It's a blazing hot summer day in the Mild West -- blazing hot, and drier than the bleached bull bones littering the dirt. The sun is beating down mercilessly on those unfortunate enough to stand below it. And, today, it seems three young fillies took themselves out of the shade and into the unforgiving heat.
They stand out at a nice, circular rock formation, a short ways out of town. Two of them stand on opposite ends of the circle, some twenty paces apart. The third stands back on the edge as well, just as far away from one as she is the other.
One filly, on the far south side, stands short and proud, holding a nice and steaming apple pie in one hoof. The sweat on her brow darkens her yellow coat, and the stetson on her fluffy red mane droops down just enough to shade her eyes from those heavy rays. It's a good thing, too; she needs the sun out of her eyes, 'cause those eyes are mighty busy glaring down at her foe.
The thicker filly on the other end returns her glare with a smirk visible even underneath her black bandanna, looking smug and cocky as always. Her coat's an orange-ish brown, with a dark red mane combed-over to one side to hide half of her face. In her hoof is another apple pie, but this pie is different; it's not just an apple pie, it's a crabapple pie. And it's no small pie, either. This pie has more girth than an apple tree in the springtime. It's got a whole lot more flavor and kick than any other pie in the Mild West. She knows it, too. She's been using it to get her way and take whatever she wants ever since she trotted into town.
The third filly, a small, orange little thing with wings, stands low, looking at the other two with worry and fear. She knows what's happening next. There's no stopping fate. She could take action, but that'd more'n likely end up with her having to run out of town with her tail between her legs -- or worse, hauled out in a box. Even then, she doubts she could stop the Apple train from flying off the rails with how tired she is. There are bags under her eyes, she has sweat on her face, and her legs are starting to get sore. No, she can't intervene. She can only watch the train wreck play out in front of her.
For the longest time, the three just stand there in silence, staring at each other, waiting to see who makes the first move. With a kick, a small white hoof sends a tumbleweed flying past the arrogant outlaw. Then, it just stalls in the middle of the circle, and the three stop for a moment to look at it.
Finally deciding that she won't let a mere tumbleweed stop her in her tracks, the yellow filly takes a step forward, brandishing her pie.
"Lookie here, uh... 'Bad Babs'," she drawls with a bit of doubt, exaggerating her own accent by a country mile as she raises her chin and puffs out her chest. "Ah ain't about ta let yew jus' stomp on mah town, like, uh... Like a buffalo! --Wait, no, a buffalo herd, Ah mean!" she says, adding volume to her uncertain voice.
"Oh yeah? And, uh... What makes you think you can jus', uh, stap me, 'Sheriff Bloom'?" she retorts with a horrible southern-Manehattian accent mix, glancing behind her and losing all facial expression before turning back. As soon as Babs lays her eyes on her adversary again, she remembers she's supposed to be angry. So, she scrunches her nose, arches her brows, and does a truly laughable angry face. "I'm tha one with tha bigga pie heah!" she yells, changing her voice and tone to try to imitate a supervillain she once saw on television.
"Yeah?! Well Ah have, uhm... Celestia! On mah sahde! 'Cause Ah'm in the right! An' Ah'll win! Fer justice!" she yells, proudly bumping her phony tin sheriff's badge clipped to her chest that wasn't there two seconds ago. "An' yew'll be, uh... Apper-hindered? Apple-hended?"
"It's 'apprehended', Apple Bloom," a squeaky voice says, its owner out of sight.
"Oh! Apprehended! Yew'll be apprehended!" the sheriff says valiantly, pulling her foreleg back and getting ready to throw her pie.
The other two fillies flinch as she does. Bad Babs mirrors the motion, arching her brows as she pulls back and takes aim. The little pegasus spectator takes a couple of steps back and lowers her head, preparing herself for the end.
"You girls?" the orange filly starts, meek and mild, her voice strained, crackly, and weak. "You know you don't have to do this, right? Nobody has to get pied! Nobody has to get glued! Can't we just, like, put the pies, down, go our separate ways, and it can be okay!"
"That's, uh... A shame that isn't so," Babs says flatly, almost in a monotone. "But this town, uh... 'Ant' big enough for the two of us," she recites, cocking an eyebrow as she does.
"...Ant?!" the squeaky voice yells again. "The town 'ant' big enough for the two of you?!"
"Hey, that's what tha script said!" she yelled back, slouching her posture, dropping character, and giving the director an exhausted look. "Don' yell at me! Just doin' an' sayin' what da script's tellin' me to!"
It's about now that the other two fillies in the scene see that this is another dud, and both of them give up at trying to play their role. Apple Bloom and Babs both set down their pies, and Scootaloo plops onto her haunches. Meanwhile, Sweetie Belle, the director, angrily trots into the middle of the circle and lets out a huff. Her mane is ruffled and a little saggy from sweating so much in this unbelievable heat, and overall, she's tired, impatient, and angry.
