Ah. Don't. Like. Mornin's.

by Pineapple Skitter

Rating: everyone
Tags: Applejack, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1112

Applejack wakes up, and doesn't like mornings.

An experiment to see how much prose I could replace "Applejack woke up and went outside where it was snowing", although I can't remember why. Also an experiment with first person Applejack to see how easy/fun she was to write for. You should probably read something else instead, but otherwise I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!

Published 2012-06-25 13:54:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-25 13:54:01 UTC

Applejack woke up and went outside

"Urgh... what the hay time is it..."

Others say Ah'm a mornin' pony. Ah'm most definitely not a mornin' pony, it's just that around these parts by the time their mornin' comes up I've already been stompin' around like some kinda fool, buckin' apples like there's no tomorrow, bringin' feed to the other critters that live here, spreading plant feed for the trees or any other of the many and varied tasks required to keep Sweet Apple Acres in business.

Not that Ah don't love our farm, but Ah only love it slightly more than Ah hate mornin's.

Crawlin' out of bed, Ah stumbled upright an' peered blearily at the crack in the drawn curtains. Pink light crept in as Celestia's sun began its steady climb into the sky, an' it illuminated my cramped room. Ah'd shared it with my brother since we were filly an' colt, but thankfully with the money the two of us had been bringin' in we'd been able to pick up a second bed. Big Mac had always drooled slightly in his sleep, but at least now he's the only one to wake up with a soppin' pillow.

"Come on ya big lummox, it's time to feed the farm animals, an' we have the last of the harvest before the snow freezes an' we lose the remainin' apple crop."

Ah heard somethin' unintelligible about "not my turn to cook", an' then the snoozin' mound of ponyflesh went back to his less than gentle snorin'. Most ponies think his silence marks him as a simpleton or some sort of deep, introspective type. Frankly, Ah think it's just plain laziness.

"...an'? You should still be up an' about! If only to keep yer big sis company..."

Ah thrust a hoof into his ribs to try an' get the lazy git up an' movin', but then winced as Ah remembered the whole girdle incident had still left him tender there. Mac winced only slightly less, doin' his best to hide the discomfort.

"Horseapples... Ah'm sorry about that..." With an apologetic grin Ah backed out of the room, guilt turnin' my face a colour not far from his own.

Havin' hooked a foreleg round the shiny new door, Ah closed it behind me with a less than gentle thump of wood jammin' against timber frame. The timber still had the faint tang of varnish mixed with warm smell of applewood not long off the tree, mainly 'cause it hadn't been. Long off the tree, Ah mean. After those thrice blasted parasprites had eaten us Apples out of house an' home, an' then eaten our house an' home, we'd been forced to fell a hefty portion of the orchard for buildin' materials. All the farm buildin's had been wiped from the orchard, and they all had to be built back up from scratch.

Thinkin' back to the parasprites stirred ugly memories of nights spent on the floor of a friends or in the school buildin'. We weren't alone in havin' our homes devoured. Thank the princesses that the Mayor had a contingency fund for just such a disaster.

What we lost in wasted crops while getting' our accommodation sorted, we more than made up with timber bought up wholesale for rebuildin' the town. It got to the point we were even givin' some of the wood away for free, as the rates bein' offered were twice or three times that for lumber normally. Ah suspect hob-nobbin' with Celestia's star pupil played a less than minor role in the generous payments, but Ah'd be damned before I took advantage of that connection. An' definitely not if it'd involve takin' advantage of a friendship.

"Bleuch."

Ah focused back onto the present, tryin' to take my mind off such sappy thoughts. 'Twas the right thing I did, and that should be enough. But anyhow, onto breakfast!

Breakfast.

It'd been Fluttershy's birthday a few weeks past, an' she'd felt so guilty about the gifts given at her party, no prizes for guessin' which pony organised it, that she'd forced us all to take away a couple cartons of eggs, an' some home-made jams an' the like. All incredible, an' all from her cottage by the Everfree forest. On top of that, Mooriebelle had been early with the cow's rent, so Ah'd been up to my withers in butter an' milk too...

"Pancakes, or fritters... hmm..." Ah grinned to myself just then, lookin' forward to a mighty feast. "If only Ah knew some farmer-pony who had access to an orchard's worth of apples."

Tapping my chin in a mock show of contemplation, the wide smile still plastered across my muzzle, Ah flipped the dial on the stove to max an' brought a lighter up to the stove. My tongue hit the plastic ignition switch, a tiny flame burst from the end...

...an' then absolutely nothin' happened.

Turnin' the air blue with a few choice words about whichever pony had used the last of the fuel without refillin' the stove, Ah hunted around in the cupboards for a refill but could only find empty containers. More cussin' followed, an' thinking back Ah was thankful that Applebloom wasn't awake yet to pick up any of my outburst. Some of those words were not ones a filly her age should know.

We'd a barn for storage not that far from the house, which is where we kept some of the nastier chemicals for cleanin' an' the like, an' Ah'd need to head over there if Ah wanted somethin' hot. My gaze rose from the fuel an' pancake-less stove to the window above it, and my sleep-shuttered eyes focused on white. Lots of white.

"Consarn it all..."

Remember when Ah said that Ah wasn't a mornin' pony? That Ah hated mornin's? Well, one thing Ah hate more than mornin's are ones that involve traipsin' through the snow on an empty belly.

Galoshes? A hoof into each one, an' the tight waterproof fabric clung to the skin around my fetlocks. Scarf? Knitted as a gift after Ah'd rescued one of the lambs, it hung loosely about my neck. The wool caught an' tugged my fur as my head moved about, but between an itch an' hypothermia Ah know which one Ah'd prefer! What about my hat? With grace that'd put most unicorns to shame, Ah flicked it up with an effortless ease from the hat stand an' caught it on the crown of my head. It felt snug an' secure, almost like a safety blanket. Except useful.

Ah gritted my teeth an' nudged open the front door with my shoulder.

"This ain't gonna be fun..."