The Willing Well: A MLP Fanfic
No One Runs Faster Than You Can
The Willing Well: A My Little Pony Fanfic
Author's Note: This fan fiction is inspired by My Little Pony as well as the band Coheed and Cambria. All chapters will either be Coheed lyrics, song or album titles. I do not own any of the aforementioned. Claudio Sanchez, Travis Stever, Josh Eppard and Zach Cooper own Coheed and Cambria and Hasbro owns MLP.
Note: I have not written a fanfic of any kind in two years, so if this is rubbish I merely need to resharpen my skills.
Chapter One: No One Runs Faster Than You Can
**Star Stable Acres, Wilmington, NC, August 15, 2016, 8:30 pm**
"This looks to be the fiercest series of fronts to approach the Wilmington area this season. The approach of a front will bring a better chance of showers and storms through the latter half of the work week and into the weekend. It is advised that any who can avoid being out over the next several days do so unless it is absolutely necessary. Thankfully, tropical storm Fiona does not seem to be posing a threat beyond some thunder and lightning. While not an ideal situation, it could certainly be worse. Winds do not seem to be approaching danger levels but they are looking to be around the thirty mile per hour range. Temperatures look to be holding in the nineties over the weekend which will only add to muggy conditions already present should it be absolutely necessary for you to go outdoors. I am Patrick Ellis and this has been..." [KRACK!!] WECT's b-list meteorologist's professional delivery was drowned out by the immense cacophony of thunder rocking the two story farmhouse.
Said farmhouse bore the outward indication of wishing to be the anithesis of ordinary. Neighboring farms were Norman Rockwell's vision leaping from the canvas.
Personality was abundant both inwardly and externally encapsuled within this two story farmhouse despite the nature of a farmhouse otherwise being the embodiment of ordinary.
Tropical storm Fiona was having none of the artistic landscaping-eradicating all of the colorful glory Star Stable Acres utilized as a magnetized draw to attract recurring and new patrons alike.
Lattice affixed to the Roterra stone siding rattled against the stone where the rivets fastening it had been neglected to be placed by the carpentry crew. Two inch thick vines of Thorndale English ivy that wove their way up the eight feet by three feet lattice tastefully occupying the eastern and western sides of the farmhouse were buckling against the storm's fury.
[KRACK!!]
Thunder clapped around the twenty acre ranch; lightning illuminating the purple and orange-hued sky as though the heavens were affixed with strobe lights.
Tulip bushes, typically full and rich with obsessively maintained, purple care had been disheveled; the leaves and petals plucked sporadically from the lovely plants.
Panicked whinnying emitted from the thirty foot high, golden barn forty yards from the farmhouse.
Star Stable Acres had become the most prominent farm in the surrounding New Hanover and Brunswick counties. Jonathan Campbell, the only six time United States Champion for Southside Wrestling Alliance, multi time World Champion for numerous wrestling federations over his fifteen year long career as a professional wrestler, actor, director and entrepreneur sunk his multi million dollar fortune into the twenty acre parcel of land he painstakingly, obsessively flipped into the fully functional farm he would have to rebuild.
Foresight had mandated preparatory harvesting of his acre of corn, acre each of carrots and turnips, purchasing enough grain and feed for his twenty horses, ten sheep, seven cattle, and four goats a week prior to Fiona manifesting itself in the devastating fashion it had; two hundred dollars at Best Buy on a weather radio along with ten thousand dollars on a custom built radar system yielded profitable to his livelihood. Proper planning allowed the sale of Campbell's entire salable crop, with enough vegetation left for his live-in housekeeper Maria Ramos, his foreman Victor Long, the day laborers who worked part or full time but had their own homes and himself.
Jonathan Campbell, be he "The Actor" or "The White Knight" in the ring, had celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday two months prior with much Newcastle being imbibed and his body had miraculously staved off the adverse effects nearly twenty years of being a high flying competitor typically bring.
He was in excellent health; the vitality he displayed daily in his commitment to being the proprietor of a ranch easily fooling anyone to his being a good six years younger than he was.
Campbell gripped a bottle of Newcastle tightly-the half empty bottle soon to accompany the six others in the blue recycling bin directly to the right of where he leaned against his kitchen cabinet. His deeply brown eyes fixed themselves on the downpour ravaging his farm.
Clad in blue, Homer Simpson lounge pants, brown flip flops, and no shirt Campbell was comfortable; his formerly lean musculature having become more defined and deepened from a modest tan to a medium bronze. A decade's worth of building an "empire" completely changed the man.
In his youth, he had been irresponsible with money, arrogant, a womanizer and perceived that wrestling was his only path. Politicking on his fellow wrestlers' parts tainted his perception of that vision; his Herculean caliber of patience pushed beyond what even he believed he could stomach. Closed-minded jerks can become anathema to even the most beloved of activities- a bevy of "gay" jokes concerning his homosexual fellow wrestlers gatling gunned out on the daily toxic for his liberal sensibilities.
Seeking out guidance from Jason Lewis, his Catholic cardinal godfather, directed him to turning his life to God-implored to be prayed for by the Christian man so full of love touched the wrestler's heart, and spiritually filled him with what the wrestling locker room could not offer him at any point: warmth.
He was not a bad person. Raised in the church, his family attended weekly mass so he knew what was right to do. He simply did not do it.
Peter and Hilda Campbell raised Jonathan to be a compassionate individual emulating the fruits of the spirit. These fruits had been pushed to the back of his refrigerator of a heart and frosted over. Being a prodigy at wrestling imbued him with pride, and that pride festered within him to cause him to become cold.
