanks like a desperate lover, slid over her neck in a thin line as delicate as a necklace, and fell to mid-thigh with a fair gap between her knees and her tail.

Any lucky pony might just get a glance at her nethers, should she have half a mind to lift her tail even a mild amount.

The revealing dress and excitement at the prospect of spending an entire week as Honeysuckle had Applejack feeling more excited than she had felt in a long while. Still, in the back of her mind, Applejack felt the doubt and trepidation from conflicting cutie marks and hobbies waging war.

"Shall I get you your usual?" Flair distracted Applejack's thoughts, bringing her back to reality with an arched eyebrow and that devious, charming smile she had perfected.

"Make it a full bottle tonight. I'm here early, and it's been a long week." Applejack returned, nodding towards the backstage door leading into the star's room. "You know where to find me."

"I'll bring it around. On the house, per usual."

"Thank you, Flair." Applejack gave the mare a teasing wink as she slipped into the star's room, closing the door behind her with a faint sigh. She flicked the light on, a naked bulb that sat above the room's vanity, and looked at herself in the mirror. Honeysuckle wore the dress like she was born for it, and the swell of her flanks managed to arouse even Applejack, even though she was staring at herself.

She took a few minutes to truly admire herself in the mirror, inspecting her mane and makeup, the swell of her hips, the hang of her tail... Her crimson lips betrayed a hint of lust and temptation with each demure smile, and her emerald eyes gleamed with arousal and hunger. She was horny. Playing somepony else was still as exciting and new to her as a foal's first tenuous steps. But six months into this game, Applejack knew good and well what her new appearance would do in the form of catcalls, remarks, and propositions.

Maybe she would find a handsome stallion to take her to his home tonight? Maybe it'd be a ravishing mare this time around? Or, maybe, just maybe, she'd catch the fancy of one of the many couples in town that had slightly more... open morals than the rest. She'd been privy to all three opportunities before, and the latter still remained at the fore of her memory. That night with Mr. and Mrs. Cake had been one of the best.

'Come on, Applejack... You ought not be thinkin' about that right before a show.'

'Oh, but where's the fun in letting that fantasy die?'

There they were again. Applejack looked in the mirror, and saw two reflections looking back at her. One, Honeysuckle, wore a devious smile and that same crimson lipstick that made Applejack jealous of the very mare she was. The other, just over her right shoulder, was herself, stetson and frayed blonde mane and all. That mare wore the disapproving scowl that Applejack had come to hate... If any mare could truly come to hate any part of herself.

'Yer an honest, kind pony, Applejack. Don't you think lyin' t' the whole town, singin' like you do, is bad enough?'

'Oh come on, now... What fun is honesty if a mare can't live her dream now and again?'

'It's a lie. An' it's dishonest. It goes against everythin' you know yerself to be, AJ. How do you think Mr. and Mrs. Cake would feel if they found out that mare they slept with was you? How would that make them feel? How would that make PINKIE feel?'

'Oh let it go, you old fuddy-duddy.' Honeysuckle waved a hoof, even if all four of Applejack's stayed planted on the hardwood floor. 'They'd probably be happy. They might even invite you over for another night or two...'

Applejack scowled in the mirror.

'Ah know how much these nights mean to you. To me. But jes' keep that in mind, alright? And fer land's sake, don't drink too much.'

Applejack turned away and walked through the door. The sliver of light from the hallway chased her away, and invited another mare.

"Honey? I brought your bottle. The jazz troupe is finishing up their set, and you're on in thirty."

"Thank you, Flair." Applejack wiped the introspective scowl from her lips with a sort of practiced ease that honestly frightened her, but she accepted the bottle of cider nevertheless. "How's the crowd looking out there?"

"Should be a full house tonight. Plenty of ponies in attendance." Flair straightened up and laid a hoof on the doorknob. "I'll be sure any of them come through security before they get backstage. Only with your permission."

"Thanks again, Flair." Applejack tipped the bottle of cider into a glass full of ice. She watched as the amber liquid poured itself over those white-wreathed rocks, filling up to the rim with the swishing, gargling sound that signaled refreshment and numbness awaited her.

'No, not numbness... A dulling, just like Rarity said. It makes everything else fuzzy, everything that doesn't matter.'

As the door shut, Applejack took the first drink of the night. The first of many.

The quartet preceded her down the hall, all five ponies silent save for the quiet shuffle of their hooves. Applejack had polished the entire bottle of cider before leaving her room, and that comfortable fuzziness had already descended over her senses. The lipstick-stained glass now held nothing but the melted orbs of ice that had once been cubes three times their size. The chill condensation from both the bottle and her glass was still on her hooves, making her feel wet.

A different sort of wetness, but nevertheless. Her crimson lips were pressed tight, trying to fight the mounting arousal that floated across her mind like wayward tendrils of oil in a warm bath. The dress hugged her flanks so snugly that she couldn't help but sway them side-to-side as she walked. Her tail swished back-and-forth, its weight sending even more tantalizing touches of pleasure shuddering through her torso.

"What'll we open with?" One of the twins spoke quietly, looking to Applejack expectantly. That had been the question Applejack was dreading the entire evening. In her entire repertoire of songs, there were only a few she wanted to sing right then. Songs about sex and temptation, seduction and alcohol and sweat and secret lovers that would almost guarantee some dashing stallion come fawning to her door, begging for one night with the sultry Honeysuckle.

