Hot Bruises

Cock-a-doodle-do. Morning around the ol’ apple orchard. It was late in the summer, with autumn just around some sort of metaphorical corner. The signs were all there. A few leaves that had blown into the barn were already turning yellow, much to my happiness. I couldn’t wait for autumn.

In fact, as a memento towards my love for the season, I decided to pick up one of those leaves. I brushed through a few until I found the least broken one of the bunch. I held it up to high noon sunlight. It shined like a champion. Then, I tucked it into the brim of my cowboy hat, specifically  the right side, allowing it to join the ranks of my other trinkets. I knew all of their positions by heart. A red hummingbird feather on the left, three pins on the front (each one from Babs, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo), and a gold chain I found on the table at a seafood restaurant one time wrapped up in the back, sitting comfortably on the brim. I like to pretend it belonged to Hay-Z at one point. Now I jingle whenever I walk.

With that done, I picked the bucket of apples back up (with one hand) and walked it into the barn. Big sister Applejack was already there, and despite the hot weather she’s still insisting on wearing her heavy plaid button-up. Then again, she got up before me, way early in the morning, so I guess baggy clothes were practical four hours ago. Anyway, she took the bucket from me with a cheery grunt and placed it with the others. They were all in a perfect stack.

“Now that’s the kind ’a organization our cozy lil’ corner of Ponyville is known for!” Applejack said, adjusting her ten-gallon, brushing her calloused hands off on her jeans and folding her arms. “We’re gonna rock this cider season like a hurricane.”

“In a wind turbine,” I add, raising my finger. “Which is also in a blender set to max.”

“Eh, more like medium. Don’t wanna be too vicious with the mixin’ process. Gotta let the barrels sit and ferment for a lil’ while.”

“I’ll write that down, big sis.” I was taking mental notes on how to brew a fine barrel of apple cider, as I gonna help with the actual brewing process this time around. Up until now, all I was allowed to do, thanks to a certain bitch named ‘Your best interests’, was serve the cider and push around barrels, after all of that hard work collecting apples. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the hard labor, but I still wanted a better reward than satisfaction alone, or at least more involvement in the creation of this fine beverage. This year, my time had finally come.

“I’ve made up a few preliminary batches of cider, y’know, just to test the waters, so to speak. Won’t be our absolute best but it’ll still be one of our finer years. I think that’s cause for an early celebration.” Applejack reached behind a nearby hay bale. I leaned in close to her, eagerly awaiting a welcome surprise. “Tada!” she exclaimed, presenting a six pack of cider bottles.

She took one out of the box and tossed it to me, and I was so shocked I almost dropped the darn thing. “Woah, hey!” It bounced off my hands a few times before I finally secured a good grip on it. “Y-Yer serious?”

Applejack sat down on the hay bale, and as per usual she sat like a dude, legs spread wide and her back hunched. “Well, I figured that ya’ve been old enough for a while now… Not like yer gettin’ any younger. Go ahead, bottoms up.”

I snort as I uncap the bottle. “More like tear up, yer gettin’ all misty-eyed up in there.”

“Ain’t so!” Applejack said, unconvincingly turning away to wipe her eye. “Also, it’s real dusty in here, and if you say any word to the contrary I’ma smack ya upside the head like it was mah seventeenth birthday and ya stole my slice a’ ice cream cake.”

“Bitch, it was yer second slice,” I said with a chuckle. Applejack returned it in full, and we both took a swig of the cider. “Ah, that’s good. What year is this one?”

“Last year’s. Almost forgot it was lyin’ around until about five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, speaking a’ dusty…” I said, wiping the bottle until some of its shine came back. “Still, tastes like I expected it to. Heavenly.”

Applejack shot me an accusatory glare. “Ya only expect it to taste that way ‘cause you’ve drank it before behind mah back even while you were underage.”

I shot her a defensive glare in response. “I most certainly…” But I couldn’t keep it up for long, not around her. Especially not around her. “...did. Gonna retroactively punish me for that?”

Applejack waved her arm and leaned back, taking another drink. “Nah, I ain’t gonna pretend I’m a saint. Damage is done. Didja ever get wasted?”

I took a sip as well. “Dinner at Auntie Orange’s could have been very awkward.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow at me. “‘Scuse me?”

I quickly took my lips off of the bottle. “Okay, even more awkward.”

“Yeah… She still hasn’t found her pantyhose. That poor lobster.” Applejack sighed and leaned back again. She took her hat off, set it down, and used the loose part of her shirt to wipe her cheek. “Jeezy petes, I’m sweatin’ like a Saddle Arabian night worker. Mind if I cool off a little?” she asked.

“Go ahead.” I’ve long since understood what ‘cool off’ has come to mean in recent times. Turned out that Applejack ain’t as uptight as I lead myself to believe. Which was fine by me, but it was still a bit of a shocker that she managed to keep up such a hard exterior for all these years. I definitely found myself preferring this ‘cool’ side of her.

AJ fanned herself a bit with her hat before reaching down to the top of her shirt, unbuttoning it, pulling it off and letting it down to the ground behind her. She then grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled the thing right off, exposing her naked torso to the air around her. I took a look around with a smirk, wondering if somepony was around to see the whole thing. Heck, with the summer sun reflecting off of her sweaty self, she was hot enough to drop a colt-chasin’ stallion if you asked me; too bad nopony was around, though. Would’ve been hilarious, seeing somepony go splat at the sight.

“Now what’re you gigglin’ about, Bloom?”