He had not been a Christian until ten years prior; Jason Lewis instructing him on a more personal level than his family priest ever did in spiritual matters. Lewis stressed that trusting God and being a good person were more important elements than being a success at anything.
"Better to be respected for your personal ethics than any accolades you amass for yourself, kid." Lewis parotted time and again.
Once he turned his life over to God, Campbell was a changed person...mostly.
He still swore on occasion, drank alcohol like a fish drinks water, and believed in ostentatiously standing out but his interpersonal treatment did a one eighty.
He tipped the bottle to his lips-the brown, English brew gushing down his gullett. The now empty bottle was tossed into the recycling receptacle.
Wilmington weather was lousy when hurricane season came around, and while his crops were not in danger of loss and his livestock safely barricaded in their barns he was restless.
Some wrestling rival bent on causing him harm or wishing to purchase a horse at the last possible minute, or his neighbor (Silas Napir) shilling out his latest scam concealed behind the venir of a "cure all" abundantly frequented the homestead; Campbell naught but generous and forgiving of the beligerant mooks sinisterly executing a plot to either harm the rancher or his friends. Campbell was no fool and politely asked the intruders to leave each time but such events put Campbell on a hair trigger; any knock on the door or disturbance in one of the pastures immediately attaining his attention and presence as soon as he could grab his shotgun and sprint out of the front door should the occasion call for it.
Campbell ambeled to the two foot by five foot kitchen window and gazed downward to the pine straw bed below. He raised his right, densely muscular arm above his cranium-the shaved forearm resting against the window frame.
"It's gonna be hell getting the tulips rich and full again, Vic." Campbell's rich baritone fogged the window before him-his reflection gazing back at him with tired eyes.
Campbell was a handsome man-his shoulder length black hair shifting to auburn in the sunlight yet remaining in its ebony state with no sunlight to react to.
"You say something, Boss?" Victor's smooth, Manchester accent echoed the fifty feet from the living room sofa to the kitchen window. WECT's newscast was muted as Victor awaited a reply. Getting none, the Brit returned the sound.
Campbell sighed with resigned frustration. The plants were only an aesthetic triviality and certainly not irreplaceable, but hard work lost does hell upon morale.
Campbell and his foreman had sent the workmen home three days prior once all of the preparations for the storm were made. Campbell and Victor had but to wait out the storm.
Campbell gently pushed away from the window, spun on his heels and ambled to the refrigerator for another Newcastle ten feet away; the solid black, steel ice box's black handle gently pulled open by the rancher's calloused left hand.
The cold of the refrigerator waxed frigid on Campbell's shaved, muscular chest. He was a lifelong athlete and his upper frame reflected such.
Coupled with his altered lifestyle as a rancher, Campbell had no ounce of fat on him. He had been offered, over the course of his life, modelling gigs and was once approached about filming a porno. The filmmaker's timing was horrific and came right after Campbell had turned his life around. The answer was an emphatic "Not just no. Hell no!"
The modelling gigs, however, he took without question even though the time came after his reformation.
Reaching into the refrigerator, to the bottom shelf he retrieved two beers, holding each between two fingers of his right hand, released the door and ambled into the living room; biting the beer cap off of one of them and spitting it into his palm.
Campbell's home was modest, as far as celebrity homes go, yet spacious enough for him to host one of his friends who came with five kids in tow.
His shifted personality came with a heightened level of generosity. His best friend and fellow wrestler, "Iceman" Samuel Sampson ("the coldest man in sports") was gifted an open door policy to include his own key. Sampson had no other who bestowed such kindness to him-the wrestler being quite sardonic and rubbing folk the wrong way as a consequence.
Campbell did long to have a family with his girlfriend of two years, but for the duo to have children was a definite and emphatically agreed upon "Lord no!"
The living room walls were painted a medium blue-the walls adorned with photographs of his mother and father on their trip to Beijing for their fortieth wedding anniversary. All paid for by Campbell.
"They put up with my bullshit for twenty-six years so it was the least I could begin with doing for them as re-payment." Sampson inquiring about the trip had been unnecessary but not being a mind reader he wanted to be certain of his friend's motive.
That had been five years prior. He was true to his word and took on their mortgage payments to his expenses.
"They are retired at this point, Sam. Do I even need to further elaborate why I took this on?" Sam had seen bills in Campbell's mail and had no idea what was going on.
Speaking of...
"You're so cold..." Emanated from Campbell's cell phone-the LG K10 fished out of his left pocket and gazed down at the device with a smile as he plopped down next to Victor on the crimson sofa facing the tele (passing a beer to Victor).
"What's good, pard?" The drawl of the Arkansas born, Colorado transplant's bass rang as a nice distraction to the rancher.
Campbell crossed his left leg over his right, motioning for Victor to turn the TV off. The dark skinned Brit obliged.
Victor Long was not the "token black friend" collected by many in an effort not to seem racist. He and Campbell met through a mutual friend and fellow wrestler, Rob Riot, while Campbell was in Manchester, UK on a wrestling tour. Victor was direly in need of employment, Riot vouched for him as a "hard working bloke fresh out of uni."
He was just that. Attaining a Bachelor's Degree in Business and Management from the University of Salford and being unable to find proper work, Campbell offered him employment as his foreman after his previous foreman, Chaz Alvarez, resigned (his wife passing), and sponsored his visa. Two years had passed and Victor, then twenty-five, proved himself to be precisely what Riot said he was; living with Campbell saving him a great deal of money.