A flash of Applejack, her unpainted lips turned down in a frown, flashed across her mind. And just like that, the fire in her core was quenched. She heaved a sigh, closing her eyes thoughtfully.

"We'll open with 'You Don't Love Me.'"

There was a pause as the accompaniment all came to a stop before her, looking back at Applejack with shocked expressions.

"Y-you're sure? Honey, is there something wrong? Somepony out there you've got your eyes on?" The pianist, a unicorn mare by the name of Ivory, lofted a brow at her. "You usually only sing that song last... On a slow night."

"Just open with it, okay?" Applejack wasn't in the mood to argue. She huffed at the mare, her eyes flashing. "You let me worry about anypony I might or might not have my eyes on."

"A-alright, okay!" Ivory yielded, her mouth twisted into a frown. "Have it your way. Sheesh."

The four of them took the stage, and Applejack watched them walk to the far end before closing her eyes.

'Take it easy, girl... It's just another show. You've sung dozens of times over the past six months. Hundreds of songs. A hoof-full of lovers, and more alcohol than you know what to do with... There's nothing different about tonight. It's just another show, another night singing...

'Another pony to share your bed in the morning?'

"Maybe." Applejack opened her eyes and set them on the microphone stand. "Maybe not."

She took the stage, basking in the warmth of the lights. Immediately, she could feel the eyes of everypony in the bar on her. The acrid scent of pipe smoke washed over her, flavored with good beer and better food. That was the smell of her beloved scene. It smelled as welcoming to her as the breeze rustling through apple leaves, as freshly-pressed applesauce...

It smelled like the promise of sex and booze.

'It smells like I'm Home.'

Chapter 3: Applejack

The warm lights of the stage dimmed, plunging her world into blackness for a few moments. The bar roared to life with hoof-beats and stomping, every stallion and mare in attendance cheering her performance. Indeed, it had been one of her best yet. The memory of the last eight songs she sang ran through her head one after the other, playing out the scene of her sultry half-lidded gaze sliding around the bar, setting on one pony or another. She gave plenty of teasing winks, a few coy smiles, and even one lusty full-bodied lick of her lips.

Her accompaniment shuffled over, breaking her out of her haze. She cast one last look out across the hazy atmosphere of the bar, trying to pierce through the ever-present, cloying cloud of pipe smoke. But with her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting after the stage lights had gone out, she saw nothing but a vague shadowy outline of any given pony.

’Such a shame, too… That stallion leaning against the bar couldn’t take his eyes off of you. And he looked to be from out-of-town, too.’ Applejack led the five of them off-stage and into the dimly-lit backstage area. She didn’t even wait a heartbeat before seeking out the burly pony standing by the door that separated backstage from the bar.

“Anypony.” She quipped. “Up to three.”

“Uuh.” He blinked at her, his brow furrowing. “Are… are you sure, Honeysuckle?”

“Positive.” Applejack gave him a stoic nod, looking longingly at the door leading out into the bar. “Let them to my room.”

“A-alright, you’re the boss.” He shrugged and turned his gaze to the door, waiting to do his job. Applejack turned tail to him and made for her room, brushing past the twins on her way. She’d have made it were it not for Ivory stepping in front of her.

“Honeysuckle, are you feeling alright?” She asked, levelling a serious look into her eyes. Applejack blinked at her before frowning.

“I’m fine, Ivory. Please move.”

“Alright, I will, I just gotta ask if you’re doing okay. I know there are nights when you want to sing what you want to sing, but it gets a little old when all we do is listen to you fawning over any pony with half a mind to come to your room.” Ivory stepped out of the way, but her under-hoofed comment couldn’t go unanswered. Applejack glared at her, a fire in her breast to match the rampaging inferno of desire in her haunches.

“Excuse me?” She growled, stepping towards Ivory. “What did you just say?” For all her meekness (both on-stage and between the sheets,) Ivory stood her ground. She squared up opposite Applejack, an angry look on her eyes.

“I get it, Honeysuckle. You’re horny. Shit, we all are. But at least you could tone it down a little? I like playing those songs just as much as you love singing them, but seriously, take it easy next time. I don’t know if I want my singer giving the whole bar ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

Applejack felt a lump well in her throat, halfway between bucking this poor bitch halfway to next week, and half between crying because she had just been called out on the one thing that had been haunting her thoughts every time she put on the disguise of Honeysuckle. She mulled over those warring thoughts for a few moments before turning her back on Ivory. She flicked her tail out, catching the mare across her muzzle, and cast a coy smile over her withers.

“Well if you think you’re pony enough to handle me tonight, feel free to back up your talk. Otherwise,” She turned forwards, her eyes set on the door to her room. “You can eat your words, and leave me be.”

“Honey, I-“ The pianist was cut off by the door slamming shut, product of Applejack kicking it hard enough to shake the frame in the wall. She stared at the mirror, at the solitary bulb burning bright above it. Her chest heaved with deep breaths, and tears threatened to spill over at any moment and ruin Rarity’s makeup job. The two mares appeared in the mirror again, the sultry Honeysuckle and the stoic Applejack.

’She’s got a point, Sugarcube.’

‘What point? She’s just jealous, you rocked the house and you’re going to get twice as much tail tonight than she’s ever had in her life.’