Once again, I found myself a little envious. If it weren’t for AJ’s sizeable rack and braids, I wouldn’t be able to tell she was a mare from behind. Then again, a lot of my coltfriends said the same thing about me, so I was at least making some progress. Whenever I had doubts about my appearance, though, I just remembered that I’m an Apple. I knew I was gorgeous. And so did lots of stallions.

Looooots of stallions.

“Bloom?” AJ asked as she continued to fan herself off. “Ya sure the heat ain’t gettin’ ya in the head? Yer blushin’ like a cherry there.” She took a gander at herself. “This ain’t makin’ ya uncomfortable, is it?”

“Wh- No, I was thinkin’ of somethin’ else.” I had to cover myself quick. “Scootaloo wrecked herself when filmin’ a skating video the other day, went stomach first into the tripod. Still makes me cringe.” I drained the rest of my apple cider, which was a bit of a mistake. Strong beverage like that makes lesser throats beg for mercy. I coughed a few times, then regained my composure. “Think I’m gonna go work on my carpentry portfolio.”

AJ leaned forward. “Oh yeah! How’s that goin’, by the way?”

Should I mention that I was being a filthy liar? I know, the irony, oh how could you, Bloom, you’re the sister of the most honest pony in Ponyville and warkity wark. Going off to work on my portfolio was, at the time, my usual excuse for pretty much anything other than talking to AJ. Not that I minded talking to her, it’s just that I used that excuse because, well… AJ had no idea that my portfolio was already finished.

That was irrelevant, though. I simply said to AJ, “It’s comin’ along. Think I need to get a few more commercial works in there before I send it off. Anyway, I’m out. don’t overheat while I’m gone.” I set my cider bottle next to the pack, turned on my heel, and sprinted off. “Later, sis!”

“Keep at it, girl! Those snobs down at the academy won’t know what hit them!”

AJ was right for the wrong reasons. Again, irrelevant.

So, as I strolled back to the farmhouse, I was left with a critical question: What was I to do with what was likely going to be the last hot day of the summer?

The answer came to me in the sound of a honking horn, followed by the sound of tires on the dirt softly muted by an outdated automobile engine. As the green truck came up over the dirt road, I knew exactly who was coming to visit.

The truck came to a stop beside the picket fence, which I lept over and ran around to the driver’s side. The door opened, revealing a familiar face. Yellow fur, a clean-cut brunette mane…

“Is that the greatest folk singer in the world?!” I exclaimed to Caramel.

Being the chill jokester that he was, Caramel took my compliment in stride, looking around as he stepped out of the truck. “Where? That son of a bitch owes me money.”

He always did put a grin on my face. I figured he wasn’t just here for a friendly visit, though, and I raised an eyebrow at him and folded my arms. “Wouldn’t be the first time ya lost a bet to yourself, hotshot.”

“I’m gettin’ better at it, though.” Caramel shrugged at me, putting on his best smile. He wasn’t half-bad lookin’ today, either, wearing a clean cut pair of slacks and a green polo that surprisingly wasn’t covered in sweat and lipstick from groupies. Not to mention loafers that really didn’t belong on a dirt road. “So, Hayseed, what are you up to today?”

“Uh, workin’ on my portfolio?” I said again. I was unprepared to lie for the second time in a row, and Caramel didn’t have the burden of nepotism like my sister did. He was able to look right through me. So I put on a defeated frown and leaned against the truck, tracing a sad face into the dirty window. “I was gonna head down to the lake, strip down to my bikini, lie in a hammock, smoke a joint and eat grapes for four hours.”

I looked back and saw Caramel just raising his eyebrow at me.

“What?”

And there was that demonic smirk. “Nothing, just wasn’t expecting you to stop at just lazing around. I’m still waiting on the part where you have five well-endowed stallions at your beck and call.”

“Hey now, that’s for after I become an awesome carpenter.” I flashed a smile back at him, rolling my eyes.

“And they’re all gonna be named Bicep, I’m guessing?”

“Still decidin’ between Trouser Storm an’ Slim Sexy.”

He chuckled a bit at that, and I couldn’t help but join in on it. Caramel may be a bit off-kilter sometimes, but he’s a good guy. Besides, five stallions catering to my every whim? Please, I’d rather have ten.

“Wait, I got another one,” Caramel announced, holding his hands out. “Giant Bulge.” He curled one of those hands into a fist. “I request that you bump this.”

And so I did, because that was hilarious and I would hear no word to the contrary. “So, I’m guessing you came on by to do somethin’ other than discuss the questionable ways I like to spend an afternoon?”

“Actually, yeah. I was hoping to kidnap you for the afternoon.” Caramel tapped the hood of his truck. I think I heard the engine shift positions in there. “I have a few friends that could really use your talents.”

I rubbed my chin as I curled my lips, sounding out a little purr. “You gonna be my wingpony?”

“Not this time, kiddo. This is a chaste errand. And I’m not telling you what it is until you get in the car.”

“Sorry, but I don't get into someone else's ride unless they've got candy."

"I have grapes."

"Sold!" I ran around to the other side of the truck, yanked the door open and hopped in, snuggling into the seat. As worn out as the old beater was, the cushions were like a dream. It especially helped that, to counter the heat, the air conditioner was on full-blast. I opened the glove compartment, where I knew Carm kept his snacks, and found a bag of green grapes behind some old chip containers and an empty Fit bottle.

“Better for your teeth, anyway.” Carm rolled his eyes, got into the driver’s seat, closed his door, turned the keys, and revved up the engine. “Seatbelt,” he reminded me.

Even though I knew that old leather strap would make my stomach chafe, I did as Carm asked.