Victor was clad in blue Stewie Griffin lounge pants, a black, sleeveless hoodie and gray slippers; his bald head shining beneath the glare of the inlaid lightbulb fifteen feet above his head. Victor's clean shaven face etched into a similar smile-his long, muscular arms crossed across his chest. He was six inches taller than Campbell-Sampson never shy to mention this fact.
Victor did not mind Sampson's teasing-the "white boy with the big ass mouth" one Campbell cared deeply for, so he would not complain about someone who did not leave a mess, did not try to fight him or Jonathan when he drank and whose worst quality was his big mouth. He knew that Sampson could easily take him down if he attempted to fight him anyway, so he saw no point to say a word any way he looked at it.
Victor was no fighter. He was an academic who was given a very good job by an equally good man and he would work as hard as he could until such a time he felt he was mistreated by Campbell directly, and since that never happened he could tolerate an ass who Campbell could ask to leave if he proved troublesome.
"The Acres is a damn wreck, Sam." A solitary "Shit" in response was honestly all Sam needed to say in response.
Sam Sampson and Jonathan Campbell met ten years prior in Southside Wrestling Alliance. Running many on-camera storylines together, they encountered one another every day whether in the gym or the locker room. Samuel, a known douche in his persistent sarcasm, was the sole individual to provide any vestige of comfort when Jonathan's brother was gunned down by members of the mob to whom he owed money.
"Vodka cures all, pard." A drinking buddy Samuel became and positive traits showed themselves beneath the sarcasm. Samuel was a decent guy who stayed with Campbell an entire week to serve as a "shoulder to cry on" when six years prior Campbell's fiance left him.
He had no sarcastic quip nor joke towards the situation, even good natured, out of concern it would make matters worse. He hugged his friend at first, and only when it felt appropriate injected sarcasm. Campbell did not drink the pain away this time. Closer than before, just Samuel being there and offering actual thought to his friend's pain was more than his other "friends" had provided.
Victor knew this, and would be far less accommodating of Sam's bullshit if he did not have known positive traits; likely attempting to fight the six foot four and two hundred and forty pound former World Champion.
"How bad is it? Need me to come by once the storm clears?" This was the Sam Sampson few saw: willing to provide his time to sort through the wreckage and rebuild this falderal.
Jonathan did not bat an eye; Sampson being the one to aid in building Star Stable Acres from the ground up. Though he still wrestled, instead of taking his day off he would come by the ranch and aid his understaffed friend. After attaining a foreman and work crew, this became unnecessary yet he still came by.
Though neither were interested in men, Campbell and Sampson could say in honesty that each was the only man that the other truly loved-each having his own way of showing it.
Sampson "coming by" would merely involve a twenty minute drive from the other side of Wilmington. He had purchased a second home in the event he was needed.
"That'll work. Let's see how tomorrow looks and go from there." A hearty 'Ten-four' gave the affirmative; Campbell taking mental stock of how much liquor was on the premises-knowing that paltry quantity would be enough at the bare minimum.
He realized that his Newcastle was untouched; Victor's bottle a quarter of the way down and the rancher had not even noticed.
Sampson suddenly snickered.
"Shit..." Campbell's concern was warranted- a snickering Samuel Sampson meaning only mischief was to come.
"So, J, how's *Snickers* the Diva?" Campbell knew full well who "the Diva" was and was put off whenever Sampson referred to her in that manner.
"*Weary sigh* My girlfriend is not called nor is she a "Diva" and you know it, Sam." Victor mouthed 'Fucking again?'-Campbell not noticing-and polished off the bottle with a shake of his head. "Say her name, please." Campbell's grip on the bottle cap tightened; the ridges digging into his palm as he tossed the cap onto the floor.
"Oh fine. *Abundant sarcasm* Stefani. Happy now?" Campbell smiled at his cooperation-a "Thank you" offered in return. "So how's she doing? She alright with this storm? Miss Popstar can't be sleeping too soundly." Sampson honestly did care for Campbell's girlfriend-his snark not meaning any harm beyond minor teasing.
'Stefani' was Stefani Germanotta, also known as Lady Gaga.
Samuel was still baffled they had been a couple this long with Campbell refusing to be put into a position resulting in slander by the press for himself or Gaga; the popstar eating exposure up. Jonathan presumed that Sampson was put off more that Gaga accepted the farmer's decision to stay out of the media's eye avoiding defamation of her character instead of Campbell falling in love with a celebrity and the relationship enduring phenomenally well. Sampson thrived on controversy and embraced the philosophy of "there's no such thing as bad press."
Rob Riot had introduced them. She was a friend of Riot's sister's roommate, Julia, and shockingly she said 'Yes'.
*******
Their date had been a mutually agreed upon, low key affair. They had gone to dinner at Stefani's favorite restaurant-Campbell not caring where they went honestly. It was not about the where but the who he was with.
Campbell had insisted on a private booth; Dariu d'Arpaggio not coming cheap and the "private booth" amounting to an entire section of the establishment being cleared out just for them.
They talked about one another's family; each close to his and her parents and a dark void encapsulating a period of each's life. Hers had come during her high school years; not feeling as though she were pretty and low self esteem coupling with that mentality. When she discovered her amazing ability to sing, her mother pushed her to join the glee club and from there it was all uphill.