‘Y’all keep tellin’ yerself that, Honeysuckle.’ Applejack shook her head with a slight frown. ’But ya know jes’ as well as ah do, she ain’t the kind t’ pull her bucks. When Ivory speaks, she says the truth. An’ that, more n’ anythin’, ‘s what put her in yer bed the first time.’

Applejack turned and walked through the closed door, vanishing and leaving nothing but herself in the mirror. Wide-eyed, trembling Honeysuckle. Nothing but Applejack dressed up with makeup and a slutty dress, all so she could get her rocks off with somepony new each weekend.

’That’s it, isn’t it?’ Her own inner monologue started, absent the apparitions of her duality. She approached the mirror slowly, looking at her disguise intently. ’It’s not about the singing, or the atmosphere, or the music… this is just a way for you to get another pony between your legs, huh? Applejack would never be able to live with herself if she slept around this much. But Honeysuckle? Sure, you can sleep around all you like. Each weekend it’s a new pony, a new crush, a new bit of meat to fuck you silly.’

The first tear threatened to spill over, quivering on the cusp of her eyelid, like a boulder teetering atop a potential landslide. She knew if she let that tear drop, disaster would follow. It might even tear down her entire disguise, and render this entire farce sterile. If she cried now, she’d end up caving to her honesty, and telling every single pony involved in this debacle who she really was, and just how desperate she had been to live another life. It’d all come crashing down on her head, and rob her of everything she had built these past six months.

The tear fled back into her eye as a timid knock came from her door. She looked at the mare in the mirror one last time, making sure she looked okay. Her eyes had gone back to their half-lidded, sultry look, and no evidence of her inner struggle marred the perfect mask of demure temptation she wore so easily; almost like a second skin at this point.

“Come in.” She cooed, picking up an eyeliner brush to make it appear as if she were busy touching up her makeup.

“H-hey, Honeysuckle.” It was Ivory again, though she looked deflated compared to just a minute ago. Applejack looked at the off-white mare in the mirror over her shoulder, halfway between telling her to leave, and asking what she was doing. Instead, Applejack opted for silence, letting Ivory approach her sheepishly.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line.” Ivory started, her voice quavering. “I wanted to apologize. I never should have called you out like that; it was poor form. It’s just- ugh.” She hung her head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m so damn stressed, it’s like I’m about to burst.”

“Oh?” Honeysuckle lofted an eyebrow at her, a coy grin spreading her lips apart. “What’s got you torn up, love?”

Ivory paused for a few moments, looking at Applejack through the mirror. She looked to be waging a war of her own inside, a war not unlike the one still raging within Applejack’s torn mind. But her own trepidation wasn’t the focus of this particular conversation. Beneath the shallow apology and sheepish demeanor to be expected of the shy pianist, there was an underlying current of desire and arousal. Maybe she was reading into it, or maybe it was the remnants of the entire bottle of cider still buzzing in her mind, but Applejack could tell. Ivory was on the cusp of asking her to bed that night.

And Applejack was seriously considering the offer.

After almost a full minute of silence, Ivory spoke. “It’s been almost a month since I’ve been laid. I guess it’s just gotten to me, Honey… I feel like a spring, ready to burst at any moment…” She let out a hot breath, closing her eyes as she hung her head. “I guess I just saw a little of myself in you tonight, and I got jealous.”

“Oh, is that all?” Applejack gave an easy laugh, turning from her mirror to face Ivory fully. She walked over, her hooves open. “Come here, love, I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” Ivory collapsed into the hug with a sigh, nuzzling into Applejack’s neck. Normally, the shy mare would have woodenly embraced her, maybe looked all the more sheepish for their history between the sheets. But that soft touch, the gentle movement of her muzzle into Applejack’s neck, told her everything she needed to know.

“You’re not about to leave her alone, are you?” Applejack purred, her lips hovering a scant inch over Ivory’s ear.

“N-no,” Ivory balked, shuddering faintly. “I… I wasn’t hoping to.”

“Aah, and it’s so not like you to take a random mare from the bar with you to your motel…” Applejack chuckled. Ivory blushed so hot she could feel it on her own coat, spurring Applejack on. “Well, I did say if you felt like you could handle me…”

“Right.” Ivory whimpered, pulling away from the hug to look Applejack in her eyes. “Sh-shall we, then?”

“Hmm,” Applejack groaned, leaning in until her lips were naught but a breath away from Ivory’s. “Something about ‘springs’ and ‘tension’ and ‘relief,’ I think…” She sealed the deal with a quick kiss, pressing her lips hungrily against Ivory’s. The pianist surged into that embrace, her thin lips puckered hard as she kissed Applejack back with all she was worth. When they broke apart, Applejack leaned back enough to let the pianist see her tongue peek out to lick her crimson lips lasciviously. “Lead the way, love.”

They slunk out of Applejack’s room, seeing and being stopped by nopony, though Applejack did pause long enough to meet the security’s seeking gaze, and indicate she was already on her way out with somepony else. After the guard nodded his understanding, they were home free. Applejack wrapped herself in her heavy coat and leaned against Ivory as they stepped out of the warm bar and into the chill Ponyville night. Snow clouds hovered on the horizon, playing harbinger to a cold market tomorrow, but the otherwise clear night sky illuminated the dim streets of Ponyville on their way towards the train station, and Ivory’s motel room.