"It did? Couldn't you just kinda guess that it was a typo?" she whines. "I mean, it's a western, and, like, everyone's heard that line everywhere!"
"Not me," Babs says simply, shrugging. "Haven't heard it before in my life."
Sweetie Belle promptly brings her hoof to her face with a smack, and lets out an exaggerated and fake but clearly irritated sigh. "All right, let's go again, from the top!" she commands, making quite the little brat of herself in the process.
This elicits a collective groan from the other three fillies. Scootaloo scuffs her hooves in the dirt out of frustration, and Apple Bloom speaks up.
"Aw, come on, Sweetie Belle," she groans, "can't we just go back to town? We're all tired, an' sweaty, an' Ah'm really really thirsty!"
"Yeah, no kiddin'," Babs concurs. "It's startin' ta feel like we gone for a swim, my coat's so wet! It's so hot, an' there's so much sweat..."
Scootaloo nods in agreement, but goes right back to hanging her head in fatigue. She doesn't seem to have the energy to speak up.
"We can't just stop now! We almost have it perfect!" she yells, trotting back over to her camera. "We just need to do it, like, five or ten more times, and we--"
"What?! No! We can't stay out here an' do this five more durn times!" Apple Bloom snaps. "Ah'm too tired to do this anymore! An' Braeburn's pro'ly worried 'bout us, we've been outside for so long!"
"You said we'd be done an hour ago!" Babs chimes in, just as irritated as Apple Bloom. "How long have we been out here?!"
"I dunno! A while?" Sweetie says simply, shrugging off the question. "I don't wanna be out here too! I just kinda expected that you girls knew how to read!" she said innocently, but perhaps too loudly for her own good.
As soon as those last few words come out of her mouth, Babs and Apple Bloom look at each other. Calling these two fillies stupid is a worse idea than giving Granny Smith a blueberry pie.
"Unless you wanna just give up trying to get our acting cutie marks!" she continues, going off on a little tangent. She rants to nopony in particular, facing away from her friends as the two troublemakers grab their pies off of the ground. "It's not like I spent a whole two hours writing this script! I got this camera from Photo Finish, too! Do you have any idea how much begging I had to do to get her to let me use it? Lots! And I don't even know why there isn't a red button for recording, instead of just the big black one I have to hold down!"
The two fillies get closer and closer, careful not to draw Sweetie's attention away from her own ranting.
"And, like, I don't even know if I wrote the lines in right! I mean, I watched parts of the movies, and I asked Big Mac what they said exactly, but he was no help. So I asked Granny Smith and she gave me this really weird look! I dunno why, but she said something about classical spaghetti, and how I really need to, uh, watch it? I dunno! Why would I wanna just watch spaghetti?"
At the end of her rant, Apple Bloom and Babs stand right behind Sweetie Belle. By the time she notices their shadows -- both totting pies in their hooves -- it's already far too late.
She turns around as a bolt of fear runs through her chest, and she stumbles back.
"Wait wait wait! Apple Bloom?! Babs?! What're you--?!"
*SQUELCH*
*SPLORK*
Simultaneously, two pies nail Sweetie in the face, one on each side. Sweetie screams in shock and fear, and her first instinct is to backpedal from her two assailants. After a step back, a stumble, and a trip, Sweetie falls, hits her head, and winds up on her back.
Scootaloo, having heard the scream, jolts up from her little nap and gallops over to the other three.
"Apple Bloom? Babs?! What did you just do to Sweetie Belle?!" she screams, looking at the mess of a filly her friends just made. "Did you -- Did you just pie her in the face?! Why would you--"
"--Hrrnghrr!"
Scootaloo's frantic complaining is quickly cut off by an intruding yellow hoof. Apple Bloom, having learned the old 'can it' trick from her sister, takes the opportunity to speak.
"Well, Scootaloo," she starts, "Granny told me, there're two kinds'a ponies in this world." She looks at Babs, a smug smile on her face. "There're those with pies..."
With emphasis, she grabs Scootaloo's head and whips it to face Sweetie Belle, the poor, twitching, unconscious, messy little unicorn. "...An' there're those who flap their gums."
Babs steps up to Scootaloo, a stern and angry look on her face. "Now, you gonna go tattle on us to Braeburn? Or anypony?"
The poor little filly shakes her head back and forth, hoof still in mouth. It seems like she got the message.
"Heheh. Good. Then you? Clean up that pie fo' us," she says, taking off her bandanna and tossing it to Scootaloo. "I think Bloom and I are gonna go to the saloon and get some sasparilla."
Apple Bloom, after nodding in agreement with Babs, takes her hoof back from Scootaloo's gabber, and starts trotting off back to town with Babs seed. The two are silent the whole way, and as they get just out of sight of their winged friend, Scootaloo goes straight to work on trying to wipe Sweetie's face off, grumbling and groaning all the while.