Campbell shared his hang ups, his rather lengthy dark period-an addiction to cocaine, sexual promiscuity and several arrests. He was no angel, yet his demons were behind him and locked away within a holy water doused, titanium alloy box and buried in the deepest corner of his soul.
"I own and operate a ranch."
Gaga was aghast at the onset. "I thought you were a wrestler or something to that effect."
"I am, but the ranch is where my passion now lies. If you do not enjoy dating a rancher I get it. You could literally have anyone you could possibly want."
The pop star smiled warmly and took his hand in hers-gripping the calloused skin with her soft and supple hand.
"You do what you feel you need to do, Jonathan. I like you a great deal. You haven't made a single pass at me tonight even given how I dress. You respect me, have not tried to control the conversation this evening, and you actually care deeply for me; I can tell that you're just a genuinely good person. *Smiles with contentment* You are a gentleman, so why would I turn you away?"
That had been more than he had expected to receive. He had heard of Lady Gaga being a kind and gentle woman, and the rumors had not been exaggerated.
*******
"She's asleep in the bedroom, Sam." The Colorado resident did not need clarification. "The" bedroom meant "their" bedroom; Gaga at the ranch more frequently given the release of her new album, and her tour just having ended. "She took a Valium. It would take someone running in here screaming bloody murder to wake her up...maybe. Most likely not even then." Victor raised the bottle of Newcastle, rose from his seat and mouthed 'Want another?'; Campbell giving a thumbs up in confirmation.
A clatter of glass emitted from the recycling bin-Victor having thrown the bottle in.
"Well, I am gonna head on off of here and get some sleep myself, pard." Sampson stifled a yawn.
"I'm going to check on Stef anyway. Later." A 'Later' in reply ended the conversation-Campbell rising from the couch as Victor returned. The cell phone returned to his pocket.
"Oi, Sam's a real tosser today yeah?" Handing Campbell the beer, Victor plopped down on the sofa and began downing his beer.
A steel coffee table with red stone was sat in front of the sofa-Campbell placing the beer upon it.
"Gonna check on Stef. Back down in a few minutes." A muffled 'Okay' came as a reply; Victor turning the TV back on, changing the input from TV to HDMI 4 and queuing up Netflix.
*'Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before!'*
The opening monologue to Star Trek: TNG emitted as Campbell crossed the fifteen feet from the sofa to the adjacent, oak staircase fifteen feet away. Ascending the staircase, the British tones of Patrick Stewart filled the living room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Campbell could go left or to the right. To the right, three bedrooms lay in wait-the guest rooms reserved for any of the vast quantity of visitors seemingly endlessly dropping in.
To the left lay Campbell's bedroom on the right of the wing and Victor's directly across from it.
Campbell crept to his bedroom-the sturdy African black wood door shut. Stopping in front of the door, Campbell gripped the circular knob inlaid with a horse head and turned.
No creak came from the slow moving door-properly oiled hinges kept them moving without hindrance.
Inside, a slender lump was curled amidst the blankets on the king sized, mahogany framed bed with ox horns inlaid into the headboard.
What only he, Sam, Maria, Victor and Lady Gaga knew was that if the leftmost horn tip were pressed inward it would open a trap door in the floor at the foot of the bed leading to a ten by ten by ten steel lined cell reserved for intruders. He had needed only use it once and never again after that.
Adjacent and to the right of the bed was a white, slatted closet; his golf clubs, polo shirts and slacks within. Gaga thought golf was, honestly, dull (he asked for her to be real with him) but he found it relaxing.
The lump on the bed did not stir as his one hundred and seventy pound frame tip toed across the floor towards the bed.
Having a seat on the bed next to the sleeping Lady Gaga (on her belly), he took in how blessed he was: a wonderful girlfriend who was not solely gorgeous but a terrific human being as well, his health was excellent (no doctor visit following his departure from professional wrestling), he resided in a beautiful home with doting friends and family, and he was being paid to do what was his passion.
Life truly was splendid.
Leaning over the sleeping Gaga, Campbell kissed her cheek-a smile, unseen to him, spreading across her lovely face.
"I love you, Stef. Sleep well." Rising from the bed, doing his absolute best to not wake his girlfriend, Campbell returned to the hallway. He did not realize that the Valium had worn off and Stefani Germanotta had been awake for the kiss.
"I love you too, Jonathan." The blissfully happy Gaga reached over to Jonathan's side of the bed and snagged his pillow-hugging it to her with a happy moan.
*******
[Shekrak!!]
Lightning cracked over the rolling hills of Star Stable Acres-the horses within their barn, yards from the farmhouse whinnying in panic as one unit.
[Shekrak!!]
Another bolt lit up the sky-the fierce trail of energy illuminating a ripple in the sky. It would never have been noticed by anyone standing on ground level, but a pilot could have ascertained that the sky thirty thousand feet above Star Stable Acres appeared to fluctuate depending on how one was positioned. One moment it could appear clear-as though part of the rest of the surrounding sky. The next, it could ripple as though water and it be made impossible to see through the anomaly.
Lightning cracked again, but this time a purple globe of energy emerged from the anomaly, and began diving downward to the earth below.
[Shekrak!!]
Another bolt lit up the sky and the globe maneuvered around it and sped up as it got closer to its destination.
Dodging three more bolts, the globe reached the ground in the middle of the western pasture and four, teenaged girls were revealed.
One possessed a rainbowed cuaff for hair, a pink and white striped skirt over black leggings, a blue vest and white t-shirt with a rainbow emblem right below the neckline. Blue, rocker boots shod her feet.