The travelling accompaniment liked to cut corners when it came to housing. Many nights, they would stay with local friends (or in the case of their drummer, the pegasus Hi-Hat, family.) Ivory was the only one of the four who had no friends in Ponyville, and as such paid for a modest room in Ponyville’s lone motel. There was a shiny new hotel being built opposite the train station from this part of town, but for the time-being, Honeysuckle and Ivory would have to make do with a small room and a bed made for one.

At least there was plenty of liquor to be had. Ivory led them into her motel room, kicking the door closed behind Honeysuckle, and smiling as she went to fetch her ever-present assortment of top-shelf hooch from the free fridge that came with the room.

“I can go get us some ice, if you’d like…?” She offered, but Honeysuckle just grinned at her and shook her head.

“It’s cold enough, just get me the usual.”

“Cider, then.” Ivory grinned and set about to pouring two full glasses of delicious, amber liquid. Applejack downed her glass outright, relishing the burn in her throat, and the fuzzy feeling returning in force to her mind. Ivory could only match half of her pace, but finished her glass after one breathy break.

“Well then,” Applejack cooed, her eyes dancing with glee. “Shall we?”

“After you, Honey.” Ivory purred, sweeping a hoof out to the bed. Applejack lifted one hoof, giving them both a moment’s pause.

“You know the rules.”

“Right. Light’s out.” Ivory grinned as her horn flared to life for half a moment, flicking the light off and plunging the motel room into darkness. Applejack moved as if out of memory, sliding up onto the bed, her legs splayed open in invitation. Ivory crawled up between her rear hooves, already breathing heavy. Her hot breath washed over Applejack’s thighs, trailing its way up to her face.

“Hmmn~” She moaned into the kiss, tasting the cider inside Ivory’s mouth. The slender unicorn lay fully on top of her, wrapping her hooves around Applejack’s back to pull her into a tight embrace. A single leg rose between Applejack’s thighs, teasing her with the first tantalizing brush to her damp marehood. The slippery, wet kiss was doing wonders to stoke that particular blaze, and she flexed her core muscles to seep a single droplet of liquid that smeared onto Ivory’s thigh.

They kissed for a few long minutes, lavishing attention on one another’s tongues while Applejack desperately ground her ever-slickening marehood into Ivory’s hot thigh. She could feel the other mare’s arousal building as well, betrayed by the ever-quickening breath between the two of them. The room was completely dark, as Applejack was always adamant it was. It wouldn’t do to strip her dress off only to be discovered with her own cutie mark. Not that Ivory would recognize her, but there were other ponies she had done this with that would. The cakes, for one…

Carrot Top, for another.

“Haah.” Ivory finally broke away from the kiss, her hot, cider-tainted breath washing over Applejack’s face. “Can I?” She panted, sliding one hoof down to the dock of Applejack’s tail.

“Only if you promise to make me cum.” Applejack whimpered, squeezing Ivory’s thigh between her own. Ivory just gave a soft exhalation that could have been a lusty grin before pulling at the zipper of her dress. Applejack sat up to let Ivory work at it, squirming her hips and assisting with the tricky bit of fabric until it slid down and off. She kicked the pesky dress to the side, opening her legs nice and wide for Ivory to settle between. She took that invitation openly, plastering her stomach to Applejack’s nethers as her mouth set to work kissing her neck and chest with lavish, long, warm kisses. Each new one sent a tingle of pleasure down her body, culminating in her core with a prodigious amount of arousal. She could feel the liquid coursing down her backside, over her anus, and into the dyed strands of her raven tail. Her breath hitched in her throat as Ivory continued her slow descent, painting the entire route with breathy, wet kisses.

When Ivory arrived at her destination, it was with a clipped cry from Applejack, and more than a bit of feminine arousal. The first shock of pleasure rocked into her core, shooting straight from her dripping cunt up into her chest. Applejack’s eyes crashed shut as her back arched, driven back down into the sheets by two insistent hooves from Ivory. She rose against that restraint, but Ivory just put more pressure on her, even as the pianist’s tongue lashed against her slick pussy.

She was ruthless, paying equal attention to Applejack’s insides and her swollen clitoris. She had this technique that drove her to the edge of orgasm and held her there, where she would suck Applejack’s clit into her mouth and run it back-and-forth over her teeth rapidly. As soon as she was about to surrender to a blissful orgasm, though, Ivory would lavishly lap at her entire pussy, drooling and spreading more wetness down there. Applejack was on the edge and ready to blow, but Ivory wouldn’t let her.

Not without some provocation.

“Ivory!” Applejack’s gravelly alto voice cried out in exasperation. “Ivory, please! I’m gonna cum!”

“Hmmn.” The skilled unicorn moaned between her legs, flicking her clitoris once more. This time, she didn’t stop. Just like Applejack remembered, the poor pianist couldn’t resist the mare she was pleasing when they started to beg.

With a leg-shaking exhalation of bliss, Applejack surrendered to bliss.

And yet, in the back of her mind, an orange pony in a Stetson was frowning at her, and the word she spat hurt more than she had thought it would.

”Slut.”