The second girl wore a white shirt that came to her elbows, a purple skirt with three diamonds designed into it, purple boots with a diamond on each and purple hair. She was solid, pasty white. Onlookers may have wondered if she were ill. She began sobbing the moment the rain hit her.
The third girl wore a white, western shirt with green adorning from her neck down to mid chest, a jean skirt with a belt having an apple as its buckle, brown cowboy boots with apples on them and a cowboy hat. Her blonde hair hung down to her waist.
The final girl was purple. Everything about her was purple. Her hair was purple, her skirt and shirt were purple. Even her boots were purple.
When the globe dropped and the rain drenched all four girls, the purple one was the most confused. Gazing around, fear etched itself across her attractive face.
"Where..." The rainbows one gazed about for cover from the storm-the farmhouse twenty yards away.
"Does it always rain this hard in Equestria, or did you plan this just for us?" The rainbows one uttered a 'come on' and sprinted towards the farmhouse.
"Rainbow Dash! You could wait for us!" The cowgirl's cry of indignation was drowned out by another thunderclap. "Ugh...Rarity, move it!" The solid white girl was inconsolable. Grunting in frustration, the cowgirl bent over and tossed Rarity over her left shoulder sprinting as fast as she could beneath the girl's dead weight.
The purple one was attempting to keep up but she trailed behind her more fleetfooted friends.
Another thunderclap echoed across the pasture, and Rarity shrieked in terror. Startled, the cowgirl lost her balance and fell face first into a one foot deep mud puddle-Rarity plopping into the next one.
The cowgirl pushed her self upright and spit out a mouthful of mud. "Consarnit, Twilight! This don't look like no Equestria that you talked about. It looks like my cousin Braeburn's farm outside Appleoosa!" Rubbing mud off of her face, the cowgirl got to her feet and attempted to aid Rarity to her feet.
"Twilight, dahling, YOU'RE PAYING FOR MY DRY CLEANING!" Twilight had not seen Rarity's ire spike this high, but it was certainly not without reason; the purple girl, now on her feet and covered in mud, began walking anew to the farmhouse amidst the most confusing sound Twilight had ever heard: a cross between a sob and a furious growl.
Rainbow Dash had made it to the porch-Rarity uttering her bizarre fury sob, the cowgirl attempting to calm her down, and Twilight bringing up the rear pure confusion etched across her face as they arrived.
"'Bout time you made it. I ran that in ten seconds flat. I'm that damn good." Rainbow' soaked to the bone and her clothes clinging to her still managed a prideful celebratory dance.
"MOVE!" Shoving Rainbow aside, the blue girl uttering a startled 'Hey!!' Rarity stormed to the front door before realizing what she did. "I'm so very sorry Rainbow Dash. I'm just...just..." She couldn't finish her sentence before she snapped her fingers and a fainting couch appeared behind her, upon which she collapsed from the overwhelming events.
"Looking like a toasted marshmallow?" The cowgirl glared at her friend's rudeness. "What?! She does!!" Rarity paid it no mind, being out cold.
"Would someone please knock?!" Twilight's impatience reared its head-Rainbow ambling to the front door (its thick wood bearing no signs that any sound could penetrate it, yet there was a knocker), raised the knocker and lowered it three times.
*******
"Oi, fucking seriously?! In this weather?" Victor paused the episode of Star Trek, and carrying his beer composed himself enough to calmly walk to the front door. "Oi, boss, we have visitors!" The shout up the stairs was met with a 'I'll be right down.'
Taking a pull from the bottle, Victor approached the door. For once, he did not bother checking his breath or appearance. What sort of idiot goes out in a downpour like that?
Victor answered the door, but was not expecting what he found.
"Are you off your head? It's a sodding hurricane out..." He could not finish his sentence. "Are you girls...What am I blumin saying?" Victor stepped aside and ushered Rainbow inside. The cowgirl followed and so did Twilight, but Victor put the beer down on the wooden floor by the front door and carried Rarity inside. "[Grunted as he placed Rarity on the sofa] Bloody bird has some weight on her. Oi, boss, you coming? We got a situation down here." Campbell stepped down the stairs fixing the black, August Burns Red t-shirt he had put on.
"What's the...problem." His eyes affixed upon the drenched foursome-specifically the perpetually fainted Rarity.
Sitting down on the bottom step, Campbell cupped his face in his hands.
"Why are four girls soaking wet in my living room?" The homeowner dropped his hands to his knees; not angry nor burned out on years of helping folk. He mirrored Twilight's expression. "Somebody gonna talk?" Rainbow Dash took her moment in the sun.
"You see, we went through this portal in our school statue; our friend Twilight, here is a magic unicorn princess and we were gonna go to her world." Campbell rose to his feet, sighing heavily, and staggered to the refrigerator, threw it open and grabbed not a Newcastle but a bottle of Jim Beam-the door closing.
"Anybody else before I crack this open?"
One by one, minus Rarity, the cowgirl and Twilight each told the same story.
"If nobody is gonna give me a sober answer then I'm getting hammered. Why not?" Twilight cautiously edged towards the rancher stood by his kitchen sink who had popped open the Jim Beam and downed a swig.
The conscious girls' expressions ranged from distaste in Twilight (her loathing of alcohol flagrant), the cowgirl being impressed at his choice in alcohol and Rainbow showing no emotion at all-distracted by the sporadic thunderclap.