Ivory’s chest rose and fell evenly, betraying her partner for the evening had fallen asleep. Applejack lay opposite her, watching the moonlight that bled in around the motel’s drapes paint the faint outline of the sleeping mare. She watched Ivory sleep for a few more moments before slowly extricating herself from the blankets. Finding her shed dress in the near-dark was a chore, and she didn’t even bother putting it on. Instead, she crumpled the complex fabric up and crammed it into the pocket of her coat.

The chill night air bit into her face as she slowly opened the door and left the motel, sparing nothing but a passing glance back at the door to Ivory’s room. When she awoke, the pianist would be alone, with nothing but the smell of a dozen orgasms and a guilty post-coitus cider on the air. Turning into the night, Applejack set her sights on the Carousel Boutique, and the solace of Rarity’s all-purpose makeup-and-dye removing spell.

As was to be expected, the upstairs light was on, and Rarity answered Applejack’s soft knock in a short minute.

“Aah, you’re back late.” Rarity wore her reading glasses, and Applejack could smell the remnants of wine on her breath.

“I have to help Big Mac with the last market tomorrow… eer, today.” Applejack sighed, slipping inside as Rarity stepped back.

“Aah, and here I’d hoped you would have found somepony to stay the entire night with. No matter, Sweetie Belle is staying with Scootaloo for the night. You can sleep in her room, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Rarity.” Applejack smiled at her friend as she shed her coat. The alabaster unicorn didn’t miss a beat, as she levitated the crumpled dress out of the coat’s pocket.

“I’m glad you came right over, then. Come on, let us shower.” She led the two of them upstairs and into her bathroom, where she proceeded to crank the shower on hot. Applejack followed her into the tub, letting her frumpy mane and tail soak down. Rarity wasted no time, her horn glowing as she began using her magic to scrub and cleanse Applejack’s face. Slowly, inch by inch, Honeysuckle began to disappear, and Applejack took her place. Save for the raven mane, but Rarity set to work on that shortly after her face was cleaned.

“And there you go.” She smiled, having stripped the dye out of Applejack’s hair neatly. She pulled the sodden strands over her shoulder, smiling faintly at the blonde mane she had always known and loved.

“Thanks, Rares.” Applejack sighed, feeling her vocal chords untighten, falling back into their default state. “It means the world t’ me, havin’ you help out with this.”

“Anything for a friend.” Rarity teased, kissing Applejack’s cheek tenderly. “After all, what would I be if not the Element of Generosity?”

“Right.” Applejack grimaced, not missing the subtle reminder that her own element was at war within her own mind. Rarity set to work on her tail, leaving the humble farm pony to mull her thoughts and actions over.

The shower was over, and Applejack fetched her Stetson from a downstairs rack before retiring to Sweetie Belle’s room. She had slept over at Rarity’s quite a few times in the past six months, having bailed on a night of sex early in order to avoid being discovered as Applejack in the dawn’s light by an early-rising lover. Some nights, Rarity herself would play host to Applejack’s lascivious fantasy, and the alabaster unicorn was nothing if not skilled with the fairer sex. It had been some time since Applejack had slept with Rarity, though. For what reason, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that it felt awkward or wrong, just that there were more lovers out there than Applejack could stand to pass up.

Still, she fell into a fitful, uneasy sleep alone that night. In her dreams Applejack and Honeysuckle stood on opposite sides of a mirror. Which one was her, and which one was the reflection?

Chapter 4: Octavia

The day dawned bleak and grey, with the faintest tendrils of snow floating across the window. A flat light bled into Octavia’s guest room, confusing her as to what time of day it was. It could have been past noon for all she knew. Thankfully enough, the incumbent headache that came with copious alcohol consumption had resolved to beating only a small portion of her brain out of her skull, and the dull throb was bearable. Along with the faint musk from last night was another scent, one that awakened a different sort of hunger in her gut; completely different from the ravenous lust she felt last night with a hoof between her thighs.

After regretfully slipping out of the sheets and making her way to the bathroom for a small bit of water, Octavia descended into the glorious smell of hash browns and eggs.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Lyra stood next to a hot stove, pushing eggs around a skillet while a heaping plate of hash browns floated into the dining room. “Sleep well?”

“Like a foal.” Octavia yawned, fetching a glass of orange juice for herself. “What about you? Have a good night?”

“Oh, you know, slept okay… Got some interesting listening material as well.”

The glass slipped out of her hoof and tipped over, spilling what little orange juice Octavia had poured for herself. Lyra burst into laughter, even as she manipulated a nearby towel to mop up the mess.

“You’re blushing so badly right now.”

“Can you blame me?!” Octavia sputtered, pouring another glass with shaking hooves. Indeed, her cheeks felt as if they had been lit on fire. “I’m so sorry, Lyra, I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything…”

“Hardly! It’s okay, Octavia. I get that you’re smitten with Honeysuckle. If I were into mares, I’d be half-tempted to clop myself into a coma every night as well. But relax, I don’t hold it against you.” She shut the stove top off and shoveled two eggs each onto separate plates. “But don’t expect me to do your laundry for you.”

“Fair enough.” Octavia muttered into her glass, still blushing like a schoolfilly. She honestly hadn’t intended to keep Lyra up. She knew she had a tendency to be vocal during such activities, but it appeared as if her efforts to keep it to a dull roar had fallen short. ’I can’t blame her, Lyra’s a light sleeper and it’s not like I gave her any time to even get TO sleep… Still, if I plan on having that mare, it looks like I can’t bring her back here…’

“Breakfast is served.” Lyra bubbled, nudging Octavia with her hip on her way past. “I made them like you like them; over easy, and the hash browns are extra-crispy.”

“Thank you. Old habits die hard, huh?”

“It helps that I’ve taken my own over-easy since music school.” Lyra set both plates on the dining room table and sat behind her own, digging in immediately. Octavia followed with the proper decorum, but still ate more than her fair share of delicious food. Somehow, the juice tasted sweeter, the hash browns more hearty, and the eggs more fair than the simple food back in Canterlot. There was even freshly-churned yogurt to be had, sprinkled with ripe blueberries and dry oatmeal. Feeling more full than recent memory could be bothered to recall, Octavia leaned back in her chair and smiled across the table at her old friend.

“So, any plans today?”

“Sadly, yes.” Lyra groaned. “I’ve got to go tune an old grand piano in the town hall, and then one of the jazz accompaniment’s contrabass’ snapped a tuning knob, so I’ll repair that before they leave for the week. I’m actually going to be out all day. I’m sorry, Tavi, normally I’d have spent the day showing you around town and keeping you company.”

“No big deal.” Octavia shrugged. “I’m kind of in the mood for a relaxing day inside anyways… Oh, though I thought I heard somepony mention a market today?”

“That’s right.” Lyra smiled. “It’ll be the last of the season. I thought the weather crew would hold off on the snow until this afternoon when it was over, but what do I know about clouds?” Lyra gestured out of the window at the light snowfall. Nothing had accumulated yet, but thin white flakes were drifting past the window nevertheless.

“Well, I’ve never been to a market, so I think I might indulge.” Octavia nodded, downing the last of her juice. “Might want to stock up on some produce anyways.”

“I’ll stop by Bon Bon’s cart and tell her to give you a discount. Trust me; you don’t want to go two months without some of her candies.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Octavia smiled at her friend, stretching languorously as Lyra levitated their plates back into the kitchen to be washed. The mint-colored unicorn slid out of her own chair and made for the front door, donning a scarf and boots as she went.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“I’ll live, Lyra.” Octavia waved her goodbye. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” She opened the door and stepped out, ushering in a faint breeze that wafted over Octavia’s face like the tantalizing kiss of a lover. It was a welcome chill, but reminded her that she had things to do that day. Alas, no mare left the house after a bit of intimacy without washing themselves, so she resolved to taking a bath and drying off before leaving. The water was nice and hot, and did wonders to help relieve the remnants of her hangover that weren’t chased away by the delicious food. Mane styled, coat cleaned and dried, Octavia left Lyra’s home an hour later to make her way into town.

The snowfall was indeed light, the pinpricks of ice melting on her face the moment they made contact. She hardly felt the need for a scarf, as whatever light breeze there was had already died down. The dull, grey overcast sky was a welcome sight to match her mood. It was a perfect day to stay in, maybe curl up with a good book, and perhaps a mug of stiff coffee. She lamented her decision of morning beverage as the town square came into view, laden with carts and happy ponies in equal measure.

’It’s your first market, Octavia. Try not to embarrass yourself.’ She slowed her walk to an idle crawl, taking plenty of time to watch the transactions taking place, listening in on conversations here and there. It seemed the entire process was run on a barter system, with variant prices for goods. She found it difficult to pin down which bits of produce were selling for how much. One mare purchased a dozen tomatoes for three bits, but the stallion after her paid four bits for half as many. Still, this day wasn’t destined to last forever and Octavia was nothing if not well-off. Her own saddlebags practically jingled with money begging to be spent, and several late-season fruits and vegetables were catching her eye.

“Hello.” She greeted a corn vendor cheerily, browsing the assorted ears. “How much for a dozen?”

“Shucked is two apiece, un-shucked is one.” The elder stallion quipped in a rather business-like manner. Octavia frowned at him curiously.

“I’m sorry, ‘shucked?’ What does that mean?”

“Shucked.” The stallion waved a hoof over the naked, yellow product. “Un-shucked.” He indicated the green-clad ear, still wrapped in its protective leaf.

“Oh. Uuh, I’ll take a dozen un-shucked, I guess.” After handling the transaction and tucking the dozen ears into her saddlebags, Octavia cast a wary glance over her withers at the farmpony. She had always heard tales of Ponyville’s legendary kindness; how ponies here were among the friendliest and accepting in all of Equestria. But that stallion had been awfully curt in dealing with her. Shaking off the thought, she turned to a lettuce-and-celery vendor.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” The mare blinked at her, not even bothering to spare her a proper greeting before turning back to the other pony she had been speaking with. Octavia deadpanned, browsing the assorted heads of lettuce and celery stalks. There was no sign with prices or tags, so Octavia lifted a hoof tenuously.

“E-excuse me, how much is-“

“What?” The mare turned to her with a glare.

“I’m sorry, I was asking how mu-“

“Two bits apiece.”

“Oh.” Octavia flagged, stepping back a little. “Th-that’s a little expensive, isn’t it…?”

“Two bits apiece.” The mare re-affirmed before turning back to her conversation. It seemed to be something about another farmer’s daughter getting her cutie mark. Octavia felt a twinge of anger pull at the corner of her mouth. Angrily, she turned and stalked away. ’I didn’t even want salad anyways.’