Twilight knew that she could not risk offending her host by her complaints. "Sir...My name is Twilight Sparkle." Twilight extended her sopping wet hand with a smile. Campbell gazed down at her hand before smiling back to her, shaking it and releasing.
Campbell, perennially dwarfed by his fellows for thirty-six years, was not put off by the attractive young woman standing at eye level to him. Taking in the woman before him, Campbell was not certain of how to perceive her.
The lot of them were clearly off their heads on hallucinogens but the pretty girl before him exuded a level-headed confidence that contradicted the lunacy she spouted.
"Jonathan Campbell. [Thumbs to the window to his right] Miss Sparkle, outside is what remains of the finest horse ranch in North Carolina: Star Stable Acres." Rainbow's eyed widened as she darted to the rancher.
"Wait...Star Stable Acres. You're not "The White Knight" are you?" '*A fan'*, mulled Jonathan. The freaky deaky girl with rainbow hair clapped her hands together and grinned.
Campbell's eyes passed from Rainbow to Twilight to the disappearing forms of Victor and the cowgirl heading upstairs (the Brit knew to dote on the guests).
"Rainbow Dash is the name [Thumbs herself in the chest with a cocky grin], and if you are THAT Campbell then I'm a huge fan!!" Fans never put Campbell off-even the excitable ones. Everyone and their brother was a "number one fan", so he had become used to it.
"Six time US Champ "The White Knight" Jonathan Campbell at your service, love." The warm smile from Campbell was met with a bearhug from the excited Rainbow.
He hugged back. Anymore, only older fans knew who he was with any clarity. Teenagers who did know him did not so for his past accolades as multi time champion. They knew him as "that old guy who used to be cool but became lame when he turned into a knight."
That Rainbow actually revered his White Knight persona touched him deeply. Overhauling his entire wrestling persona from "The Actor" to "The White Knight" was a gamble. Folk knew his Actor character with clear distinction, yet portraying a character on TV who embodied everything he no longer wished to be caused him to reinvent his onscreen persona to one that reflected his evolution from one who embraced debauchery to one who refused to pursue vengeance on a single living soul.
Rainbow struck him as one whose cocky stance from before and arrogant aura would feel a kinship with his Actor persona. This girl possessed layers if she did not immediately call upon his more recognizable iteration.
Campbell released and Rainbow stepped backward.
The athlete shuffled her feet nervously-her cheeks growing red. "I always wanted to go to one of your SWA or PWA shows, but my parents never would take me. I thought you got screwed in BWA super hard." The pretty athlete frowned-that she knew beyond the surface trivia impressed Campbell. "I always have had a...crush on you." Yep, there it was. Campbell had long ago given up being fazed by such comments.
"Mr. Campbell...We really need to know where we are." Twilight's interruption was met with a mouthed 'Thank you' from the uncharachteristically nervous Rainbow.
Campbell did not buy that these kids were from some parallel dimension. They looked to be average kids that he would have noted milling about Independence Mall.
"Miss Sparkle..."
"Just Twilight. We're friends now, right? No need to be formal."
The rancher noted the purple one's anxiety.
He had frequently attended sessions with psychologist Doctor Sheila Doherty from 2012 to 2014 for residual anxiety himself. Not a soul was aware of his predicament and for that he was eternally grateful. Keeping his psychological health confidential was key to not becoming a pariah.
"Then you may call me 'Jonathan' or 'Actor', if you must." Smiling warmly at the trainwreck of a girl, she calmed down and nodded.
"Very well, Jonathan." The eloquent girl reached up to the back of her sopping wet head and felt about for something... What, Jonathan was not certain. Her hair had likely been well groomed, surmised Jonathan, prior to her proper dowsing. "We are on...Star Stable Acres? So, where is Canterlot City in proximity to our present location?" Campbell was not certain if she was being serious with him or if this was an elaborate prank.
"Twilight, I have circled the globe five times, and visited every major city on five continents during my fifteen years as a wrestler." He paused, the bottle of Jim Beam placed upon the counter. Sobriety was requisite-the young women in distress more important than his longing for inebriation. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but unless y'all hail from some bitty town in the sticks I have never been to, I am fairly certain that no such city exists." Twilight's mouth dropped, Rainbow's visage etched itself into a scowl and Rarity bolted upright; gripping her head, the pasty girl raised herself from the sofa to a seated position.
Rainbow stepped into Campbell's personal space-her finger digging into his chest. The athlete lowered her finger realizing how firm her crush's chest was. Contending with dirty thoughts entering her mind, Rainbow's knee-jerk reaction to a friend being (to her) mistreated took precedence over her inner sensuality.
"You calling Twilight a liar, bub?" Frustrated, Campbell dug into his lounge pants and retrieved his smart phone.
"Want some verification, girly, then take my phone and Google 'Canterlot City', unless you brought your own. Either way, verify to see if I am lying to you." Campbell, though patient, much like anyone else grew frustrated-especially so when his integrity was in question.
"We have phones, dahling." Rarity's sultry, faux-British accent shouted from her position on the sofa.
"If you are muddy, please get off my couch...British kid?" Rarity obliged-shrieking as she stood and profusely apologized for muddying up his sofa and dashing to the where the others were stood; the pasty girl flinging open cabinets in search of cleaning supplies to clean what she caused; enough space existed between where Campbell stood and where Rarity was squatting down to not stir a need to move an inch.