The next two vendors were much the same. It seemed they had all the time in the world to chat with their friends and other ponies that lived in town, but turned cold and business-like with Octavia. No, not even business-like, they were just plain rude. ’At least in Canterlot, the grocery attendants smile at you… what IS it with ponies out here? Do I really stick out that much?’ An angry cloud descended over Octavia, and she ended up paying whatever price they quoted her without a second thought. Furthermore, she had more jargon and country-speak thrown at her than she knew what to do with. Many times, she had to clarify what she had just been told, or ask for more laypony’s terms.

In short, the reason why she was even in this town was beginning to rear its ugly head, and remind her that she had been unceremoniously excused from the symphony. The words of the letter, still in her saddlebags, came back to her as she stomped from one cart to the next.

’Dear Octavia Philharmonica,

We the board of directors for the Canterlot Royal Symphony have deemed it fit you take a sabbatical leave in order to cool your temper and re-discover your creative spark. Multiple accounts from your fellow performers have informed us of your lackluster playing, poor musicianship, and bullheaded attitude. To say nothing of the damaged grand piano, which was an antique aged well over six hundred years.

You will be billed for the replacement/repair, and your salary frozen during your leave. We hope this time away from the symphony will help show you your creative spark, and allow you a chance to evaluate what is truly important to you.

Very Sincerely,

-Treble Cleft

Being forced to leave for damaging the piano, Octavia could understand. But her performances lately had been some of her best, at least in her opinion. To hear that other symphony members weren’t impressed had been the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Octavia wrote one letter to Lyra, waited a day for the response, and then left for Ponyville.

The back-woods, uncultured hick town she now found herself in, given the cold shoulder by ponies who couldn’t tell a crescendo from a trombone.

“Well hello there!”

“Huh?” A cheery voice stopped Octavia in her tracks, and she hadn’t even realized that she’d been walking without looking where she was going.

“Y’all don’t like like yer from ‘round these parts.” The twangy country accent of this pony made Octavia’s eye twitch. She looked the mare up and down, from her worn Stetson to the mud on her orange hooves. ’Funny, she’s got the same coat color as Honeysuckle…’ As Octavia’s eyes travelled higher, though, she was disappointed. ’Same eyes, but Honeysuckle’s hair was as black as the night itself… Not that dirty, unwashed blonde. Stupid mare, she probably doesn’t know the first thing about music, or high society…’

She tried to fight the glower on her lips, but it persisted. “I’m not.” She clipped, glancing around at the bustling market still in full-swing around them. “I come from Canterlot.”

“Well shoot, y’all shoulda told me sooner! Ah thought you looked differen’t. Mah name’s Applejack, pleased to meetchya.”

“Applejack.” Octavia blinked at the mare, trying to place the name. She thought she might have heard it before, but placing it was escaping her in light of her impending disgust at the uncultured manner of speech. “Well then, I guess you’re selling-“ She glanced at the cart Applejack stood beside, blinking at the full, round apples resting in a heap. “Apples.”

“Eeyup! That’s our trademark, fer sure! Ah’m a proud apple farmer, always have been, always will be.”

One glance at her flanks betrayed the mark, and Octavia fought to groan. ’By the stars, even her cutie mark just screams ‘Apples!’ What a truly unfortunate mare.’

“Right.” Octavia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll take a few.”

“Now, don’t look so down.” Applejack gave Octavia a pat on the back, which felt more like getting a loving kiss from the business end of a sledgehammer. “Y’all ought to cheer up!”

“Forgive me,” Octavia stepped away from the dirty farmer with a scowl. “My reception in Ponyville has been less-than-stellar.”

“Ah take it you ain’t met Pinkie Pie yet.”

“No, I haven’t.” Octavia grimaced. “Who in the blazes is Pinkie Pie?”

“Why, our resident party pony! She always has a way t’ make a pony smile. Y’all could say it’s her special talent. Now come on, let’s uuh… Gosh, how does she say it?” Applejack scratched her mane thoughtfully. “Oh! Let’s turn that frown upside down!”

“Forgive me if I decline.” Octavia grimaced, stepping back from the beaming earth pony. “I just want some apples, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Alright, look, sugarcube.” Applejack dropped her own smile and stepped forward, beckoning Octavia closer. She leaned in reluctantly, fearing another weighty pat on the back. “It ain’t no big secret y’all are from out-uh-town, an’ it doesn’t help that yer makin’ a big scene.”

“Making a scene?” Octavia reared back, scrunching her nose. “How am I making a scene?”

“Well…” Applejack lifted a hoof out to the side, and Octavia spared a look around. Truthfully enough, ponies around them had stopped and were watching the two of them with interest. “Look, ah’m tryin’ t’ be friendly here. Yer new to town, so y’all might not know how things are done ‘round here. Ponies tend t’ talk to those they’ve known, and talkin’ to anypony else is new to them. It don’t help none that half the farmers here ain’t seen a castle like that one there, which we’re all thankful for, but was kind of a culture shock.”

“Tell me about it.” Octavia felt the heat of anger well up inside of her once more, fueled half by the condescending letter still burning a hole in her saddlebags, half by simple anger at being unable to buy produce at a fair price.

“It don’t help none gettin’ angry, neither.” Applejack glowered. “Ah’m tryin t’ help.”

“Well, thank you but no thank you.” Octavia flipped her mane over her neck and stared Applejack down. “I just want some apples, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Golly,” Applejack shook her head sadly. “You try to be nice to one mare, an’ you get spit on. That’ll teach me, ah guess.”

“What?! I’m not… spitting on you! I’m being perfectly civil!” Octavia bristled, staring daggers at the farm pony’s backside. Applejack just leveled a stare at her over her withers, one eyebrow cocked as if to say ‘oh really?’ Rather than belabor the point, Applejack shoveled a dozen apples into a small sack and passed them off plaintively.

“How much?” Octavia grumbled, fishing her ever-lightening coinpurse out of her saddlebags.

“On th’ house.” Applejack lifted a hoof with a grimace. “Ah ain’t ‘bout to ask fer bits from somepony who cain’t accept simple charity. Iffen y’all won’t listen to reason an’ let me help you out, maybe you need them apples more than ah need the bits. Now, Octavia, wasn’t it?” Applejack arched an eyebrow, and Octavia gave her a stoic nod. “Ah suggest y’all run along home an’ cool down a bit. Won’t do you no good losin’ yer temper in the middle of market.”

Octavia was struck for a moment, staring Applejack dead in her green eyes for a few long, tense moments. Anger and disgust welled up inside of her, threatening to spill over at any moment. Many thoughts ran through her head, from bucking that smug look off Applejack’s stupid face to dumping the donated apples onto the ground and squashing every last one of them right in front of her. She was so close to snapping, just one touch from going over the edge, but something gave her pause.

“Thank you.” She managed to grumble through grit teeth. She took the apples and slid them into the last free bit of space in her saddlebag, turning tail on Applejack and the market as a whole. It was a long, cold walk home, and the snow had finally made up its mind to start falling in earnest. Flurries swept in behind her, sending icy lances of pain biting into her coat all along her flanks and stomach. The cold air tempered her fury, though she nursed dark thoughts all the way to Lyra’s house.

Weighed down with produce, feeling cold and more than a little angry, Octavia could hardly remember going inside, packing away her purchases, or even dumping her empty bags at the door. She certainly didn’t recall grabbing a full bottle of gin from Lyra’s liquor cabinet, nor popping the cap and drinking a few pulls straight from the bottle.

She didn’t even remember the rest of that night.

“Tavi.”

“Hmmn.” She groaned, curling into a tighter ball.

“Tavi. Come on, wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” She scrunched her eyes, feeling the reluctant strings of consciousness pulling her out of a dreamy haze.

“No, not five more minutes, five seconds at best. Come on, wake up or I’ll be forced to take you upstairs.”

“Wha?” That forced her eyes open, and Octavia ascended into full wakefulness at a snail’s pace. She blinked unevenly at the fuzzy surroundings, wiping a hoof over her sleep-crusted eyes blearily. “Whuzzat?”

“You’re gonna freeze down here. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” After clearing one pesky bit of crust from the corner of her eye, Octavia finally got a decent look at her surroundings. She was in Lyra’s living room, the fire in the hearth having died out long ago. She still clutched the half-empty bottle of gin between her forehooves, holding onto it as if it were a piece of flotsam and she a shipwrecked pony. It took almost a full minute of getting her mind to work, despite the attempts of a developing headache to beat her brain out of her temples and the churning sensation in her stomach doing its best to empty what food she’d had the presence of mind to eat.

“Need some help?” Lyra laid a hoof on her withers, further shaking Octavia from her post-alcohol-induced nap.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then. There we go.” Lyra scooped the bottle out of her hooves and gingerly picked Octavia up with a glimmer of magic. Rather than fight it, Octavia let herself be levitated off of the couch and up the stairs into her guest bedroom. She cast one longing look at the bathroom, and that was all it took for Lyra to deposit her near the toilet.

“Hrk.” She upended once, twice, into the bowl, only idly aware that a thin field of golden-colored magic was holding her mane out of the way.

“Seriously.” Lyra sighed. “It’s just like music school all over again.”

“But with better alcohol.” Octavia managed to choke between heaving. Lyra just chuckled, rubbing Octavia’s back warmly.

“I dunno, cheap beer looks better coming up than expensive gin.”

“I’m sorry, Lyra.” Octavia leaned back from the bowl after a few solid minutes, groaning inwardly. “I’m a hot mess.”

“Aren’t we all?” Lyra flushed and wiped at Octavia’s muzzle with a spare towel. “I knew you’d be like this, ever since you sent the letter. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your self-destructive downward spiral of depression… But I will stop you from taking that last step, should it come to it. And I’ll be there to pull you out of it when you’re ready.”

“What?” Octavia hardly heard the confusing jumble of words Lyra had just spoken, her entire body throbbing with the oncoming headache.

“Nothing, Tavi.” Lyra rolled her eyes, picking her up once more. “Just get some rest, if you can.”

“Th-thanks…” Octavia moaned, curling up under the comforter that Lyra draped over her. She heard a faint metallic clank, and peeked one cautious eye out to see a mop bucket next to her bed. Lyra’s tail flicked as she rounded the corner. The upstairs hall light flicked off, her door closed, and Octavia found herself alone once more.

With nothing but a bucket and dark thoughts to keep her company.