The glamorous girl flipped her sopping wet and filthy front bang. "My name is Rarity Theres Belle, sir." Irritation permeated every word; the pasty girl unsuccessfully locating the necessary cleaning supplies. "I hail from Trottingham." *'Sounds like another hallucination.'* Pondered Campbell-the former wrestler knowing a Brit when it opened its mouth. "How impolite of me. I am prattling on like a broken record and I..."
Rarity poked her head into the recess of the cabinet, and gave the cleaning supplies a more thorough gaze than a mere once over. To the girl plagued with OCD, she did not expect to find the cleaning supplies to be neatly arranged in caddies by function and frequency of use. She did not see any fabric cleaner at an initial glance; assuming that the couch simply did not get dirty regularly enough to merit a spot within clear sight.
Campbell did not know how to react to the filthy girl squatting four feet to his right. She was definitely a Brit, by his estimation. Having spent a full year in London and another half year in the Suffolk region, he knew that the girl's "Trottingham" claim was utter bullshit. He would have put her from Bedfordshire or perhaps Essex but certainly not anywhere outside of the UK. Then again, he reckoned, she could be a hipster obsessed with British culture. Truthfully, he did not know which one was more spot on; the girl with her head now shoved underneath his sink possibly an A-class actress.
Rainbow Dash reached into her vest pocket and retrieved her smartphone; the girl's Wondercolts themed, blue smartphone sopping wet but still functional.
As Rainbow activated her web browser, Twilight nervously grabbed Campbell's phone to research this "absurd statement".
Rarity hummed joyfully as she grabbed a bottle of Resolve and a yellow, large sponge. Turning, she gazed at the cloth contraption retaining mud. Rainbow was stunned that the glamor fiend had not lost her shit at her own state.
Campbell, being the chilvarous gent he was, extended his right hand to aid the filthy girl to her feet. Rarity placed the Resolve and sponge upon the counter above her and took the rancher's hand.
The pretty glamor queen giggled as she ascended. She had not expected the crass farmer to be a gentleman; her closed-minded opinion of southerners low and usually consisting of the words "hicks" and "inbred"-the pasty girl reassessing her opinion of the demographic as the incredibly strong rancher made the girl momentarily float. She was far lighter than he would have imagined-he using more strength than needed to help her up.
Rarity was now seeing the physical appeal which fueled Rainbow's celebrity fantasies. She was a DiCaprio or Ryan Gosling girl-the constant drinking reminding her too much of her lush of a mother. Provided that he did not imbibe alcohol, she could see herself sharing Rainbow's filthy daydreams about the man, but until then she would not be having dirty thoughts about the wrestler. Rainbow could knock herself out with her "White Knight" pinups. She did not know why she was giggling-her school girl desires to be noticed by men so common that she did not even recognize that such flirty behavior was being utilized.
"*Cleared her throat* Thank you, kind sir." With a curtsy, Rarity smiled, took the cleaning supplies and turned to her task.
Rarity approached the sofa as the cowgirl descended the stairs clad in a pair of Gaga's tight jeans, a white, AFI long sleeved t-shirt, and black slippers. She appeared to be clean-a green with white stripes towel encircling her head.
Surveying her mess, she noted that her task could have been far more daunting. While she was caked in mud, the couch was not. There were so few patches of mud it would not have been worth it had this been any one else.
She began scrubbing the five patches of mud from the seats of the couch. She realized that the mud was being spread around and she would need something stronger-else buy Campbell a new sofa. The cleaner and sponge were deposited upon the couch carefully; the glamorous girl returning her attention back to the sink with weary frustration.
Returning to the sink in a huff, Rarity scoured the cleaner bins for something stronger that would not harm the fabric. Spotting a clear green bottle with blue liquid inside, Rarity inquired as to what it was.
"That there is Dawn and vinegar, kiddo." Campbell had been watching the girl; allowing her to do the cleaning herself. "Most of the cleaners in the house will have one or the other of those ingredients, but let's just take the cushions off and wash them since the Resolve did not work." That was acceptable to Rarity-the glamorous girl returning the cleaner to the bin, and and darted back to the couch. She began stripping the cushions affected by the mud off of the sofa and onto the floor when light footsteps met with wooden stairs. Rarity began to retrieve the Resolve and sponge to put back under the sink.
"Good gawd, Rares! Ain't you gonna wash up?" The cowgirl would have passed for hot had Jonathan been twenty years younger. Rarity, put off by the interruption gazed down at her muddy clothes and shrieked; the girl leaping eight feet above the couch (the Resolve and sponge falling to the floor) and sprinted to the southern belle.
"Where?!" The blonde pointed up the stairs, and the frantic, pasty girl dashed up the stairs.
Campbell pitied Victor's task at that moment.
Twilight gasped-her hand cupping her mouth. "I can't believe it." Rainbow was distracted-the girl gazing at an old video of a young Campbell competing for the SWA World Title; her eyes fixated on the screen.
"Jonathan...You were right. There's no indication that Canterlot City exists in this dimension. That doesn't make sense though. If you exist in both this and the girls' world then why is Canterlot City nowhere to be found?" Horror swept across Twilight's face.
"So, what yer saying is that we're stuck here?!" The drawl, aghast, slumped to the floor. The cowgirl's strong legs were pulled to her chest; Campbell stepping over to the refrigerator, swinging it open, and snagged a bottle of Gold Leaf tea.
"Here, cowgirl." Campbell stepped towards the blonde-the towel bunching up as the girl's face buried in her knees (blonde hair not completely covered by the towel dangling from beneath the back of the towel). The girl gazed upward, tears fresh in her eyes, and shakily accepted the tea. Campbell plopped down next to the young woman- the bottle placed at her feet, but remained untouched. "I've gotten all of the introductions underway, even the British one, minus you." Campbell's brushed several stray locks from his eyes; compassion instinctively pouring forth for the distraught girl as he put his left arm around her.
"Applejack." The girl's response came betwixt her tears. Rainbow's eyes bulged seeing the ordinarily strong Applejack break. One can take so much; even the strong have their limits. "Applejack Smith. Please, mister, we've gotta get back home. I help run a farm...a lot like this in fact. My little sister will be losin' her mind by now, and my grandmaw will have called the police. My brother, Mac, may have started fightin' the local boys to see if one nabbed me." The otherwise lovely girl's eyes were puffy and red; her arms entwined about Campbell's chiseled midsection. "You've got to help us!" Campbell's heart broke for the traumatized kid.
"Count your blessings, kid. Cherish your family while they're alive to BE cherished." Rainbow, despite being the most singleminded and easily distractable of any soul in the farmhouse, morosely affixed her gaze on the handsome rancher. Certain details did not escape the azure girl's attention-a very prominent story covered in Inside Editon, the Today Show and read to her by her father from the Huffington Post. Rainbow was fully aware of Jonathan's brother's demise, yet she was not going to bring it up and salt that wound.
The students at Canterlot High perceived Rainbow to be, at the very least, bisexual. She was not. Noting the sorrow within Campbell's voice, Rainbow wished to hug the man old enough to be her father.
She found him to be hot. In this close proximity, she even perceived him to be damn sexy, but while delusional, Rainbow was not a fool. He was nineteen years older than her. Rainbow was seventeen, verging on eighteen in two months' time. She was not going to screw over the man she respected.
"Twilight, Rainbow Dash, why don't you go upstairs, and take a right. Have Victor get you some dry clothes. You may take a shower if you wish, just please be quiet up there. My girlfriend's Valium may be wearing off." Rainbow cocked an eyebrow at this. Somehow, she had focused solely on his matches and paid no heed to Campbell's romantic life.
"G-Girlfriend?!" Rainbow frowned-disappointment filling her to the brim. "W-Who?" And there went even the barest hope of a future with him. 'Yeah right, Rainbow. Don't fool yourself.'
Campbell patted Applejack's strong back, rose to his feet and extended his hand; the girl smiling as she took his hand (the rancher pulling her upward with no effort).
"Jonathan, why are soaking wet children in our home?" Stef was awake, heading downstairs in one of Jonathan's August Burns Red t-shirts and her skin tight jeans with no shoes (looking sexy despite just getting up), and it was time to loop the crazy nonsense tale that he did not even believe was legit, but helping these poor girls was the right thing to do.
Campbell stepped to the stairs as Stefani reached the bottom "Ladies, my girlfriend: Stefani German..."
Rainbow Dash's eyes bulged out even wider-her phone dropping to the floor with a clatter.
"You're Lady Gaga!!" Befuddlement etched across her face as Applejack teetered forward upon seeing the pop star.
Twilight "Hmmmm'd" at this unveiling-Rainbow knowing who the woman was birthing a desire to discuss the matter at a later point with her host.
Stefani smiled warmly at the girls-regarding each with a nod. Campbell took her hand, kissing it.
"Darling, these girls don't have the slightest where home is. Got caught in the storm." Campbell released his girlfriend's hand-Gaga rushing to the now standing Applejack and hugged her tightly.
"Sweethearts," She released the cowgirl and moved each to Twilight then Rainbow; the athletic girl fully in the Twilight Zone and uncertain of how to react. "Jonathan and I shall do all that we can to get you home." Smiling, Gaga stepped away from the soaked Rainbow, and took her by the hand (the pop star motioning for Twilight to follow); Gaga kneeling down momentarily and picked up Rainbow's phone, placing it in her own back pocket.
Twilight placed Jonathan's phone upon the counter top next to her and happily followed Gaga.
"Let us get you two clean and into some dry clothes." Smiling at the much younger women, Gaga led the academic and the athlete upstairs; Rarity passing them on the stairs clad in a pair of Gaga's Hello Kitty lounge pants, and a matching, sleeveless Hello Kitty t-shirt; halting in her tracks.
"YOU'RE...YOU'RE..." Rarity sputtered seeing Gaga.
Extending her hand with the friendliness Campbell loved so much about her, Gaga released Rainbow's hand and shook Rarity's.
"Stefani Germanotta...soon to be Campbell I would wager." With a wink she kissed Rarity's right cheek and resumed her way up the stairs.
"R...Rarity Belle." Still shaking her hand with the air visibly, Rarity was frozen in place. Applejack sighed, rose to her feet and walked across the room to the frozen Rarity-the cowgirl dragging Rarity down the stairs and looked around for a suitable substitute for the stripped sofa. The farmgirl's eyes fell upon a crimson, leather recliner adjacent to the sofa. Admittedly it was not in the middle of the living room, so while the girl felt like a chump for not recognizing that it was tucked catecorner to the sofa she did not feel like as much of a chump. Applejack dragged the catatonic over to the recliner, gently lay her down in it and pulled the lever putting the feet up.
Campbell returned to his bottle of Jim Beam-the cell phone snagged as well.
Turning the screen on, Campbell gazed downward at the phone and Twilight's search results.
*'No results found'*
End of Chapter
Next Chapter: From Fear Through the Eyes of Oh God Why